His lips twitch, almost as if he’s about to smile, but Jonathan doesn’t do those. Not really. “Yes, you are.”
“I’m twenty-seven.” I don’t know why I need that information out there.
Maybe it’s my brain’s way to remind me that he’s seventeen years older than me.
Or that my sister, the only person I still consider family, had him first.
Or that we’re in her room.
The fact that Jonathan kept her room as it was without attempting to get rid of anything means one thing: he’s not over her death.
That’s why he wants me. I’m his sick way of bringing Alicia back to life.
I hate him for putting me in this position.
I hate him for barging through doors even I didn’t have the keys to.
Most of all, I hate him. The man. The tyrant. The unfeeling bastard who couldn’t protect Alicia.
“I know your age.” He slips his hand back in his pocket. “I also know you’ve been a ghost since you were sixteen.”
I thin my lips even when my scar tingles underneath my clothes.
“How does it feel to be a ghost, Aurora?”
“Peaceful.”
“Is that how you spell fake?”
“I’m not fake.”
“Is that why you invented a whole new persona, new name, new background, and even new habits?”
“Do you have a point here?”
“Does your black belt friend know about Clarissa?”
“Don’t you dare, Jonathan.”
“I do not care for being threatened, so for that alone, I might drop in unannounced and tell her.”
“Jonathan…d-don’t…” I’m ready to beg him, but I know that won’t work. Layla and her family need to stay the fuck away from my past. I can’t counter their kindness with malice.
“She’s a Muslim, no? Do you know their take on murderers and accomplices?”
“I’m not an accomplice.”
“Then what are you?” His voice drops in range. “Why did you disappear?”
“Because I needed a rebirth.”
17
Jonathan
A rebirth.
Fascinating.