Page 26 of Irreversible

“That’s almost as bad as Everly without the B.”

My tears dry up faster than dew under the morning sun, and my eyes slant with disdain. “She was kind. She had a good heart.”

“And now she’s dead.”

Heat burns my cheeks as my breath catches.

Wow.

This guy is the opposite of joy in every way.

I cross my arms, as if the defensive move can shove him out of my atmosphere.

Joy became my friend, as did all the others who came before her. While I never got to see her face, she told me she had violet eyes—a rarity caused by albinism.

She remained my friend for two months before The Timekeeper decided that her time was up and stole her away from me.

He takes things.

And then he takes everything.

Silence spans for another few beats. “Tell me why you’re in here.” He mutters it miserably, as if conversation is an archaic practice, light years outside his wheelhouse. “Why has he kept you so long?”

I consider the question, my eyes narrowing. “I never told you how long I’ve been in here.”

“Longer than Joy.”

Swallowing, I dip my chin and stare at my extended fingernails, brittle and chipped at the ends, my cuticles bitten raw. “I’m a product. We’re all products.” Something tells me I’m the favorite.

“Tell me what he takes.”

“I don’t really know,” I reply. “Different things. Unique to each prisoner.”

“What does he take from you, Beverly?”

I frown, glancing back up. “It’s just Everly.”

“You’re missing a B.”

Right.

His chain rattles. The tone of his voice is rich and deep, reminding me of Jasper. While my memories have grown hazier, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the unique baritone of my husband’s voice.

I used to compare it to a chocolate truffle. I loved chocolate. Mostly because it reminded me of Jasper’s cocoa-butter eyes and velvety words. Sweet and smooth.

A delicacy I miss.

Hesitating, I finally respond. “I think he takes my eggs.”

His chain goes silent. “Egg harvesting?”

“I think so. He doesn’t tell me anything. I’ve just pieced details together.”

“Well, last I checked, I don’t have any fucking eggs.” His laugh has a jagged edge.

“Then it’s something else. I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

Picking at the frayed fringes of my gown, I wait for him to say more. It takes forty-seven seconds. I clock the lapse of silence in my head, as I often do. Time is one of the few things inthis world that can be both an ally and an enemy, so I try to use its power for good.

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