"So, you're not telling me any more?" I encourage, unable to hide the impatience in my voice.
"Not right now," he says.
I huff. "Maybe I should just ask Lailah. It's obvious thatsheknows."
I don't even try to suppress the accusation in my words, but it still satisfies me to see him react to it. He appears startled by my statement when he turns to face me.
"Are you jealous now?" he asks. "Is that it? Because I shared more with her than I'm sharing with you?"
My breath hikes and eyes widen, and it feels as if he caught me doing—or thinking—something inappropriate. Maybe he did.
Jealous? Me? Why would I be jealous? For that to happen, I would have to feel something for him. And that is just absurd. Right?
I let out a helpless chuckle, doing my best to look as if his evaluation of my response is completely off.
"Jealous?" I repeat, shaking my head. "Don't be so full of yourself, Nate. Why would I bejealous? I know she's your ex and there was something between you guys, but... why would I care about that?" I laugh again nervously.
"Who gave you that idea?"
"What idea?"
"That there was ever anything between Lailah and me," he elaborates. "Nothing ever happened between us, and she's certainly not my ex."
"Oh," I respond, puzzled. "I just thought-"
"Don't think," he snaps. "Don't assume."
I frown at him. He waves me off in such a rude way that I can't help but think that I may be correct, and that he is indeed denying the truth to me. Why else would he be so angry and insistent?
"I'll admit there was a time when I wanted... when I wanted more from her," he adds, as is if he could hear my thoughts. "But—luckily, I must say—it never turned into something. It would have been a stupid idea and made things unnecessarily complicated. It's a good thing she was such a promiscuous girl, always too busy flirting and playing with any guy dumb enough to be wrapped around her finger. Thank God I was never one of them, despite a moment of weakness."
He takes in a deep breath, looking almost exhausted just from telling me this. It's obvious that the memory still haunts him, that he's deeply unsettled by the things that happened back then.
The reason, though, is not obvious to me.
Does he still have feelings for Lailah? Or is he regretting his own alleged weakness back then?
"Besides, why would you even care?" he preempts my thoughts with a question I didn't even dare ask myself.
I blush, unsure how to respond, and his dark gaze holds me in place.
He's right. WhywouldI even care? Why would I care what kind of feelings or non-feelings my kidnapper is harboring for the girl whose place I've been forced to take, in an operation that I neither fully understand or support by my own free will?
The strained silence stretching between us is almost unbearable.
"I-I-I... of course, I don't care!" I bring forth eventually. "I don't. But I just...I just hate these ongoing lies and secrets between us."
He tilts his head to the side, studying me with a quizzical—and slightly amused—expression.
"You make it sound like we're boyfriend and girlfriend, little girl," he says, smirking. "Cute."
The color on my face must deepen to scarlet red within an instant, and under his condescending look, I am even more embarrassed.
"Don't be ridiculous," I say in a weak attempt at regaining some kind of credibility.
How did we even get here? Why did I make this petty remark about Lailah and his relationship with her?
I don't dare go digging for an answer tothisquestion.