Page 31 of Daring You

“It’s disgusting, how quick you and your boytoy want to jump on this trial. These people didn’t just die, Astor. They were tortured. Mercilessly. And here you are, wanting to make money off their killers.”

My jaw drops. Actually unhinges.

“How dare you say those things to me?” I manage to say.

“Because they’re exactly what you’re aiming for right now. Look at the crime scene pictures, Astor, really look at them, and then tell me you’re surprised I think this about you.”

I’m breathing—I think. I’d have to be, to continue to be alive and not pass out. It’s the way he’s perceiving me that’s making it hard. It was bad enough that he saw me as nothing six years ago, after touching all of me and coming up empty. But now, for him to stand here and regard my presence with disgust, it angers, because now I’m wishing he’d go back to lumping me in with how he feels about plain yogurt at room temperature.

“I’d expect this from your guy Mike,” he continues, and I use this time to collect the pieces of my heart and hide them better, “since I often get him confused with a gecko, but you? You?”

Finally, it hits. “This is about Mike, isn’t it? Why do you hate him so much? Why are you refusing to let me be happy?”

The last part….oh, God, I didn’t mean to say it. Ben’s eyelids twitch like he didn’t want to hear it.

“I don’t hate that douchebag,” Ben says. “I’d actually have to feel something for him to hate him. I’m trying to protect you. To prevent you from turning into—”

“Except, you’d have to feel something in order to want to protect me,” I throw back, then point at his chest. “I don’t know what your game is or why you want to paint me out as some bloodsucking lawyer, other than to improve your all-American image somehow. Be the face of conquering tragedy. If anything’s despicable, it’s you, trying to profit off this family’s trauma. I’m in this because it’s my job, it’s called justice, and everyone deserves a fair trial, innocent or guilty. Unless you’d prefer to go back to mob lynching?”

Ben thins his lips. My poking him doesn’t throw him off balance in the least.

“I know it’s hard avoid each other, considering your Locke’s best friend,” I continue, “but it should be easy to keep your nose out of my business.”

I give him one last shove, and he lets me throw him back, just slightly.

“Stay out of my life, Ben!” I say, and I’m shocked to feel my eyes go hot.

He says nothing as I back away, and when I turn on my heel, I repeat in a voice filled with desolate grit, “Stay out of my fucking life.”

The incoming roar of the train, and the accompanying hot wind through the tunnel, blows anything Ben might’ve wanted to respond with well away from my ears.

I don’t turn back as the train rumbles to a stop on its tracks.

I don’t look at him as the doors slide open and start my travels far away from Ben.

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