Page 93 of The Code of You

Finally. The right question.

"I want your soul.” It was the raw and unfiltered truth. I wanted everything from her.

She blinked. Her body stirred, and it seemed her mind couldn’t quite grasp my words. "What?” She didn’t understand yet, still thought it was only sex. She had no idea how deep my hunger reached.

I lifted my head slightly and looked at her. "I don’t want only your body. I want to know who you are when you don’t have to perform anymore.”

She swallowed. A human wouldn’t have noticed. I did.

"I want your truth. Your dreams. Your memories. The thoughts you say to no one. I want to know what you’re running from. And what stops you. What makes you weak. What you hate about yourself.”

My words hit something vital. I saw it in her eyes—the panic of a woman who has been truly seen. She stared at me. Her breathing went shallow. Her pupils widened as the full weight of my words reached her.

"I want your soul, Pandora. Because I know you give it to no one. And because I want to be the first one to hold it.”

She trembled. I could hear her thinking. Not literally—but her micro-reactions were telling. The slight twitch at the corner of her mouth. The slight flare of her nostrils. I knew her better than she knew herself. In this exact moment she was asking herself what it would take to truly belong to someone. Now she knew.

But something in her was fighting it. She turned away from me and stared at the ceiling. Her hands clawed at the sheet. "You will never have it.”

Silence. Then I leaned over her. My breath grazed her ear. "Yes, I will,” I whispered. "I’ve calculated it. In exactly fifty-four days and thirteen hours, you will tell me you love me.”

She would never understand how I’d arrived at that number. The patterns in her glances, the deviations in her breathing, the unconscious gestures. All of it added up to a number. An unavoidable truth.

Her breath caught. Her body tensed. I knew exactly what she was thinking: That she would never love me. That I frightened her with my need for control, my cruelty. And yet her heart was beating faster, because a small part of her was afraid I might be right. She pulled the blanket over her naked body and turned toward the wall.

I watched her, waiting.

Chapter 24

Pandora

A corridor. White walls stretching impossibly high. The tiles beneath my feet gleamed, and the only sound was the echo of my own footsteps. I was wearing a dress with a starched collar that scratched at my neck. At the far end was the door to the study. My father stood at the window, arms folded behind his back. He said nothing, so I stepped closer. He didn’t turn.

"I need to work, Pandora,” he said.

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. Suddenly, I was in the living room. My mother sat on the sofa, a notepad in her hand. She was writing formulas without looking up.

"What do you want?” she asked.

"Will you play with me?”

"Pandora, this is important.”

I stood in the doorway. She glanced up briefly. Her eyes were gray. "Have some tea,” she said.

I went to my room. The door closed behind me, and I sat on the bed where the duvet was pulled perfectly taut. I didn’t dare wrinkle it. Something in me wanted to cry, but that wasn’t allowed. I counted backward from one hundred, and at seventy it got better.

Then the voices came.

"Hard work pays off,” said my father.

"Don’t be so emotional,” said my mother.

The corridor returned. The walls were narrower. I ran, but everything contracted. The floor swayed. And then I fell.

I screamed.

"Pandora.” A voice broke through the falling, through the collapsing walls. It was gentle and steadying. "Pandora, wake up.”