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“Peachy,” I murmured back, biting the inside of my cheek.

“Good.”

“And you?”

“I've had worse nights.”

“Good,” I said, and once again we fell back into silence. The tension was so thick, I could almost taste it. I just didn't know what we were supposed to do, or where we could go from here.

“Do—”

“I—” we both spoke at the same time.

“Go ahead,” he offered.

“No, go on. I don't know what I was going to say, anyway.”

“I was just going to ask if you wanted to sit down.”

“Oh. No. I'm good. Thanks.”

Jesus fucking Christ, this was painful.

“Bee is okay,” I said, latching on to the one topic we never disagreed on. “She's running rings around my mother.”

“Your mother is still here?” He asked in surprise. I mentally cringed as I realised I had made the opening move to discussing the argument.

“Yeah. We didn't have time to leave before the alarm was raised. We thought it best she stay here for her own protection.”

“But you were planning on leaving?”

“That's what you told me to do.”

“But is it what you were planning?”

“Of course,” I said, throwing my head back and finally looking at him. “It's what I've always wanted. You know I've never wanted to be here.”

“Still?”

“What could possibly have changed my mind?”

“How about the fact that we were getting along before that last argument? We found common ground, and we were working on our relationship?”

“Were we? Or were we both pretending to be things we weren’t? Things we thought the other person wanted us to be?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

I raised one shoulder in a shrug. “I just know I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

“When have I ever asked you to pretend? The fact of the matter is, I kidnapped you without knowing a thing about you. I was prepared to accept whatever version of yourself you gave to me.”

“No. You were prepared to accept the version of me you assumed I was.”

“I’m not having this argument. If that’s not good enough, how about the fact that you were wrong about Macbeth?”

“Macbeth was an excuse. A scapegoat. We both know it. I'd have latched on to anything if it meant my escape.”

“You still think you need to escape?” he asked, a flash of hurt in his eyes.

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