Page 53 of Melancholia

“You lost. Again. So let’s talk about the consequences, Nell. Because after testing me today, there really should be some.” His hand moves up to my throat once more, and his other moves to toy with the necklace he’d given me. “Don’t you think?”

“I didn’t think⁠—”

“I know you didn’t think.” The sweet understanding coupled with the condescension has my stomach twisting, hot and guilty and ashamed.

I don’t like the feeling.

I shouldn’t like it.

“Two consequences, then. One for losing, and one for testing me.” He swipes a finger over my bottom lip and pulls me even closer. “I’ll go easy on you tonight, I think. Because…” His eyes trail down my body again, like he can’t get enough of seeing me in clothes he picked out.

“Because you are you. Tomorrow, you will show me what you’re wearing before you leave your apartment. That is your first consequence.”

I don’t reply. I don’t understand this strange desire of his for control—for an entry into my life. But given that there are plenty of worse things he could ask for, I don’t think I’m going to complain.

“Deal?”

I nod, but he gives a soft ‘tsk’ with his tongue. “When I ask you a question, you will give me a verbal answer,” Amir chastises lightly. “So let us try again. Do we have a deal, little mortician?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Second.” He pauses to look at me, studying my face, my expression, and from the way his gaze dips, my mouth. “Answer me honestly. If you don’t, I’ll be disappointed, and I’ll have to think of a worse consequence.”

But he doesn’t continue until I give him one quick, shaky nod and another murmured, “Yes,” of agreement.

“When you were hiding from me, were you hoping I wouldn’t find you—or hoping I would?”

The answer is obvious, and I open my mouth to give him a quick reply. Of course I didn’t want him to find me. That would be insane.

I just need to say it.

I just need to open my mouth and⁠—

“I don’t know.”

What the fuck was that, Nell? I scream at my subconscious to figure out where I went wrong, and my eyes flick up to Amir’s gaze in the moonlight. “I didn’t mean⁠—”

“Don’t apologize.” My heart skips a beat or seven when he strokes his thumb over my lower lip. “I asked you for your honesty, and you gave it perfectly.” He cups my face in both hands, his touch soft and way too close to being perfect.

“Now, go home, Nell. Go home and sleep and when you wake up”—he leans into me until I can feel his breath on my lips—“try to remember how good my fingers felt, instead of regretting crying out for me like the perfect thing you are.”

19

Ifeel stupid.

Standing in front of the mirror hanging on the back of my apartment door, I feel like I’m a teenager again.

Just without the mental hospital stay.

After not running my errands the day before. I know they really can’t wait another day. But I also know that I lost and accepted the consequences of the game Amir made me play.

Tugging on the plaid flannel skirt, I stare at myself and wonder why I’m doing this. I could go out wearing a hoodie and jeans, and there’s nothing he could say about it.

I shouldn’t want to look good for the man tormenting me.

My fingers run along the flannel, picking through the purple and black lines of the skirt with thoughtful slowness. The shirt I’m wearing isn’t nearly as ornate or nice as the sweater Amir bought me, but it’s still one of my favorites. And shows off what little assets I’ve got going for me up top. The black fabric clings to my frame, and the V of the neckline dips between my breasts to show my pale skin.

And better yet, it frames the fox jawbone necklace he gave me as if it were made to do so, and not like it’s a complete coincidence that it worked out so well. My hand moves to slide along the black smoothness of the bone, then, like I’ve been doing more and more lately, I run my thumb over the moonstone. With my hair up in a bun and the same boots I wore last night, I look…not as great as I did in the clothes he bought me.