She stiffens, the reaction barely noticeable. There’s a need rising inside me, demanding more. It’s suddenly louder than anything else.
"You look ado—good in it," I murmur without thinking.
That surprises her. She looks at me with bated breath, waiting for me to ruin this moment. I almost do. I almost fucking do. Instead, I turn and walk out.
I don't know what the fuck I feel about her anymore.
Adora
He left. He just fucking left!
I expected him to be smug, to gloat about how I was falling right into his hands. But he didn’t. He just walked away.
LikeIam the problem now.He's the fucking problem!
I feel fury claw its way up. Rage. At myself. Because the moment he turned and left, something that felt too much like loss twisted in my chest..
I inhale, exhale, slow and controlled.
It's a game. It's always a game. But I'm not sure who's winning anymore. I saw the hesitation in his eyes and the way his arm moved just a little, like he wanted to touch me, but couldn't.
The rules have changed, and I don't know if that's good or bad.
The next three days he doesn't come back. Or I think it's been three days. I'm done trying to figure out the passing of time. It's useless in this hole.
Food and water are left for me, always there, at the edge of the cell, when I wake up.
I eat.
I drink.
And I hate every second of it.
Because Ghost isn't watching. Because he's not here to force me to break, to smirk when I cave, to whisper in my ear and remind me that I'm still at his mercy. This is too fucking twisted. Wrong. I know it is.
I want to be relieved that he’s gone. But somehow, his absence doesn’t feel good.
The only thing worse than fighting him is not fighting him at all.
The lock clicks. My heartbeat speeds up, my entire body tensing as the door creaks open.
Finally!
I don't make a move right away. I don't want to show him how fucking stupidly excited I feel.
He steps inside, his movements stiff, like he's unsure of himself. But Ghost is always confident. He is always planning something. So if he doesn't know what comes next, then I'm not alone in my madness.
I drag my gaze up to his, searching his eyes.
He stares at me, like he's trying to figure me out. As if I'm the only question he doesn't have an answer to.
"Took you long enough," I breathe.
His eyes narrow. He didn’t expect me to say that, to admit I’d been waiting.
His lips curl slowly. "Worried about me?"
I tilt my head. "Worried that you finally grew a conscience."
