Page 77 of Mimic
My brain at the time couldn’t rationalize what he was saying. My mother couldn’t have told him where I was and how to find me because she didn’t know. He’d taken her first. For years, she’d tried to make him believe that we didn’t exist. Even if she’d given in and told him about us, by the time he would have gone back to the house, we were gone. Living alone on the street. She wouldn’t have known where we’d gone.
But that was what I’d believed. Because as a child, we believed adults told the truth. As adults ourselves, we knew people lied. Everybody lied. People might tell themselves they didn’t, but everyone did. Not all lies were deceitful. That was the difference.
Lies and deceit were not the same thing.
A lie could be harmless. Telling a friend you didn’t like their new haircut, to spare their feelings, was a white lie that was harmless. If they were happy with it, and it made them feel good, your opinion didn’t matter.
After all, taste was subjective. One man’s trash was another man’s treasure. Wasn’t that the cliché?
So we lied.
We covered up our own feelings to make sure our friends weren’t hurt.
But deceit?
Deceit was devious. It was intentional. It was used to build power and money. Deceit wasn’t just dishonesty; it was so much more. It was manipulation used to control the situation you were in or the people around you.
Indie took a deep breath. As if blowing out her grief meant she wouldn’t feel it. That she could push it away. If only it worked that easily.
“How do we find out if this shit is true?” she asked, looking at King. “You have a plan, right?”
“I do.” He nodded at her before looking at Haizley.
Haizley groaned. “This is not a good idea.”
“It’s the only way,” King argued.
“It’s not the only fucking way, and you know it,” she countered.
“Then what do you suggest?”
“A controlled environment.”
“We have one of those downstairs.”
My head snapped to my president. Was he suggesting what I thought he was fucking suggesting? The only things downstairs were the medical wing, the gym, and the fucking cells. The same fucking cells that held the man I was going to kill.
“No fucking way!” I shouted.
“This isn’t your decision,” Indie whispered.
“The fuck it isn’t. You’re my fucking old lady!”
“What? When did that happen?” Haizley asked.
“It hasn’t, not really.” Gunner explained to Haizley about the meeting, who Indie’s father was, and why King told him she was my old lady.
I stared at Indie. She refused to look at me, but I could wait. I wasn’t letting her be used in this sick, twisted game King was playing. I wouldn’t let her put herself at risk for information we didn’t need. Let them find one of the other girls for their fucked-up experiment.
“It’s my decision, Mimic. I need to know the truth.”
“King, you can’t do this. Not like this. There are too many what-ifs,” Haizley pleaded.
Indie stared at King. She knew what he wanted to do. Hell, we’d all figured it out by now. When she nodded, he stood from his chair and slammed the gavel on the table.
“Let’s move this party downstairs.”
“NO!” I slammed my fist on the table, causing Indie to jump.
