Page 95 of Snitches and Serpents

“Because you’re mine.”

The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Elle’s mouth drops open, and her hand falls back down to her side, as she stares at me with wide eyes.

Fuck. I shouldn’t have said that. That didn’t come out right.

“Because you’re mine to torment,” I quickly amend it to. “Mine to threaten. No one else’s.”

Her face takes on an expression that I can’t quite read. Tilting her head to the side, she holds my gaze with soft eyes. “I meant what I said earlier. I really am sorry. I’m sorry that I was a stupid rich girl who didn’t understand that my words had devastating consequences.”

My chest constricts as another sharp jab of pain pulses through me.

Because I can tell that she means it. She truly means every word.

I can’t get my tongue to work, so I only manage a nod in reply.

A small smile blows across her face briefly.

Indecision flashes through me.

Maybe this is enough. Maybe she has suffered enough now. She has paid for what she did. Not in the way I expected but still in several different ways. And she has apologized. Maybe my vendetta is finished now.

“You’ve gotten me arrested once,” I begin. “And I’ve gotten you arrested three times. Plus a kidnapping. I think it might be time to offer a truce.”

She jerks back a little in surprise. Blinking, she stares up at me. “You’re offering me a truce?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

My mind circles through the memories of what she looked like in her dorm room when her father told her that she was a disappointing failure who would be disowned unless she restored her perfect image. Emotions twist inside me like snakes.

“Because if I say that I know what it’s like to live underneath a mountain of pressure and to hide behind masks, you also know exactly what I’m talking about,” I reply at last. My gaze remains locked firmly on hers. “Don’t you?”

Another pulse of shock crackles across her features, and her mouth drops open. She doesn’t know that I overheard her conversation with her dad the other day, so she has no idea that I know that she grew up feeling almost the exact same thing as me.

That stunned expression remains on her face as she at last presses out, “Yes.”

I nod. “I figured as much.”

“But… how did you?—”

“Do you want the truce or not?” I interrupt, because my heart has started to act strangely and I need to get the hell out of here.

She flinches at my hard tone, but then nods desperately. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Good. Then we’re done. You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. We’ll both just continue on with our lives as if we had never had the misfortune of knowing each other in the first place.”

It must be my imagination, but I could’ve sworn that she almost looked a little disappointed for a second. But then she just lowers her gaze and nods.

An overwhelming urge to place my fingers under her chin and tilt her head back up flashes through me with such intensity that my hand is already halfway there before I realize what I’m doing.

Yanking my hand back down, I spin on my heel and simply stride away instead.

I need to leave before I do something that I will regret.

Because it doesn’t matter that Elle understands me in ways that few others do. It doesn’t matter that she understands what it’s like to always have to perform perfectly. It doesn’t matter that she understands what it’s like to constantly have to hide parts of yourself underneath masks suited for a specific audience. Doesn’t matter that she understands exactly what it’s like to feel trapped. What it’s like to not even have control over your own life. And it certainly doesn’t matter that I feel drawn to her like a moth to a flame. That my body craves her. That my soul craves her.

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