Page 78 of The Pleasure of Panic

“Wrong,” I say. “I know you.”

She shakes her head. “No. I think if you really knew me, you’d… you’d be ashamed of me.”

“Issy—”

“Finn,” she says, placing her fingertips on my lips. “Just listen. I have a story to tell you. One that starts and ends just like the one I told on stage today. But it’s all the parts in the middle that I left out that matter.”

“So tell me,” I say. “Tell me everything so I know what I’m up against.”

“Up against?” she asks.

“Yeah. Tell me who I gotta kill to make it right.” I regret that immediately. Because she knows now. She knows a little bit about what I’m capable of. And I don’t want to scare her.

She huffs out a breath. “I wish it were that simple.”

It is that simple. But I have enough sense to keep it to myself this time.

Because Issy has no idea who I really am either. It’s me who carries the shame and guilt in this room, not her. There’s no way she can be as dirty as I am.

She is pure in my eyes. Pure and innocent. Sweet and strong. Perfect.

No. It’s me who has the shameful story to tell. And if she thinks that what I told her last night is all there is… well, I’m gonna disappoint her.

But not yet. There’s time for that later. Now, I just want to know her. “Tell me,” I say. “I’ll make it all go away. And if you still want to leave this life behind when that’s all done, we’ll leave together.”

She stares at me. We are eye to eye. Soul to soul. Her forehead is sweaty from the sex and her hair is damp. I brush a piece off her cheek so I can see her unspoiled.

“It all started when I was eleven and he was twenty-eight.”

I have to repeat those words in my head several times to make sense of them. To force myself to accept what is surely coming next.

Death.

Because I’m going to kill that motherfucker and I’m going to make it hurt.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX - ISSY

I regret the words the moment they leave my mouth. I want to take them back. Eat them up. Swallow them down and keep that shit buried deep, deep inside me.

But I can’t. There is no such thing as rewind in real life.

“Caleb?” he asks.

I just enjoy things as I nod. The view. The sunset over the mountains off in the west. The room. His body. What we just did. How I feel about him.

“He… how?”

I hear the anger inside him building. I hear the fear too. And there’s a part of me that wants to say, Just kidding. Nothing happened. But there’s no rewind. And fuck it, right? So I say, “My mom had me when she was fifteen.” And then I glance up at him, kind of afraid to see the pain on his face, but used to it. I’ve told the story before. Probably a dozen times to various people over the years. So it’s not like this is something new.

“OK,” he says. I can hear his heartbeat in his voice. You know how a person’s voice shakes a little when they’re angry, or afraid, or frustrated to the point of tears?

He’s definitely the first one. Angry.

I take a deep breath and begin on the exhale. “She was fifteen, kinda wild, kinda remarkable. The kind of teenage girl who gets attention. Not because she’s bad, or beautiful, or smart. But because she was just born… special. You ever know someone like that?”

He’s just staring at me when I glance up again. “Yeah,” he says. “You. You are that special someone, Issy. You’re strong, and sensible, and courageous. I can’t take my eyes off you. Even if I wanted to, I can’t. You’re the only thing there is to look at. Everything else just fades into the background.”

I press my lips together. Afraid. That he’s lying. And not even that I’m not special. Just afraid of falling into him. Losing him. Because this… this whole situation isn’t going to end with the happily ever after. It’s just not.