Page 77 of The Same Backward as Forward
I turn so that my lips nearly touch her ear. “Isn’t it about time for another grocery run?”
One thing about me: I like winning.
One thing about Hannah: She’s a sore loser. Finally sick of my bullshit, she dumps a bag of lemons on the mattress—and on me.
And all I can think is:Let the games begin again.
I put my lemons to use. For so long, I was nothing but pain, and now, I amwant.
I want drugs.
I want Hannah.
Once upon a time, my agony recognized hers. Now I want her mind to recognize mine. So I write her message after message in invisible ink and wait for her to notice that the pages always smell faintly of lemon.
It takes the most devious paper cube I can devise for her to figure it out. As soon as she has—the second she steps through the door—I know.
“Took you long enough.” My lips curve.
“Very funny.”
I pretend that’s a compliment. “Lemon juice,” I declare grandly.
“Stand up.” My burns have improved enough that General Hannah has turned her attention to other concerns—none of which involve the many varieties of invisible ink.
“Minim,” I say, reciting one of the words I wrote in lemon juice on the inside of the devilish cube Iknewshe would be driven to unfold, “a single drop of liquid—such as bourbon.”
Thatshe still has not brought me.
“Murdrum, the murder of an unknown person,” I continue. “Apropos, is it not?”
“It’s about to be,” she mutters.
“Andaibohphobia,” I finish with a flourish—the last of the three words I wrote in invisible scrawl on the inside of that paper cube. “A fear of palindromes.”
“You made that up,” she accuses.
“Did not.”
“You’re wasting my time.” That accusation has more weight. “Stand up.”
This time I obey, but she really should know by now that I’m at my most dangerous when I am obliging. Her arms slide under mine, her fingers curling around my elbows and mine around her wrist.
I do not enjoy needing the help—but her touch, I will take.
“Try taking a step.”
To keep her touching me, I do. My toe drags, catching the floor. “Grace and beauty was he,” I drawl. There is horror in being trapped in this body. Intryingand falling short.
You did this to yourself, a voice whispers from somewhere in my mind.
“It’s the head injury.” Hannah goes to lower me back down, but I won’t let her. When she tells me I can have a break, I ignore her. Strength, understated and real, is the language that Hannah the Same Backward as Forward speaks, whether she recognizes that fact or not.
“Show me what’s in your pocket,” I propose, “and I’ll humble myself by trying again.”
That I know there’s something in there takes Hannah by surprise. After some haggling—and my agreement to be a good patient, to sit andrest—she takes me up on my deal, removing a small metal object from her pocket.
The moment I see it, my body betrays me. Lungs. Heart. Throat. Freezing, pounding, tightening.“Where did you get that?”
