“Right before your thirteenth birthday.” The spoon clinks against the bowl as he fills it. “Why are you asking?”
“Nothing.”
So it was me, not Reina. A strange sense of relief floods me. It’s so sudden and strong, I briefly close my eyes until it goes away.
My unfamiliarity with mac and cheese makes sense. Mom was Russian and never made it. I wasn’t exposed to the typical American life until I lived with Dad.
“What were you doing in that cottage, Reina?” His tone hardens like that time in the hospital when he asked me if I was running away from him.
“Searching for the truth,” I say, my eyes cast downward.
I can’t look at him, not when he thinks I’m Reina.
You’re an imposter.
You should die.
The gloomy cloud roams around my head like a halo, trying to swallow me inside and suck out my soul.
“What truth?” He pushes another spoonful in my mouth. “And when I talk to you, look at me.”
I shake my head, stomach in knots as I swallow. “I’m full. Can I go back now?”
“Answer the question and look at me,” he deadpans.
I remain rooted in place, mute.
“Don’t fucking test me or I swear—”
“Or what?” My head snaps up, fully meeting that forest gaze that has more depth than any human should be allowed to. “You’ll attempt to kill me like on the roof, in the classroom, or in the locker room? I know it was you. I heard what you said to Arianna on her death anniversary. I know you’ll make me pay for whatever the fuck I did. So stop pretending you care for me, whether I eat or starve, whether I lock myself in my room and die, or whether I disappear into the forest and never return. Just stop fucking pretending!”
Because it’s fucking with my head more than everything else he’s done, and I’m not in a position to have my head fucked with.
I expected Asher to be surprised after my sudden outburst, but he reveals nothing. His expression remains completely blank as he drops the spoon into the bowl on the tray between us.
Then he laughs. It’s long and humorless and shoots something akin to raw fear down my spine.
This is Asher uncut.
This is Asher without an ounce of holding back.
“Pretending.” His laughter finally subsides, replaced by a closed-off expression. “Fucking pretending.”
“Well, wasn’t it?” I fold my arms over my chest, my nails digging into the skin. “You only pretended just to get closer to me and screw me over. You made me believe you were my savior when you were the villain all along.”
“Drop your arms,” he growls.
“What?”
“Don’t give me that high-and-mighty Reina act. I’m not everyone else, so don’t you dare put up your walls with me, and drop your fucking arms when you’re talking to me.”
“No.” I jut out my chin.
I need my arms around my chest. I need protection and walls. I need everything I can get when I’m dealing with Asher.
“No?” he repeats.
“No.”