Page 61 of Cruel Pleasures
He blinks dryly down at me, completely unsurprised. “I could’ve told you that.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I did hear you,” I say, my temper rising. “Which is why I said excuse me. Because I’m questioning how anyone could be so… so insensitive!”
A smirk ghosts across his lips. “All I’m saying is, do we ever really know anyone? We show people the sides of ourselves we want them to see. No one ever really knows the true person we are. Not the entirety of ourselves. Nor do we want them to.”
“How can you say that to me right now? Are you saying I never knew who she was? That our friendship was some lie?”
“I’m saying you saw what she wanted you to see. And if you believe otherwise, then you’re fooling yourself.”
“This isn’t the time for philosophical bullshit. My good friend was hiding some very real trauma I like to believe she could’ve come to me about.”
“But she didn’t,” he says, shrugging. “Maybe she wasn’t as good of a friend as you believed her to be.”
“Fuck you!” I scream out of nowhere, my heart exploding in frantic, almost pained beats. Suddenly, I’m breathing hard. I’m jittery and anxious at this newfound fear I’ve never considered before.
At this possibility being spoken aloud to me.
…because if Lyra and I were never really friends, if we were never as close as I thought we were, then I’ve never had anyone. Then I’ve been more alone than I’ve ever imagined.
“Minx, you’re being irrational,” Archer says, smoothing his hand along my side. “Calm down.”
“I said fuck off! Move out of my way!” I scream, shoving at his chest.
I’m in no mood for his games. He falters half a step back. Enough room for me to slip out from under where he’s trapped me against the wall. I’m storming off before he’s barely digested what’s happened. I can tell by the tone of his voice when he calls after me.
“Sasha, come back here.”
“I thought I said fuck off!”
Vaguely, I’m aware Archer’s right. Sort of. I am being emotional right now. I am being sensitive and touchy about this subject. But if he was half of the decent guy he’s presenting himself as, he’d understand this isn’t the time for playful banter. This isn’t a moment for flirtation or that he can turn sexual.
This is my real-life best friend. This is my fucking sister.
And she’s missing. And the rest of the world presumes her dead.
He doesn’t get it. He knows nothing about how I’ve come here to find answers about what really happened to her. That I could be completely delusional, telling myself for weeks she’s still alive when she really could be gone forever.
That I’ve just uncovered a trunk of her things and learned she kept major parts of her life from me. The growing fear that, though I’ve always told myself I’m fine on my own, I’m not so fine after all.
I’m scared. Really, fucking scared.
My heart aches as I make my way into the atrium and cross the black-and-white checkered tiles. I’m so furious and upset, on the brink of tears with every blink, that I don’t even know where the hell I’m headed. Just that it’s as far away from Archer as possible.
“Sasha, slow the fuck down!” he growls from behind. He catches up with me, wrenching me back around to face him. He checks the rest of the atrium for anyone watching us. “Do you realize what kind of scene you’re making? Stop fucking screaming.”
“You think I care about people watching? I want to get out of here! I stopped caring about what these people thought a long time ago!”
It’s his turn to scowl. His grin wiped out. “You really don’t understand anything of what’s going on.”
“So make me!”
“Lower your voice!”
We’re shouting at each other. Our voices echo, reverberating around the cavernous space. His throaty and husky, and mine rising sharper in pitch. If it were any other situation, I’d probably let him whisk me off to fuck in the first private spot we found.
