My hands have begun to shake and I grip them, hard. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“And yet you claim to know me so well.”
I clench my jaw, not trusting myself to speak.
“At least I’m honest,” he adds.
“You just agreed you’re a liar!”
He raises his eyebrows. “At least I’m honest about being a liar.”
I slam the glass of water on the side table. Drop my head in my hands. Try to stay calm. Take a steadying breath. “Well,” I rasp, “why do you need me, then? If you’re such an excellent murderer?”
A smile flickers and fades across his face. “One day I’ll introduce you to the answer to that question.”
I try to protest but he stops me with one hand. Picks up a piece of bread from the plate. Holds it under my nose. “You hardly ate anything at dinner. That can’t possibly be healthy.”
I don’t move.
He drops the bread on the plate and drops the plate beside the water. Turns to me. Studies my eyes with such intensity I’m momentarily disarmed. There are so many things I want to say and scream but somehow I’ve forgotten all about the words waiting patiently in my mouth. I can’t make myself look away.
“Eat something.” His eyes abandon me. “Then go to sleep. I’ll be back for you in the morning.”
“Why can’t I sleep in my own room?”
He gets to his feet. Dusts off his pants for no real reason. “Because I want you to stay here.”
“But why?”
He barks out a laugh. “So many questions.”
“Well if you’d give me a straight answer—”
“Good night, Juliette.”
“Are you going to let me go?” I ask, this time quietly, this time timidly.
“No.” He takes 6 steps into the corner with the candle. “And I won’t promise to make things easier for you, either.” There is no regret, no remorse, no sympathy in his voice. He could be talking about the weather.
“You could be lying.”
“Yes, I could be.” He nods, as if to himself. Blows out the candle.
And disappears.
I try to fight it
I try to stay awake
I try to find my head but I can’t.
I collapse from sheer exhaustion.
Chapter Fifteen
Why don’t you just kill yourself? someone at school asked me once.
I think it was the kind of question intended to be cruel, but it was the first time I’d ever contemplated the possibility. I didn’t know what to say. Maybe I was crazy to consider it, but I’d always hoped that if I were a good enough girl, if I did everything right, if I said the right things or said nothing at all—I thought my parents would change their minds. I thought they would finally listen when I tried to talk. I thought they would give me a chance. I thought they might finally love me.
I always had that stupid hope.
“Good morning.”
My eyes snap open with a start. I’ve never been a heavy sleeper.
Warner is staring at me, sitting at the foot of his own bed in a fresh suit and perfectly polished boots. Everything about him is meticulous. Pristine. His breath is cool and fresh in the crisp morning air. I can feel it on my face.
It takes me a moment to realize I’m tangled in the same sheets Warner himself has slept in. My face is suddenly on fire and I’m fumbling to free myself. I nearly fall off the bed.
I don’t acknowledge him.
“Did you sleep well?” he asks.
I look up. His eyes are such a strange shade of green: bright, crystal clear, piercing in the most alarming way. His hair is thick, the richest slice of gold; his frame is lean and unassuming, but his grip is effortlessly strong. I notice for the first time that he wears a jade ring on his left pinkie finger.
He catches me staring and stands up. Slips his gloves on and clasps his hands behind his back.
“It’s time for you to go back to your room.”
I blink. Nod. Stand up and nearly fall down. I catch myself on the side of the bed and try to steady my dizzying head. I hear Warner sigh.
“You didn’t eat the food I left for you last night.”
I grab the water with trembling hands and force myself to eat some of the bread. My body has gotten so used to hunger I don’t know how to recognize it anymore.
Warner leads me out the door once I find my footing. I’m still clutching a piece of cheese in my hand.
I nearly drop it when I step outside.
There are even more soldiers here than there are on my floor. Each is equipped with at least 4 different kinds of guns, some slung around their necks, some strapped to their belts. All of them betray a look of terror when they see my face. It flashes in and out of their features so quickly I might’ve missed it, but it’s obvious enough: everyone grips their weapons a little tighter as I walk by.
Warner seems pleased.
“Their fear will work in your favor,” he whispers in my ear.
My humanity is lying in a million pieces on this carpeted floor. “I never wanted them to be afraid of me.”
“You should.” He stops. His eyes are calling me an idiot. “If they don’t fear you, they will hunt you.”
“People hunt things they fear all the time.”
“At least now they know what they’re up against.” He resumes walking down the hall, but my feet are stitched into the ground. Realization is ice-cold water and it’s dripping down my back.
“You made me do that—what I did—to Jenkins? On purpose?”
Warner is already 3 steps ahead but I can see the smile on his face. “Everything I do is done on purpose.”
“You wanted to make a spectacle out of me.” My heart is racing in my wrist, pulsing in my fingers.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From your own soldiers?” I’m running to catch up to him now, burning with indignation. “At the expense of a man’s life—”
“Get inside.” Warner has reached the elevator. He’s holding the doors open for me.
I follow him in.
He presses the right buttons.
The doors close.
I turn to speak.
He corners me.
I’m backed into the far edge of this glass receptacle and I’m suddenly nervous. His hands are holding my arms and his lips are dangerously close to my face. His gaze is locked into mine, his eyes flashing; dangerous. He says one word: “Yes.”