Total pages in book: 184
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 186756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 934(@200wpm)___ 747(@250wpm)___ 623(@300wpm)
“There is.”
“I have you saved as Asshole.”
I don’t.
I never got around to it for some reason.
He’s still my Wildfire Thorn.
His lips twitch. “Even if you hadn’t saved me as Asshole, you’d still know.”
I wish I could deny it.
But I don’t have secrets from him, unfortunately, like I have from the rest of the world. Which is kinda ironic that he knows me more than my own boyfriend does, but it is what it is.
I sigh. “Why are you calling me?”
He studies me for a few seconds. “Because you need my help.”
“What?”
“You have your play tomorrow,” he informs me like I don’t know. “And from what I’ve gathered, you’re nervous.”
I stare at the screen for a couple of seconds. “How do you… How do you know?”
“Because I got your text.”
“You got my text?”
“I have his phone,” he explains simply.
“You have his phone.”
“Actually, I’ve had his phone for the past few weeks,” he explains again and this time even more simply.
“You have…”
“Which is how I know that you’ve been practicing for your big debut for the last couple of months,” he keeps going, his face blank and his expression cool. “And you’ve got the lead role. I also know you’re helping with the costumes, the stage design. You’ve had a hand in the script writing too. And all of this is because your department hasn’t had a lot of interest or funding. There’s one faculty, hardly any students. If it weren’t for your and your classmates’ efforts, they’d shut down the department.”
All throughout his talking, his tone has been calm. His tone didn’t have a tone.
But my heart was slowly speeding up in my chest. My blood was slowly speeding up in my veins too. To the point where now my heartbeats are deafening, and my blood is roaring. My skin is so hot in the middle of my chilly room that I’m sweating.
Still when I speak, I do it without screaming. “If… If you have had his phone for the past several weeks, then… H-how is it that I’ve been talking to him?”
His gaze is steady, unhurried and calm. “You haven’t been.”
“I… I’m sorry?”
“It was me.” Then he repeats it in case I didn’t get it the first time, “It has been me.”
And he’s right because I don’t get it.
Not at first.
Not even after five beats of silence.
On the sixth beat, though, I say, “Y-you.”
“Yes.”
“So you’ve been…” I stop to take a breath; it’s like I’m having to consciously remind myself to breathe. “You’ve been pretending to be him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I… I couldn’t not,” he says, looking into my eyes. “Because when I found his phone, I had every intention of giving it back, but then I saw your name flashing on the screen and it was like… a switch flipped. Something happened. Something I don’t know how to explain. Something rearranged itself inside me. And I…”
“And you what?” I ask, looking back into his eyes.
“And after a year of stopping myself, keeping myself in check, keeping myself contained, I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop myself from bursting out. From reaching back out,” he says after a few seconds of pondering. As if he’s coming to this conclusion himself right now. “From getting to touch you somehow. From getting to know you. Even from hundreds of miles away. Even through a screen and under the guise of him.”
I keep staring at him for a few seconds more.
I keep staring and staring.
I study his fever dream of a face and that messy dark hair. I study the jut of his Adam’s apple and the veins on his throat. The peek of his collarbone. I study how unaffected he appears, how calm while confessing his secrets. Recounting his crimes.
I believe him.
I believe him except...
When I’m done, I go back to his eyes and try to sound just as unaffected as him. “You couldn’t stop yourself from getting to know me.”
His eyes rove over my face before he replies, “No.”
“Me,” I emphasize because I don’t want there to be any confusion.
“You,” he confirms.
“So…” I take a deep breath. “Does that mean you care about me?”
That gives him pause. “I… I’m…”
He can’t say it, can he?
That liar.
That fucking asshole.
That stupid fucking asshole who thinks I’m stupid.
I’m the stupidest, most foolish girl he’s ever met.
Who will believe everything he just said.
Because I want this to be true so badly, don’t I? I want this twisted thing to be true so fucking badly that he’s mocking me. He’s being condescending to me like he always is.
“About the girl who’s tortured you for over a year,” I begin.
“That’s—”
“The girl you don’t even like. You called me a virus,” I continue.
His jaw tenses. “You—”
“You also called me a plane crash,” I cut him off, my voice rising.
His jaw tenses further. “I—”
“Oh, and on top of all that, you’re blackmailing me. All because you could get one night from me. Just one night. Where you could fuck me and leave me as sloppy seconds for your twin brother. That’s not getting to know me, Stellan. That’s the opposite of getting to know me. That’s saying that you don’t respect me enough to get to know me. You don’t care about me enough to get to know me. That’s saying that all I’m good for is spreading my legs for you and—”