Page 31 of The Woman I’ve Become

He tilts his head, his expression still a bit miffed no matter that I’ve made perfect sense. “Don’t be angry with Acacia. She meant well.”

“I’m sure she did.” Not.

Phillip throws up his hands. “Why do I feel as if you’re dismissing me like a nonessential employee?”

Rick shifts uncomfortably. The conversation is growing far too personal for him. Too bad. He visited the evening before last. He could have told Phillip I was fine instead of charging in here like the cavalry.

“Phillip is worried about you,” he interjects, his hands on his hips. “We both are. He’s right in that the article has resurrected a lot of anxiety at a time when you don’t need the added stressor.”

I clap my hands. “Thank you, Agent Howard, for your keen analysis.” I look to Phillip. “He’s right. I do not need any additional stressors. This”—I look from one man to the other—“is very stressful.”

Phillip scrubs a hand over his jaw. “You know”—he shakes a finger accusingly at me—“you always behave this way when you’re here. It’s as if being in this house turns you into a different person. One I don’t even know.”

I laugh out loud. Can’t help myself. “Please, Phillip, I just need to relax. To not think about how other people feel or what they require. I need to focus on me. Is that too much to ask?”

His shoulders sag, and he exhales a big breath. “Okay. Okay. I didn’t come here to argue. I came here to ensure you’re all right.”

Someone from my past is making me initiate steps I would rather not take. Otherwise I am perfectly all right. Except for having been drugged. This is a far more palatable possibility than the idea that I am losing control of myself. That whole paranoia scene the night before last was over the top. The long, deep sleep, equally strange. Drugs. Had to be.

Nothing like that will happen again. I will not allow my guard to drop.

“I will, of course, let you know if I am ever not all right. I promise.” I sigh and sit down beside him. “Look, your rushing here like this makes me feel guilty because I know what you need to be doing. Taking care of me is not what you have to do right now. You have to win an election.”

He reaches for my hand, gives it a squeeze. “As long as you’re okay. That’s all that matters.”

That one merits a laugh, too, but I don’t want to get him riled up again. “I am. I promise, and I’m so sorry I was testy about you coming to check on me. I’m glad you came. Both of you,” I say to Rick. No need to ruffle his feathers, either—at least not yet.

I often wonder if lying is an essential part to some degree in all relationships. Or is it just me?

“I can stay,” Phillip ventures. “I can cancel the next few days if you need me.”

The worried face he pulls off almost looks sincere. Or maybe it is. I really can’t say anymore.

“No.” I give a firm shake of my head. “Go back to the city and take this campaign to the next level. I’m looking forward to that win.”

After hugs and more reassurances, Phillip goes to say goodbye to Olivia.

“Julia,” Rick says when it’s just the two of us, “please call me if you need anything at all. As I told you, I’m happy to come over. I’m only a few miles away.”

I nod and promise that I will. It’s one of those little white lies necessary for getting him out of here.

I watch the two leave in their respective vehicles. Part of me worries that I should have sent Olivia with her father. But somehow I couldn’t force out the words. Perhaps anger and frustration overrode my reasoning. Or maybe I need to think on this a little more. See how my day goes.

But what if today is the one where everything heads south?

No borrowing trouble.

“I’m really sorry, Julia.” Acacia comes up beside me at the window. “I didn’t mean to cause any problems. I was just worried about you.”

I turn to her and smile reassuringly. She expects this.

There are certain emotions that the average sociopath rarely has the ability to fake with any degree of success. Guilt is one of them. Psychopaths, on the other hand, are quite adept at faking it.

Acacia’s excuse is that she wanted to help, and now she shows a proper reaction of guilt that her attempt didn’t work out as expected. Just another of her masks. It’s that one little thing that makes all the difference in defining her personality.

I know this well. A psychopath feels no guilt, no remorse or other emotion whatsoever. Any reaction portrayed is practiced, a show for onlookers. I have a great deal of experience with psychopaths. I call them the “pretenders” because that’s what they do. It is all they can do where emotions are concerned—put on a mask to relate what they cannot feel.

Some do it particularly well—pretend, that is. At least until they’re caught. Once they know you know, everything changes.