The Midnight Lie (The Midnight Lie #1)(20)

But it was tempting, listening to Sid’s lightheartedness, knowing that he was lucky. Life had treated him gently. His hands, surely, would be as smooth as his voice.

What would it be, to feel a little lighter? To be like him?

So I told him, and discovered that as soon as I poured the bowl out, it filled right back up.

There was silence for a long time after I spoke. I assumed he had fallen asleep.

I felt a mix of resentment and relief. Maybe it was best that he hadn’t heard me, or hadn’t heard the whole story. I huddled in his coat and imagined his closed eyes, head back against his stone wall, the way sleep might soften his mouth.

He said, “I’m sorry.”

“Oh. I thought you were sleeping.”

“Nirrim.” He sounded startled. “I would never.”

“Well, you are tired.”

“Do I seem that callous?”

“Not callous.”

“What, then?”

I thought about his desire to leave places. How he disliked his mother for interfering. His flirtation, which had the ease of long habit. “You seem hard to hold, I guess. Your attention.”

He took a moment to reply. “That might be true, usually. But you hold mine.”

Though he wouldn’t see the gesture from where he sat, I swept a palm to indicate my cell and his. “You are a captive audience.”

“Nothing is making me talk with you, or listen to you, beyond the fact that I want to.”

I ducked my chin into his overlarge coat and felt the collar rub against my mouth.

He said, “Your friend sounds kind. Like you.”

“But it was because of me.”

“It was not because of you that she died. Have you been holding on to that idea ever since? It’s not true.”

“I should have known better.”

“You were a child.”

“I shouldn’t have trusted her when she said that she was all right.”

He was frustrated. “You trusted her because she was your friend and we believe what friends tell us. Trust me, Nirrim.”

I couldn’t expect him to understand. I hadn’t told him about my visions.

“I’m sorry you lost your friend,” he said. “I’m sorry you miss her. But I want you to trust me when I tell you that you did nothing wrong.”

“You warned me that you’re a liar,” I reminded him.

“Not about this.”

I didn’t believe him. It was such a relief, though, to imagine the possibility that I could, so I said nothing to contradict him. I said nothing about the signatures I had forged, the legitimate documents whose words I made fade, then overwrote with new names, new physical descriptions. I said nothing about hearing the body’s fall, or how blood leaked from it like thick red ink. It was so nice to accept, even if only for the moment, Sid’s impression of me. Kind. Blameless. I liked his image of me so much I wanted to let it grow like a small fire.

He said, “May I tell you a secret?”

“What if I say no?”

“Unacceptable. I hate the thought of you saying no to me.”

There were no windows to the outside. I had no idea whether it was night or day, or what the weather was like beyond cold. But his lowered voice made me imagine snow falling outside the prison, dusting lightly over stone. I imagined sitting beside him, my shoulder brushing his.

“It’s not allowed, you see,” he said. “You must always say yes.”

He talked the way I bet Aden wanted to talk, but Aden would mean it and Sid didn’t. Sid spoke lightly, as though he wanted his words to be easy for me to shrug away if I didn’t like them.

Sid was entitled and nosy. And kind. Ready to laugh, even at himself. I didn’t like everything that he said, but I liked him.

“What if,” he said, “you agree to say yes to me three times only. A mere three times! In return, I shall do something for you.”

Warily, I said, “What?”

“A favor.”

“A favor?”

“I give very good favors.”

Since I wouldn’t see him again outside of this prison and there was little I could say yes to inside of it that I would regret, I said, “Yes, I agree to your bargain, which is already one time, and yes, I agree that you can tell me your secret, which makes twice.”

He made an amused sound. “I had better cherish my last yes. I had better use it wisely.”

“Go on, tell me your secret.”

“I ran away from home.”

“Why?”

“I suffered terribly there.”

“Suffered! You are a liar.” He hadn’t suffered a day in his life.

“You have no idea,” he said, “what a delight it is to annoy you. I could annoy you all day.”

“That I believe.”

“You see,” he said, “my parents thought it was time that I should marry. They said, When will you be serious?”

“My guess is never.”

“Exactly. When will you grow up? Also never.”

“Do they have someone in mind?”

“Oh yes.”

“Someone you like?”

“Oh no.”

“Someone you despise?”