Lies You Never Told Me(16)

“What are you doing here?” I sit up straight, adrenaline shooting through my veins. The darkness feels like it’s crowding in on all sides. I pull my blanket up to my chest, even though I’m still fully clothed. “Jesus, how’d you even get in?”

She shrugs. “I have a key.”

“You have a . . .” I shake my head. “What key?”

“I had it made a couple of months ago.”

“What, did you steal mine and get it duplicated?”

She gives a soft snort, rolling her eyes. “Jesus, Gabe, you act like I’m untrustworthy. Plenty of people leave spare keys with their girlfriends.”

I know something is wrong with this line of reasoning, but I’m still so groggy, so confused, I can’t quite figure out what. I reach for the bedside lamp, but her voice cuts through the darkness. “Don’t!”

Then she stands up from the chair, and I see that she’s completely naked.

“I came to make nice,” she purrs.

My breath catches in my throat. She is truly beautiful, her body powerful and delicate at the same time. But she’s also truly terrifying. The angles of her face disappear into shadow. Her mouth is a tight determined line. And there’s something flat and far away in her eyes.

“Sasha, this is nuts,” I whisper. “My parents are asleep down the hall.”

She moves toward me. Her skin glows in the moonlight. “All I want is to make you happy. You mean everything to me. I need you.” She leans down, cups my chin in her hand.

I jerk away from her touch. “Don’t.”

“Oh, Gabe, come on.” She rests a knee on the bed next to me. Her flowery perfume winds its way into my nose, into my throat. The sense of claustrophobia intensifies. I push her to the side, gasping for air.

Now she looks genuinely confused. For the first time a hint of self-consciousness seems to cross her features. She presses her knees together and hunches her shoulders. “What’s wrong?” she asks. “Why don’t you want me?”

I stare at her. I can see that the last question, at least, is dead earnest, and that’s what breaks my heart: the fact that she can fight with me all night long, then break into my house convinced I’ll still want her. That this will make all our problems go away.

I grope around on the ground until I find her T-shirt, then hand it to her. Silently, she pulls it over her head, tugging it down to cover the tops of her thighs.

“We’re done,” I say, simply.

She blinks, gripping the bottom hem of her shirt. “What are you talking about?”

“Sasha, we’re done. I don’t want to do this anymore. The jealousy, the arguments, the head games. It’s exhausting.” I angle toward her, trying to look her in the face, but she’s staring out in space now. “I don’t think you even love me anymore. I think you just like playing with me.”

She shakes her head, still not looking at me. “No.”

“Yes.” I put my hands on her shoulders, trying to force her to look at me, but she wrenches out of my grip.

“Forget about it,” she hisses. “We’re not breaking up.”

Anger rises up again, all my pity and anxiety and sadness swallowed whole by the rush of it. “You don’t get to decide that. It’s not up to you.”

She smirks at me. It’s humorless, hard. “Isn’t it, though?”

I shake my head. “I’m done fighting.” Then I lean across the bed and snap on the lamp.

Light floods the room. She recoils, squinting. Somehow in the light she doesn’t seem so frightening, so unpredictable.

“Find your clothes. I’ll walk you out to the front door.”

For a minute, it looks like she’s going to refuse, and I’m not quite sure what I’ll do if that happens. Physically drag her out, kicking and screaming? I don’t want to have to explain that one to my parents. I cross my arms over my chest and wait, refusing to look away. Finally, she stands up and walks over to the desk chair. Her underwear and shorts are folded neatly on the desk. I turn away as she pulls them on.

Once she’s dressed, I get up off the bed and open the door softly, gesturing for her to go first. Silently, her face as still as a doll’s, she walks past me and into the hall.

I follow. At my sister’s half-open door, her service dog, Rowdy, pushes his head out of the crack, his tags jingling softly. Useless dog, I think. Aren’t you supposed to bark at intruders? But Sasha pats Rowdy’s head as she passes, and he wags up at her. Because Sasha’s not an intruder; she’s one of our pack. And now I have to start the tricky business of extricating myself from her.

In the living room, I open the front door. She stands for another moment and stares at me. Her face is strange and affectless in the dim light.

She puts her arms around my neck and presses her lips to mine. I pull back but her arms are tight, surprisingly strong. She nips at my bottom lip before letting go of me, smiling up at me with a dark glitter in her eye.

“This isn’t over,” she whispers.

Then she slips through the door and is gone.





EIGHT


    Elyse




Sunday afternoon I let myself in the unlocked door in the arts wing and make my way to the theater.