Page 66 of He Hate Me

“It was hidden in the wall. I don’t know what it is, but I’m really curious.”

“It’s probably a sex tape,” she jokes.

“Yuck,” I say, curling my lip in disgust.

“Why don’t you go ahead and order dinner,” I suggest. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

I rummage around until I find a small screwdriver and a paperclip. With minimal effort I open the lock and look inside the box to find DVDs. Each one is nestled in a jewel case and labeled with a letter and date. There are ten or fifteen that say L and a date, all within a year of each other. One says L and D and a date and the last four, the most recent one dated six years ago, has just D and a date. I have no idea what these could be. I know people used to store data on these things.

Could this be evidence of some other scheme Devin was involved in? It’s not likely to be relevant to his current activities, but I still want to know what’s on them. My laptop doesn’t have a disc reader. I don’t know if they still make computers with those built in.

I text Anton requesting he intercept the surveillance cameras again even though he’s getting more and more impatient with me, I think this may be worth the risk of annoying him. I pack the DVDs into an old kids backpack that might have been mine back in the day. I lock the box and put it back in the wall, putting everything back the way it was. On cursory inspection, everything looks untouched. You can see my footprints in the dust, so I scuff them a bit and move one of the cardboard boxes, so it looks like I was standing there to search through it. Once Deja confronts them about the pictures, they’ll think nothing of it.

While I wait for an acknowledgment from Anton, I type up a summary of what’s happened on my phone and send that to him as well. Fortunately, Anton doesn’t keep me waiting long. Once I get his go message, I leave the basement to find Deja. She’s in the kitchen, staring out the back window. I don’t like the crease forming between her eyebrows.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, but she looks sad and angry, the emotions seeming to battle each other on her face. I see it when she turns to look at me, a silent yearning for this to go back to making sense. I think she’s bothered more by the lying than by the discovery of a shared history between Devin and her parents. For me it’s the opposite. I never expected honesty from Devin and Tanisha, so the question that’s plaguing me is whether this has something to do with Anton’s quest. No obvious connection comes to mind, but people don’t lie for no reason.

“Do you wanna go out?” I ask, tucking the backpack next to my leg where the cameras can’t see it. Anton’s guy could probably edit it out, but why chance it.

“Maybe. Where to?”

“Dinner. Did she leave enough cash for Olive Garden?”

She shrugs, scooping the money off the counter and jamming it into her pocket.

“I’m gonna change into a warmer coat and be right back.”

“That’s a great idea. I should do that too.”

Twenty-Four

Brandon

We park near the carriage house and take the back stairs up to our room at Rourke’s mansion. There are at least a dozen cars parked in front, and once inside we can hear loud music coming from multiple rooms, incompatible styles warring with each other. We get into the house and up the stairs without anyone seeing us. As soon as I unlock the door Deja slips through, dropping her coat on the floor. It’s so unlike her I freeze in place for a moment, staring at her. She unbuttons the demure flower print button down she wore to meet my mother, turning to look at me as she backs up towards the bed. My brain comes back online, and I lock the door, leaning my back against it to watch her. The shirt slides down her arms onto the floor. She unbuttons her jeans, never breaking eye contact, and lets them fall to her ankles. She kicks them off her feet, and they sail through the air, knocking over a trash can.

“You’re making a mess.”

“So what?” she asks, scowling. “If you don’t like a mess, you can clean it up.”

“Are you okay?” I pick up the coat and shirt, laying them on the foot of the bed. She flops onto the bed, face up, her eyes closed.

“No,” she says tightly. “I’ve tried to think up a reasonable explanation for why they’d lie to me, and I’ve got nothing.”

“We have a plan, though, right? We’ll confront them in the morning.”

She licks her lips and walks to the edge of the bed on her knees, motioning me to come over. Her eyes are stormy, the corners of her lips turned down. She unzips my jacket, pushing it off my shoulders. She takes the hem of my T-shirt and peels it over my head.

“Do you know what I need?” she asks. It’s more a plea than a question.

“Is that what you want?”

She shakes her head. “You said you wanted to give me what I need, so here’s the test. Can you?”

I stare into her eyes, seeing the storm of emotions swirling within. She's hurting, confused, angry. And she's looking to me for comfort, for escape.

Slowly, I reach out and caress her cheek. She closes her eyes and leans into my touch, some of the tension leaving her body. I lean in, brushing my lips against hers in a feather-light kiss. Then I grab her by the neck and throw her back on the bed. She scrambles, trying to escape over the other side. I’m on top of her before she can make it to the edge. I grab her wrists, holding them to her sides as she tries to buck me off.