“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere,” he says in an icy voice.
I’m suddenly cold, as if a blizzard spins in the middle of the room. He sinks into an armchair next to the fireplace.
“I’m listening,” he says deadpan.
His eyes go vacant, rooted to the trembling flames.
I slip off the bed and throw on some clothes.
“Does it make a difference to you?” I ask, nervous, as I sit in a chair next to him.
Frosted eyes turn to me.
He gives me a cold-hearted smirk that spreads pain down my spine.
He clicks his tongue carelessly.
“What happened that night was between you and that man. It makes no difference to me. But lying about it makes a difference.”
My heart stops.
“I didn’t lie.”
His eyes shoot at me.
“Oh, yes. You fucking did. You lied to me... Perhaps to yourself as well. You led me to believe it was something else, and I hated him for what he did to you, but now it turns out it wasn’t what I thought.”
“I didn’t lie.”
“You didn’t tell me the whole story. That’s a fucking lie.”
I take a long breath.
He shoots his eyes at me.
“You said you couldn’t stop him. And now you say you actually pursued him. Why did you go to him?”
“To confront him.”
He huffs and shakes his head in disbelief, fingers running through his hair.
“I can’t fucking believe this...” he says, leaning back in his chair.
His eyes go empty, stripped of any shred of empathy or warmth. It’s hard to believe this is the same man who held me in his arms moments ago.
“Why did you actually go to him?” he asks, dark and suspicious.
I lower my eyes, the silence stretching between us.
“Were you attracted to him?”
I finally bring my gaze to him. His eyes grill me, filled with questions.
“I think I was...”
He lifts an eyebrow.