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He hangs his head, begins to explain:
“I got recruited right off the army. I had only seen pictures of you before I came to Vermont. I went through my guard training in Asteria,” I shiver when he mentions my homeland. He notices, looks away. “But I saw you for the first time here, on campus. I was not prepared for this magnetic thing you have… I don’t know if you are even aware of it, but looking at your photo, I didn’t think you were anything more than a pretty girl. But when I saw you in person…” He tugs at his neck again. The skin is getting red and irritated. His cheeks are aflame. “Are you kidding me? I have done nothing but want you since you showed up at my dorm. Do you know how hard it is to concentrate, to…?” His voice trails off.
Yeah, right. I bet it was hard to keep all his lies straight. He did call me ‘pretty’ and ‘magnetic’, but I bet he’d say anything to keep me with him right now. Well, I’m not going to run away, I’m too scared to do that, but I’m not going to start believing him now.
“Well, then, why didn’t you want me?” I ask, teeth chattering.
He brings a hand to my back, trying to still my shaking. The water ripples around my knees.
“I did…” he bites his lip and lets his head fall back, shutting his eyes. His Adam’s apple juts up at a sharp angle. “Stopping before things got too far was the hardest thing I’ve done in my life. It was supposed to be a sacrifice,” he says in a whisper, as if he’s talking to himself. “It was supposed to be the one good, selfless thing I did. It was supposed to be the right thing.”
“Then why did it feel so sucky?”
He laughs. “For you too, huh?”
I push his hand away. “At the time, yes, but now, I’m over it, somehow,” I say. “Now I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.” He laughs louder. Very funny, indeed. But there’s something harsh, an edge to his voice as he laughs, and his laughter ends up being something else. Not laughter at all. “I don’t sleep with my bodyguards. That was why you didn’t do it, right?”
I can’t let this go. I just need him to say the words. To say the truth.
But instead, he just says: “No.”
“No? That’s all you are going to say?”
“No, it wasn’t because I’m hired as your guard, Olivia.” His eyes find me, and I forget what I was going to say.
“Why then?”
“It was because I couldn’t—” he visibly stops himself from continuing. He swallows brokenly. “I can’t tell you right now, ok?” He coughs, and the sounds comes out rough and scary. “Give me a minute, and I promise I’ll explain myself. I owe it to you.”
“You are lying,” I say, and tears are threatening, but I swear I won’t cry.
I won’t.
He purses his lips. Another one of his mannerisms I recognize. My blood runs cold, because pursing his lips? It means he’s agreeing.
Dammit.
“Marco,” I try. “Look at me. It’s me. Why did that man shoot you in cold blood? Who was he? Who is after me? What do you know?” Silence. “Tell me the truth,” I plead. “Is there something so weak, so horrible about me that makes people think I can’t be trusted with the truth? That makes everyone lie to me?” I’m kind of screaming by the end, but I don’t care.
My teeth are chattering so badly I can barely get the words out—I’m holding back sobs too, which doesn’t help, but let’s pretend that it’s the shivering that makes my voice shake for now.
Marco swears, and runs into the other room to grab a towel, and wraps it around my shoulders, even though its bottom gets soaked. He begins to rub my arms up and down, a fierce look of concentration on his face. His skin is still wet, and looks marble-cold.
“Look at me,” I ask him again.
He does not.
“I lied to you,” he says.
“Yes, you did.”
“Why aren’t you mad at me?” he murmurs.
“I am.”
His hands go still on my arms. He looks down at me, expectantly. What is he waiting for? For me to scream? To cry? To run away? I tried all of that, and guess what? The lying didn’t stop. I am numb. I am swimming in a sea of lies. I am suffocated in it. There is no escape; I won’t even try.
I just want to get into warm, dry clothes and makeup and take one normal breath before driving back to uni to face the music. My dad has probably already sent a plane to take me straight home. So be it. I’m sick of being here, in gorgeous Vermont with these cinematic moments that mean squat.
