My teeth clench. “My hating something hasn’t exactly stopped you from doing things before.”
“Is that right?” He tilts his face, moves closer.
Ishove.
Not a singular centimeter of him budges.
My heart drops.
He stops, inches from my face, and smirks. “I was ready for that.”
“Get away from me,” I hiss, breathless.
“Your voice is trembling.” The way he says so holds far too muchendearment.
My lip quivers. “Please.”
He exhales a laugh, but then the great big width of him pulls back to settle on the other side of this long plastic seat. Bracing an elbow, he gazes out the window. “Please,” he echoes, warm smile reflecting in the glass before him. “That’s going to haunt me all night.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about, butgood. I hope loads of things haunt him all night. Especially ghosts. Because I so dearly pray he’ll be one of them before we even get out of this place. Maybe the plan is a good old-fashioned stabbing on the way back to our car.
I could really go for a good old-fashioned stabbing right about now.
“Azalea,” Malcolm says, sweetly.
Hardening my nerves, I mutter, “What?”
His eyes close. His smile broadens. “I’m proud of you.”
Disgust riots. I shove, shove,shoveit down with the anger, with the hate, with the unrest. With theeverything. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“You did it. You went to a theme park. And you didn’t die.”
My throat closes. Regrettably, webothwent to a theme park, andneitherof us died, but why is he even mentioning that? “W-wha—”
He looks at me.
My voice cuts off.
He points. “I didn’t wash that seat.” He lowers his hand. “Yet you live.”
I wince.
He muses, “What an unprecedented occurrence.”
“Are you mocking me?” My words break.
He arches a brow. Contemplates. Decides. “No?”
My gloved hands clench against my pure white skirt. I picture the emotions inside me bubbling up and popping. One by one, they die, and I regain control. “I know I’m extreme, sir. You think I don’t, logically, understand that things will be fine if I don’t do all this? You think I’m that stupid?”
“I think your brain attacks you. I think you don’t fight back as much as you should. I think you give in and listen instead.”
My heart squeezes. “I used to fight it, but how long do you expect me to wage a never-ending war? I gottired. Iamtired, so now I just follow the rules, and most days I get by.”
“I’ve never really liked rules much.”
I take in air. Calm myself some more. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing they aren’t yours.”
