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“It was a pretty bad lie,”Isaacsays because that’s who he is, and maybe some part of me has always known. “I thought you knew. I thought youhadto know. Didn’t you see the way I looked at you?”
“N-no,” I say. “Look I was…” I bite my lower lip, then release it. “I wascrying, okay? That asshole made mecry.” I hate admitting it. I hate it because I’m supposed to be stronger than that. I shouldn’t let some boy who’s probably never even touched a girl get under my skin like it’s his job.
“I know.” He reaches out, but I move faster, reaching behind me and grabbing one of the knives from the counter where I’d left them after washing them.
Of course, it’s a bread knife that I grab. Because I need my morning bagel, and this is just the knife that’s closest at hand.
Isaaclooksat it. Like he can’t decide whether to laugh or snort with derision at my choice of weapon. If I use this, I’ll have to saw at his throat a fair bit before I do any kind of real damage.
“That’s kind of pathetic,” he tells me, pushing it to the side with his finger on the edge, completely unafraid of it. Lightning flashes again, closer this time and the lights above us flicker. “I know you were crying. I would’ve killed him anyway if I’m being honest with you. But then he started talking to his friends about how he knew where you were staying. That he’d goteach you a lesson.”
“What?” I murmur, and it’s embarrassingly easy for Isaac to pull the knife from my grip as my stomach twists my insides into frigid pain. “What are you talking about?”
“He was going tohurt you. Because you embarrassed him, he was going tokillyou, probably.” As he speaks, I reach behind me again, my mind racing because I can’t remember if I put away the other knives this morning, and for some reason, my brain isn’t supplying me with the information.
Isaac’s eyes sharpen. He’s so close that I can feel his breath on my face, and as his smile wilts, my finger slides against the sharp edge of a knife, making me wince as hot pain blooms in my finger.
Isaac doesn’t look. Maybe he doesn’t have to. Either way, my fingers close around a slimmer knife, and I know this one issharp. He blinks, and I can’t tell what the look on his face is because I refuse to accept that it’s excitement.
“Don’t,” he tells me. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“You broke into my apartment and went through mytrash,” I reminded him just as softly, as if we were whispering so that the storm won’t hear us.
“I also went through your cabinets, your fridge, and some of your drawers,” Isaac tells me unabashedly. “And I wish I could tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not. Uncurl your fingers, Ari. You with a knife is sexy, but I don’t think you want to see that side of me tonight.”
Thatside of him?
I don’t listen. I twist the knife handle in my fingers and lunge toward him, my grip not as firm as I would like it, and no idea what I’ll do if I actually hit him.
Thankfully for both of us, probably, I don’t. Isaac catches my hand in his, though his expression never changes, and holds my hand and the knife between us.
“I should’ve let you hit me,” he says finally, flicking his eyes to the knife and then back to my face. “What were you going to do? Knock me out with the hilt? You weren’t hitting hard enough.” When I actually look at the knife in my hand, I realize he’s right. I would’ve had to do a lot of contortions to get the blade near his skin.
He reaches up with both hands and rearranges my fingers on the blade handle, pointing it toward him instead of at me. “There you go,” he murmurs, as if he’s trying to teach me something with his body pressed almost to mine and a knife in our hands. “Like this, all right, Ari? Pay attention.”
“Why?” I demand, hating that I sound afraid. “Are you going to teach me how to stab my own bullies?”
“Yes.” He says it so surely, so confidently, that I don’t know how to respond.
The blade comes to rest against his throat, and he meets my eyes with utter trust. “Hold it likethis. Then all you have to do is cut me.” He pulls the knife against his skin, and I gasp, watching blood welling against the blade.
But Isaac doesn’t even flinch. He does wrestle the knife from my grip a second later and pauses when he sees blood on his hand from my finger.
“Oh, Ari,” he chuckles, pulling my finger up to his lips. “Didn’t I tell you that you were going to hurt yourself?”
My stomach twists as I watch his tongue escape his lips to flick at the cut on my finger. I want to pull away because I absolutely should, but there’s something terrifyinglysexyabout Isaac holding my eyes and licking my blood from my fingers.
God, I need help.
“I’m not a child,” I hiss finally, once I can actually formulate words. “You don’t need to treat me like one.”
He pauses, looking uncertain once more, but the look fades. “I’m not,” he tells me pointedly. “Youaren’ta child. But you’ve never tried to stab someone before, either.”
While he’s notwrong, it’s definitely a weird milestone that he’s set. I tug on my hand, and he lets me pull it away, though he doesn’t move back.
“So you’re withthem, then? The…” It’s ridiculous to say what they called themselves, but Isaac grins anyway.
“The Lost Boys,” he reminds me and turns to tug his shirt up over his right hip, where I’m treated to an expanse of tanned skin and a tattooso similar to minesitting on his body.
