Page 173 of Irreversible

The pink room glimmers with a cotton-candy glow. I inhale a breath and pause in front of the flamingo beads as a shadow moves on the other side of them. Then, with a gulp of courage, I pull back the curtain and let my eyes fall on the man sitting on the couch.

Knees spread.

One foot bouncing up and down.

Eyes like weapons.

Face like stone.

I stand in the entryway, my fingers curling around the beads, my legs threatening to buckle. Our gazes meet like swords clashing in the heat of battle.

I’m mad.

I’m terrified.

I’m…hypnotized.

The world falls away as we stare at each other, the gravity of it all bubbling to the surface. My emotions are at war. He’s been teasing me, torturing me, and still, I can’t prevent my anger from draining, my shoulders from drooping, my eyes from watering.

Everything comes rushing back.

Every moment. Every word. Every carefully threaded connection through that wall.

I wring my hands together in front of me as I step inside the room and the beads flutter closed behind me. Vanilla candles and earthy cologne assault my senses, while his eyes assault me.

A stormy brown gaze travels down my body, taking in my costume, before his focus pans back up and his jaw locks. He blinks slowly, not saying a word.

He looks uncomfortable.

Out of place.

Something tells me he doesn’t want to be here, and I don’t know why.

“Isaac.” I take another cautious step forward, hating the way my voice shakes. “That is your name, right?”

He taps his foot against the shag rug, draping both arms over the top of the couch. A muscle in his cheek tics, his biceps stretching the material of his shirt while a leather jacket rests beside him.

“Or is it…Nick?” I probe, moving closer. “Andrew. Marcus.” I lift a finger in the air and tilt my head to the side. “Lyle?”

His lips twitch.

“I know who you are. You can drop the act now.” I press closer until I’m situated between his spread legs, and he stiffens. “Tell me why you’re hiding, why you’re following me around yet avoiding me at the same time. What’s the point? Why would you do this?”

A frown bends his brows.

Emotion.

I use the moment of vulnerability to lean in closer and grit through my teeth, “I thought Ikilledyou.”

Something unreadable passes over his face. His eyes flicker with a trace of softness, of something other than stone-cold apathy, before he snuffs it out and snaps his legs closed, caging me in.

I gasp.

I lurch forward, my hands planting on his shoulders to catch myself.

Our faces are mere inches apart, his body heat warming me.

He smells like something woodsy, mingling with citrus. Birchwood on his skin, lime on his breath.

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