We Told Six Lies(48)

Blue gasped as her hand darted past the knife and grabbed the paper towels instead. She pulled off several sheets and handed them to him. He considered her for a moment before jerking them away and pressing them to his injury. She saw the wound, then, and knew it’d do best with stitches. And also, that he would never get them.

Molly grabbed the knife, flipped the short blade toward herself, and offered him the handle. “Careful,” she said, and it was everything she had to keep the smile off her face.

He jerked back. Then, when he realized the blade wasn’t directed toward him, he reached out and snatched it away.

“Keep pressure on it,” she said, walking back to her seat. “And keep it elevated.”

Molly had grown up with the best of everything, and that included a doctor that made house calls to those rich enough to afford the luxury of skipping disease-filled waiting rooms. Every sniffle, headache, and bruise sent her mother running for the phone. Her favorite parts of the doctor’s visits, because they were rarely needed, were asking him questions about the human body. About all those bloody, thumping parts that wormed together to make people operate.

He’d always humored her and gave her lollipops that tasted how Lysol smelled.

She waited while Blue sat down and got himself together. He was so quiet that she wondered, for a moment, if he had died. Could it be that easy?

But then she saw him. He stood up, fumbled once, and leaned against the counter, staring at her. He held the towels to his hand and watched her and watched her, as if he were trying to figure her out.

She was not what he expected, she knew. And that was the point.

He took a step toward her, and Molly tensed. She had controlled the moment before, but now he was armed again. He was her keeper again. But that was always how this was going to go.

He took another step and reached out his left hand to lay the knife on the counter. Her eyes snapped to it as if it were a snake, rattling the tip of its tail, reminding you of its venom even as you backed away.

He walked toward her slowly, as she had done him, and then bent down, keeping his inky, painted eyes on hers. She tried to see past the mesh covering to the color of his irises, but he seemed to understand what she was doing and dropped his head.

Then he dropped to one knee.

Then the other.

Molly’s mouth fell open as he stayed like that, kneeling next to her. What did he want from her? What should she do now? The gash in his hand was forgotten as he bowed his head and let his arms fall loose by his sides.

He made a strange sound and then bent at the waist. All Molly could think as she watched him fold into himself was that he seemed tired. So very tired.

She knew the feeling.

Gently, moving slower than seemed humanly possible, Blue turned his head sideways and laid it, softly, softly, on her lap.

She froze.

It was the first time he’d ever touched her in this way, and she had to play this very carefully. Her life depended on it.

She raised one trembling hand and placed it on his head.

He raised his arms and wrapped them around her legs, gripping her tighter than he ever had that knife.

She placed her other hand on the back of his neck and, after squeezing her eyes closed, said, “Shhhhhh. It’s okay.”

He wept.

She knew how hard he fought the reaction, but he released those tears anyway.

They stayed that way for a long time.

Her hands on him.

His hands on her.

And just like that, here was Molly’s opportunity to unfold the next piece of her plan. She wet her lips, guarded her heart, and said, “You are so sad. So very sad.”

He tightened his grip on her legs, and his head grew heavier.

Molly took a steadying breath and said, “You’ve been sad for such a long time. I can feel it seeping from every part of you.”

She wasn’t certain whether she was correct, but she suspected she was. It didn’t matter. Daddy taught her how easily influenced people were. Tell them they seemed happy, and they brightened. Ask them what’s wrong, and they searched themselves until they found an answer.

Studies show, Daddy said, that people’s moods alter to match what others see in them.

The fingers on Molly’s hand twitched as they crawled toward Blue’s mask. Before she could convince herself to stop, she slipped those fingers beneath the mask and swam them through his hair.

She gasped at the feel of him.

At the soft locks gripped in her palm.

And though he jerked beneath her touch, he didn’t pull away.

“Shhh,” she said again as she stroked his hair. “Shhhh.”

He held on to her as if she were the only thing in the world worth having. And as she gently soothed him, she reminded herself that she hated him. That she would, most certainly, kill him.

Then she reminded herself again.

Just to be safe.





NOW


I wait for Rhana in the parking lot.

I know what car she drives—a Ford Mustang, custom painted pink because that’s the girl she is. Ten minutes before school starts, she shows with another student I’d seen around campus.

When the girl steps out and I see the flash of blond, my heart leaps. From this distance, the girl looks exactly like Molly.

Could it be? I think.

But of course it isn’t her.

When Rhana spots me, I wave. She frowns and tells the girl she’ll catch up with her later. The girl looks at me as she passes by, and my skin tightens as a chill rushes over me. Even her eyes are similar.