Page 81 of Cunning Lies
At least no one died because of me.
But Kenzo knows I’m a liar.
My stomach lurches and I run to the closest bathroom. I turn on the faucet and the shower, minimizing the noise as I vomit again.
I splash water on my face, then stand, preparing myself. I may not be as skilled as Patrick or Uncle Jay, but I’m still a Petrus. I can handle this.
I walk to Kenzo’s office. He looks up from his desk and smiles, but he’s showing too much teeth to be genuine. I’m unwelcome here, but he still hasn’t kicked me out.
“What do you need?” he asks, like I’m an unwanted interruption. Something has changed between us, and I want to go back to before. When I could still tell him the truth.
“Do you want to do something?” I ask, unsure of what to say. I want to feel normal again. I want this place to feel like home, for that safety to return so I can stop this rumbling beat in my heart. “I just feel like—”
“Feel like lying to me again?”
His expression is calm, his shoulders spread out. He has nothing to fear, and that’s terrifying.
I step back, crossing my arms over my chest. I pretend like I’m angry, but inside, I’m scared. I’m full of guilt and shame and I want to erase this entire marriage and pretend to be someone else. To take an easy target. To never feel these things Kenzo has woken inside of me. If being numb and complacent means erasing this mess, then I’ll take it.
But I don’t have that option. So I lie again. It’s the only defense I have.
“I’m not lying,” I shout.
He lunges from his seat and grabs my upper arms. His grip is so tight that it hurts, and the light from his brown eyes fades. There’s no fire burning for me anymore. Only darkness.
“Say that you’re not lying again and I will cut out your tongue,” he says.
My body jerks impulsively, shocked at those words. My lips tremble and Kenzo lets go of me. He smooths his shirt, his palm running over that bloodstain, and he returns to his computer.
“If we’re done,” he says, his eyes on the screen, “I’ve got business to take care of.”
My vision blurs. It’s like I mean nothing to him. And I’m the one to blame for that.
I can’t stand this.
I go to the master bedroom and close the door behind me. I dial Uncle Jay for the millionth time and pray to the con gods watching over us that he will actually answer this time.
Finally, a click hums over the speaker.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” Uncle Jay mutters. “You’d think there’d been an accident or—”
“Come here,” I beg. “Please.”
He straightens on the other end, the speaker crackling. “What’s wrong?” he asks. “Are you okay?”
My chest is aching, and I can barely mumble anything.Please. Please. Please,I think. But I can’t speak without crying.
“Be there in a few,” he huffs.
Grunts echo down the hallway. In the office, Kenzo is doing pushups on the floor. His dress shirt is torn to shreds in his office chair, his body laced in sweat. The koi fish swim around the skulls, and what once seemed beautiful, seems deeply foreboding now.
“My uncle is visiting,” I say.
Kenzo glances at me, but that’s the only acknowledgement he gives.
“You’ll need to let him in,” I say.
He keeps pumping his arms, groaning as his muscles strain. Still, he doesn’t answer.
