She looks at me, waiting for me to say something. She's never done that before, waited. Given me space to fill. It feels like a test.
"Is he okay?" I say.
She shrugs. "He stepped down. Left it to Callum. Everyone shelters me from everything, so who knows. I can't seem to speak to him because he's in treatments, but..." She stops and shakes her head. "Anyhow."
She turns to face me fully. "What about your dad? What was he like that?"
The shift catches me off guard.
"You want to know about my father?" I ask. "Why?"
"Because you never talk about yourself. And I'm tired of being the only one exposed."
I guess she's right.
"Exposed," I repeat. "That's what you think this is?"
"Isn't it?" She scoffs. "You know everything about me. My family, my fears, what shampoo I use. I know nothing about you."
I smile. I can't help it. She noticed I noticed.
"You want reciprocity," I say. "Like this is a relationship."
"Isn't it?" she asks.
"No." I take a step forward. "It's a dependency. And you're angry because you're starting to rely on me."
Her eyes flash, but she doesn't deny it.
"You're deflecting again," she says.
"I'm clarifying." I pause. "My father died when I was very young. He was shot in the street. I watched his blood ooze out onto the cobblestones."
I give her what she wants.
Her expression softens immediately. "Octavian, I?—"
"Don't." I wave my hand. "You asked because you wanted leverage. To even the scales between us. So let's not pretend it's sympathy."
She swallows and I don't break eye contact with her.
"You don't know why I asked."
"I know exactly why you asked," I say, shaking my head. "You wanted to find the crack. The weak point. See if you could make me feel as vulnerable as I make you feel."
"And did I?"
"No. But I liked watching you try."
She laughs. "You're fucked up."
"So I’ve been told," I hold her gaze.
Silence. She should walk away, but we both know she won't.
"Maybe I'm trying to figure you out," she says.
She takes a step closer to me.
