I laugh. The sound comes out wrong, too dry to be humorous. “Cute. Try again.”
“Things stopped being interesting.” She doubles down in a monotone voice.
“You disappear,” I say, louder than I should, “and that’s your line?”
“You storm into my apartment,” she replies, eyes skating over me, “and think I owe you an explanation?”
She shouldn’t be this calm. It feels…faked.
What on earth could possibly be going through her mind right now? Is she really this detached? Maybe she really doesn’t care. But how could she dare to be this unaffected when I am barely alive without her?
She tilts her head, casually. “And for the record? Who calls nineteen times? Fucking psychopath.”
There is some sort of intimacy in the way she insults me. But isn’t that what she wanted in the first place? For me to destroy her? Not that I don’t blame myself. If today doesn’t go the way I want it to, the universe should prepare for what I’m about to do, because it would make the Facility look like child’s play.
I stare at her—really stare. Her hair isn’t black anymore. Now it’s a dark shade of blond. It pisses me off. Everything about her pisses me off and turns me on at the same time: the faintest line on her cheek from lying on one side for too long, the skin thatis too clean, with no trace of her usual makeup, having scrubbed off the last version of herself that I know. She cannot be okay, but she is pretending better than I ever could.
“You said you wanted to feel something,” I say, calmer now. “So. Did it work?”
For a fraction of a second, I think I can see it. The expression on her face changes into something too painful to mention, but it’s gone as fast as it came.
“You tried, Professor,” she answers in a monotone voice. “And failed.”
I step in closer, leaving just a few inches between us, to where I can smell the wine on her breath. Her detachment has a scent now.
“I did not.” I don’t need her to admit to knowing I’m right. She felt something. The only question is: what? Was it that dark, that disturbing? “What did you feel?”
“I said nothing.”
“First lie. What?”
“Nothing.”
“Second lie. What.”
“Leave.”
“I’m not asking again. What.”
VICTORIA
He wants to know. The fucker wants to know.
The most macabre laugh escapes my mouth, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m losing all my marbles. So this is what insanity feels like. It takes hours, or minutes or maybe seconds until I calm it down.
“You want to know what you did, Azrael?” I ask, still not fully recovered from the hysterical laughter. “You almost did it, you almost broke me. What was it? Step 2? I failed.”
“You—”
“Yes, I did,” I say proudly. He should have known I would find out about his little experiment.
“But—”
“I know everything.” Now my expression is in full-blown crazy mode. My eyes are looking straight at him, a sadistic grin covering my face from one ear to the other, and I think I forgot how to blink.
“Yet you stayed.”
“It was a one-time mistake.”