The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer - Hodkin Michelle - Страница 62

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This was it. I had lost him, but was surprised to find that instead of anguish, or misery, I just felt numb.

“It’s okay.”

“I don’t know what to say.”

My voice was cold, removed when I spoke. “There’s nothing to say.”

“Just look at me, Mara.”

I raised my eyes to his. They were savage. I would have been afraid if I didn’t know better. The scariest thing in the room was me.

“I’m so, infinitely, forever sorry,” he said. His voice was empty, and my chest constricted. He shouldn’t feel guilty about this. I didn’t blame him. I shook my head.

“No, don’t shake your head,” he said. “I fucked up. Egregiously.”

The word escaped from my throat before I could stop it. “What?”

“I never should have let it get that far.”

My expression morphed into shock. “Noah, you didn’t do anything.”

“Are you joking? I tortured you. I tortured you.” There was a quiet rage in his voice. His muscles were tense and coiled; he looked like he wanted to smash something. I knew the feeling.

“You did what had to be done.”

His voice was laced with contempt. “I didn’t believe you.”

I had known that.

“Just tell me this,” I said. “Were you lying about what you could do?”

“No.”

“So you elected not to do anything?”

Noah’s expression was hard. “It was too fast. The—sound— or whatever, was different from the last time with Morales.”

“Morales?” I said dully. “You heard that?”

“I heard—something. You. You sounded wrong. But I didn’t know why or what it was or what it meant. And with Anna and Aiden, when Jamie got expelled, you were off, too, but I didn’t know what was happening. I didn’t understand it; only that he threatened you, and I wanted to break him for it. This time, tonight, wasn’t the same, and I don’t think the alligators were either.”

My mouth went dry as Noah confirmed what I’d done. He ran both of his hands over his face and back through his hair.

“There was too much going on—too much noise of everything else in the marsh. I didn’t know if they’d just disappeared, but I—I had a feeling something had happened.” He paused, and his face went still. “I’m sorry,” he said flatly.

I felt sick listening to him—my throat closed and I couldn’t breathe. I needed to get out of there. I made for Noah’s door.

“Don’t,” Noah said, crossing the room. He reached for me but I shied away. He took my hand anyway and walked me over to his bed. I acquiesced, knowing that this would be our last conversation. And as much as that hurt me, even though I knew it was necessary, I found myself unable to break away just yet. So we sat side-by-side, but I pulled my hand from his. Noah turned away.

“I thought—I thought maybe you were just seeing what was about to happen; that you were seeing things sort of like me. I thought you just felt guilty about Rachel.”

Just what my mother would say.

“I didn’t get it, and I pushed you, and then I pushed you further.”

He looked at me from underneath those lashes and his stare pierced the cavity where my heart used to be. He was furious with himself, not me. It was so wrong, so backward.

“It wasn’t your fault, Noah.” He started to speak, but I placed my fingers over his beautiful, perfect mouth, aching at the contact. “This was your first time seeing it. But it wasn’t my first time doing it. If I don’t—” I caught myself before I told him what I thought I had to do. What I did have to do. “I can’t handle seeing the look on your face the next time it happens, okay?”

Noah glared at me. “It was because of me, Mara, because of what I made you do.

“You didn’t make me kill every living thing in that room. I did that all by myself.”

“Not everything in that room.”

“What?”

“You didn’t kill everything in that room.”

“With the exception of us, I did.”

Noah laughed without amusement. “That’s it. You could have killed me. I tormented you, and you could have ended it by ending me. But you didn’t,” he said, and brushed my hair away from my face.

“You’re stronger than you know.”

His hand lingered on my cheek and I closed my eyes in anguish.

“I know we don’t know how or why this is happening to you—to us,” he said. “But we will figure it out.”

I opened my eyes and stared at him. “It’s not your responsibility.”

“I fucking know it’s not my responsibility. I want to help you.”

I inhaled sharply. “What about tomorrow? Someone’s going to wonder what killed hundreds of endangered species.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll—”

“Fix it? You’ll fix it, Noah?”

As I spoke the words, I knew that that was exactly what he thought. That despite all rationality, he did think he could fix me, like he could fix everything else.

“Is that how you see this working? I’ll screw up and you’ll take care of it, right?” I was just another problem that could be solved if only we threw enough time or practice or money at it. At me. And when the experiment failed—when I failed—and people died, Noah would blame himself, hate himself for not being able to stop it. For not being able to stop me. I wouldn’t do that to him. So I said the only thing I could.

“I don’t want your help. I don’t want you.” The words felt mutinous on my tongue. And they hit him like a slap in the face.

“You’re lying,” Noah said, his voice low and quiet.

Mine was cold and distant. “I think it would be better if I didn’t see you again.” I didn’t know where the strength to say such a thing came from, but I was grateful for it.

“Why are you doing this?” Noah said, piercing me with an icy stare.

I began to lose my composure. “You’re really asking me that question? I murdered five people.”

“By accident.”

“I wanted it.”

“God, Mara. You think you’re the only person to want bad things to happen to bad people?”

“No, but I am the only person who gets what she wants,” I said. “And Rachel, by the way, wasn’t a bad person. I loved her, and she did nothing to me, and she’s dead anyway and it’s my fault.”

“Maybe.”

I whipped around. “What? What did you just say?”

“You still don’t know if the asylum was an accident.”

“Are we back there again? Really?”

“Listen to me. Even if it wasn’t—”

“It wasn’t,” I said through clenched teeth.

“Even if it wasn’t an accident,” Noah continued, “I can warn you the next time you get close.”

My voice went low. “Just like you warned me before I killed Morales.”

“That’s not fair, and you know it. I didn’t know what was happening then. I do now. I’ll warn you the next time it happens, and you’ll stop.”

“You mean, you’ll make me stop.”

“No. It’s your choice. It’s always your choice. But maybe if you lose your focus, I can help bring you back.”

“And what if something happens and you’re not there?” I asked.

“I’ll be there.”

“But what if you’re not?”

“Then it would be my fault.”

“Exactly.”

His expression went carefully blank.

“I want a boyfriend, not a babysitter, Noah. But let’s say I agree to this plan, and you’re there but can’t stop me. You’ll blame yourself. You want that on my conscience too? Stop being so selfish.”

Noah’s jaw tensed. “No.”

“All right. Don’t. But I’m leaving.”

I stood to leave but felt Noah’s fingers on my thighs. The pressure of his grasp was feather-light on my jeans, but I was frozen.

“I’ll follow you,” he said.

I looked down at him, at his hand-stirred hair above his grave face; his lids were half-closed and heavy. Sitting on his bed, he was level with my waist. A thrill traveled along the length of my spine.

“Get off,” I said, without conviction.

The ghost of a smile touched his mouth. “You first.”

I blinked and stared at him carefully. “Well. Isn’t this a dangerous game.”

“I’m not playing.”

My nostrils flared. Noah was provoking me. On purpose, to see what I’d do. I wanted at once to smack him, and to rake my fingers through his hair and pull.

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