Page 13 of A Sweet Destruction

Now, that all could have been a lie. I had to comb through every single memory over the last eight years, particularly those early three, to see what the fuck I’d been so blind to.

What was so terrible that Esme had to pop pills every morning just so she could stand to be around me.

And to have that happen for five years. Five years longer than it fucking should have.

The anger nudged up against my sanity again, curling its fist around it and threatening to rip control away from me. I batted the urge away, moving after Esme on quick legs. I yanked the flap of the tent away and was immediately greeted by a sweatshirt to the face.

“There. Take your sweatshirt back,” Esme shot at me, her voice in a near yell.

She’d taken it a few days back, and when I’d seen it on her…something weird happened, like there was a force knocking at the back of my mind.

I couldn’t pay much attention that thought, because apparently, my body had decided it had enough of being controlled by my mind and was doing its own thing. My hand wouldn’t move from its hold on the sweatshirt, keeping it pressed to my face.

I was breathing heavier than normal, raking in deep pulls of air, tinged with Esme’s scent.

Flowers and musk like I expected, but…sweet mother of God…this was—I hadn’t—

“Are you hiding from me?” Esme said, and I felt her hand pull on the sweatshirt so she could get a view of my face. Notably, she went for the cotton, rather than my hand.

I pulled it out of her grasp with the force of a child fighting for their favorite toy.

That sweatshirt was mine before, and it was sure as shit mine now. For reasons I could not really explain.

“I think it’s you who has been hiding from me,” I said, looking down at her. She was tall, both of us blending in easily with what was common for Muli. Even then, I still had several inches of advantage on her.

I would use them, especially when I desperately needed to regain the upper hand. I would use it to stare at her, evaluate her like she had to me, figure out who she was. Because clearly, I didn’t know her at all.

Esme’s face fell, first into something sad, then quickly into anger. “I wasn’t hiding,” she defended, releasing the sweatshirt back into my hold, then taking several, measured steps away from me.

“I thought you were being honest now?” I asked, shocked at how my tone came out, almost…teasing. I could not remember the last time I’d used a tone like that. Probably never.

I watched as rage flooded Esme’s eyes so fast, it looked like they turned to molten amber. I watched as the anger stole her composure. “You do not,” she broke off with a heaving breath, her lower lip vibrating with the force of it, “Get to pull that tone with me.”

It wasn’t my harshness that sent her over the edge, it was the teasing. Well. That was…

“And how do you want me to be?” I snapped. “You’ve clearly been the one with all the information, so please, tell me how you want this to go.” There was more truth in the statement than I cared to admit. I didn’t know a world where we weren’t the exception to the rule, weren’t the ones that everyone marveled at for resisting the Bond. She did.

“I told you,” Esme said, her voice stinging like the snap of an elastic on skin. “I want you to go back to ignoring me.” Even though her tone was combative, her arms crossed defensively over her chest, I could see her fingers sneaking out from under the curve of her elbow, fiddling with a piece of hair.

See, you never ignored her, I thought, though it came through like I was talking to myself rather than just thinking it.

I was too busy focusing on the truth of that statement. I did fucking know her. I might not have understood her—clearly—but I knew her.

I knew how to press her buttons at least. And shit, if there was anything that got people to start randomly spouting the truth, it was irritation. I wasn’t above using subversive methods to learn more, especially when my opponent was the most skilled liar I knew.

“Come on, Esme, sweetheart. Be nice and explain.” Esme jerked back, like I expected. Using that endearment had been a low blow, but necessary.

Esme breathed in, seething. She was fighting with something internally, making me wait in anticipation until she finally decided what she was going to do. She shook her head, closing her eyes for a beat. For a precious second, I thought I had her. I thought she’d give me an insight into what she was feeling. The story behind those precious first words she spoke to me. It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?

Just as fast as that opening came, it left. Tension sprang back into her body, locking her limbs tight and pulling her mouth into a thin line. A feat, really, forcing the full pout of her lips to disappear completely.

And yet, Esme managed it. Managed to make me feel like a sorry fool in the face of how quickly she shut me out. Not that I’d ever been open, that much had been made clear.

Clearly, I was right in thinking I’d have to resort to somewhat nefarious methods to learn what I wanted. What I needed to know. There was a reason Esme and I were such a horribly productive pair. We both didn’t know when to stop. Didn’t care all that much about moral codes so long as it wasn’t hurting the innocent.

But then again, when was war ever truly without its innocent victims? We’d tried our best, done a pretty good job of it.

Hell, even our cover stories in Pax were focused on twisting war into something that could at least have some benefit. Running the inter-planet black market was exactly that.