Page 23 of Dead Set on You
But I need him to acknowledge me.
“Rafael,” I say, my voice cracking slightly. “You can see me, right?”
Rafael doesn’t react. As still as my body in that hospital bed behind me.
Maybe the apartment thing was a fluke—myhallucination. I need to know.
I inch closer.
His hand moves to the doorknob.
“Rafael!” The desperation in my voice startles me, and I clamp my lips together.
Rafael stills. His gaze lifts from the body in the bed—mybody—to me.
Relief is short and not so sweet (becausehey, I’m in a coma, everybody), but I think I have Rafael’s attention. And I need to play my cards right because hecansee me, which means he can finally explain things: what really happened at the Aviary … and every question I’ve been dying to ask all morning … and right now.
I clear my throat. “Why are you here?”
The question is out of my mouth before I can answer it myself.To see me at my weakest? To possibly shave off my eyebrows and snap a photo of me?
“I wish I knew,” Rafael says, shaking his head. The door groans as he leans against it with a heavy sigh, considering me in a way that leaves me feeling like I should add another layer of clothes.
I scowl. “Nice try.”
“Nice try? What is it I’m—” Rafael stops abruptly. “I’m talking to a hallucination. Again.”
“I’m not a hallucination,” I repeat for the thousandth time. I also mentally kick myself. My tone isn’t communicating that I need something from him, and I don’t want to scare him away. Yet. “I promise.”
Rafael’s cheek twitches, but he stays. Long enough for me to take action and address the two things that need checking off before he makes a getaway:
1.Prove I’m not a figment of his imagination (he wishes)
2.Get answers
“I’ll prove it to you,” I say. Rafael’s brow lifts, and it’s all the dare I need to dig for something his hallucination wouldn’tknow, something his imagination wouldn’t fathom me capable of doing. “Would your hallucination admit that I purposely lost the Culture Jar so I could be the one to bring in breakfast the morning of your meeting with Nova Kare?”
As the confession takes root, Rafael’s face morphs. Surprise, then horror. I’d savor the moment if it weren’t for my predicament. Culture Jar is Dana’s attempt to create team cohesion and build a collaborative culture. Whenever a team member exemplifies Media Lab’s values, their name is tossed into a jar. At the end of each month, the person with the fewest tickets buys breakfast for the team.
The day before the Nova Kare meeting, I pulled most of my tickets from the jar and bought the best damn breakfast for the team, including Rafael’s favorite: the Belgian Malted Bacon Waffle—a heart attack in the making—from Mama Scott’s Cafe. Heavy on the bacon, light on the Dulcolax. Rafael spent most of his morning in the restroom, and I was the only one to pitch my ideas to Dana and get the go-ahead to take lead on the medical device account.
Payback is a bitch, and Rafael had pissed her off one too many times.
“You didn’t …” he starts, his jaw clenching.
“Or …” I continue, undeterred, looking past his shoulder to the sign near the door. “If I was a hallucination, I couldn’t know something else that you didn’t, right?” I can tell he’s still catching up on the Dulcolax incident, but I continue regardless. “Like the name of the nurse on duty?”
Rafael’s dark brows meet over his straight nose, but he only shrugs.
I know he’s resisting, so I push forward. “Well, it’s Cassi S.” I gesture to the sign over his shoulder, and his gaze reluctantly follows.
“I must have seen it subconsciously,” he mutters.
“Oh? Did you grow eyes in the back of your head?”
“No. Only a smartass alter-conscious thing which eerily resembles Evie.” His eyes shift to the physical Evie, lying unmoving on the bed, and his gaze changes. Softens. I’m not sure what to make of that, so I look too.
So much for not being vulnerable in front of Rafael. No makeup. No designer dress and pumps. Simply Evie. Flaws and all.Flaws.
