Page 130 of Ghosted

“You don’t get to keep using that against me,” she says. “I was angry. I was stupid. I wanted one bad choice that belonged to me, and I picked the worst possible one. Congratulations.”

“Well shit. Way to make a guy sound cheap.”

“You are.”

I grin even though my cheek still stings. “Fuck, that’s mean.”

“That’s not mean, Johnny. Mean is what you do when you’re bored.” Her eyes stay locked on mine, bright with disgust. “You’re fucking sick. A goddamn psychopath who should be chained up and studied.”

I click my tongue, smiling wider. “Careful, pretty thing. Sounds a little like foreplay when you say it all pissed off.”

“Don’t.”

“What?” I tilt my head, amused. “You’re the one talking about me chained up, pretty thing. Interesting choice, considering the last time chains were involved, you weren’t exactly this mouthy.”

Her face changes.

Anger first.

Then hurt.

Real hurt, the kind that doesn’t flare pretty. The kind that sits heavy behind her eyes and makes her look at me like I’m something rotten she finally stopped mistaking for interesting.

“Don’t you dare twist this into that,” she says, voice shaking. “You killed my fucking pets, Johnny. My harmless, tiny, stupid little pet crabs. You took the only things in my apartment that couldn’t hurt anyone, cooked them like it was some sick joke, and handed them to me because you wanted to watch my face when I figured it out.”

My smile thins.

“They were crabs.”

“They were mine.” Her voice cracks on the word, and she hates it. I can see that too. “That’s what made it fun for you, right? Not that they mattered to anyone else. Not that it made sense. Just that they mattered to me.”

I say nothing.

She steps closer, disgust cutting through the fear now. “You didn’t do it because you’re dark or dangerous or whatever bullshit you tell yourself when you look in the mirror. You did it because you’re empty, and you wanted to prove you could make even the softest part of my life feel unsafe.”

Well fuck. Smarter than she looks.

My mouth curves anyway, slower this time. Meaner.

“Careful,” I say. “You’re going to hurt my feelings.”

Her eyes harden. “Good.”

“It was funny,” I say.

“No.” Her voice drops. “It was fucking pathetic. Just like you.”

That one lands wrong.

My eyes narrow.

Alice sees it, and instead of getting scared, she gets steadier. “You hurt tiny, defenseless things because you couldn’t stand that I cared about something that had nothing to do with you. That isn’t dark. It isn’t clever. It’s empty. Fucking sad.”

Empty.

Fuck that word.

Sick, I can use. Evil, I can wear. Monster, I can smile at. Empty makes me sound like nothing, and nothing is not what I am.