A rush, both hot and cold, washes over my skin. “He was a real scourge of society. Everybody was afraid of him.”
“Nowthat,” he says, his voice low, “sounds like me.”
“I liked him though,” I quickly point out, swallowing.
“You did.”
“Yes. He lets the last girl he kidnaps go. He even saves her, from a bad home life. It’s a very good comment on,” I clear my throat, blushing, “how bad guys can be good guys. And how people aren’t all bad or all good. We all have sides.”
He sweeps his gaze over my features once before saying, “Is that why you’re standing so close to me? The Bandit. Because you think I’ve got a good side. Despite what they say about me.”
“Yes.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a bad side?”
“Not really. Except that I lied to you. But mostly I try to be good. I try to follow all the rules and be good for my parents.”
“So what are you doing, reading books about criminals and bandits,” he asks then, “and walking around these woods at midnight?”
I came here to see you.
I don’t say that.
Because crazy, remember?
Instead I reply, “These woods are perfectly safe.”
“Not with a bandit in them, no.”
“And I love books.”
“Apart from the color pink and words you mean.”
“Do you like words?”
“No more than the next person.”
“What’s your favorite color?”
He takes my face in at that, my birthday dress, my sandals and my toes. The pink ribbon in my hair. “Don’t have one.”
“Do you like books then?”
“Fuck no.”
I bite my lip. “Well, one day I’m going to write my own book.”
I am.
That’s my plan. My dream.