Page 78 of Wicked Games

I get to the top of the basement stairs. There’s a light on at the bottom, but everything else is in shadow. Television noises float up. I swallow, then take a deep breath.

Courage, Margo.

I descend.

He’s on the bed. I can make out his shape in the dimly lit room, but he doesn’t react to my appearance. I steel myself and creep closer and closer. Blueish light from the TV is the only source of illumination, and it flickers constantly with a movie’s action sequence.

My heart pounds against my ribs. I inch closer, until he’s more than just a blob of shadow. He’s on his stomach, his head turned away. Sleeping? He’s not wearing a shirt, but it’s hard to make out details in this light.

What happened to you?

I’m afraid to touch him, but I do it anyway. I put my hand on his shoulder, as gently as I can.

He reacts like I hoped he wouldn’t.

He comes alive, twisting and grabbing my arm. He hauls me over him and pins me to the mattress between him and the wall. He grips my wrists with an iron hold.

“Caleb.”

His eyes are open but unseeing, and his whole body is tense. Tremors run through him. He doesn’t seeme, just whatever nightmare he’s trapped in.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. I rise and put my forehead to his. “Come back to me.”

He said those same words to me.Come back. Earth to Margo.

Now it’s him who needs to be pulled away from his nightmares.

I don’t mind the harshness of his grip. I don’t mind any of it. I breathe and wait, keeping my forehead to his.

“It’s okay,” I repeat. “It’s just me.”

Slowly, he crawls out of the darkness. He blinks rapidly, gaze moving from my lips to my nose to my eyes. “Margo. What are you doing here?”

I manage to smile. “I came to check on you.”

He leans away, wincing. His hands slide off my wrists.

I stay where I am. Part of me is still in shock. That whole ordeal took a minute at most, but it feels like we were in that position for a lifetime.

“You’re hurt.”

He forces himself up, but he hobbles. His hand presses to his side, and he limps to the television. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?”

He turns it off, and the room goes dark. I sense him moving past me, and the light in the bathroom comes on. He’s already in it, the door swinging shut. Not all the way—a crack allows a slice of light to cross the basement.

I scramble out of bed. “Why shouldn’t I be here, Caleb?”

“I wanted the Bryans to kick you out,” he calls through the door.

I flinch, but he’s not done.

“I wanted your life to be ruined. To make you fall in love just to squash it—your heart—like you did to me.”

I don’t believe it. For once, I canhearthe liar in him. Every word that falls from his mouth is a goddamn lie. And enough is enough.

“You’re mad that you want me.” I shove the bathroom door open and stop dead.

---