Page 57 of Irreversible

“What’s the point, then?” His voice sounds closer than ever. Like it’s a tangible thing I can reach out and touch. “You’re pissed because I didn’t tear down the wall with my bare hands? Call him more names? Threaten his life when I’m shackled like an animal to this goddamn chain?”

My lip wobbles pathetically, my fight draining. I swipe sections of unwashed hair out of my eyes, blinking at the wall as my rage fizzles out.

He’s right. I’m acting on emotion, and that will be my downfall. Emotion is feeling. And, in this bleak corner of the world, feeling is nothing but a guillotine inching its way toward my neck.

A shuddery breath slips past my lips in a plume of resignation.

Nick can’t help me; only I can help myself.

Nick.

Swallowing, I gaze down at my soot-stained toes, then flick my eyes back up. “Why did he call you Isaac?”

Silence.

I knew it.

Stepping closer to the wall, I school my voice into something softer. “Isaac.”

More silence.

“That’s your name, isn’t it? Your real name?”

“Doesn’t matter.” A gritty undertone steals his words, like rocks between his teeth.

“Itdoesmatter.”

“Why?”

I press a flat palm to the surface, to the space where his voice vibrates. My forehead follows, and I let out a long exhale, allowing my misplaced tension to thaw out. “Our name is all we have left.”

“Ever the poet. Must be the bodice-rippers.”

He’s deflecting. “It’s the truth.”

“The truth is, I get bored easily. I have a different identity for every day of the week. Andrew Benson. Marcus Maury. Lyle Jenks. That Thursday just happened to be a Nick day.”

My lips twist. “Lyle?”

“Don’t underestimate Lyle. He’s a badass.”

“No.”

“Okay, so maybe I’m a criminal. Let’s not make a big deal about it.”

Honestly, that wouldn’t surprise me. But… “Try again.”

A few beats go by, and then I hear athump, telling me he’s making himself comfortable against the wall. I mimic the same position and press my back to it, waiting for more as I play with the dirty fringe along the hem of my gown.

“Fine,” he relents, fiddling with his chain. “I dabbled in the investigative field a while back. The day I ended up here, I had an unfortunate run-in with the wrong guy. Evidently, he works for this eccentric, smug piece of shit. That guy knew me as Nick, so I played the role. Then I woke up here…and I went with it.” Faltering, he lets out a sigh of frustration. “Guess I’m not as clever as I thought.”

I consider his explanation. Elements of it ring true, but he’s holding something back. “Sounds dubious.”

“Yeah, well, waking up chained to a wall in Alan Cumming’s evil twin’s funhouse, forced to listen to erotic excerpts from trashy, outdated porno books by a presumed-dead model, also sounds dubious. But here I am.”

My lips twitch.

Touché.

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