Page 49 of Was I Ever Real

My eyes are fixed on the cutting board but my mind is anywhere but here.

I’ve been unsettled.

Not feeling like myself. Well, not feeling like Lenix Taylor that is. Who knows if that’s even who I am. Or just another guise for me not to look too closely at the decaying mask I’ve fastened overtop my real identity. Either way, I feel like I’m fading. Going through the motions, pretending everything is fine when it’s not.

The dream I had about my father’s death rattled me to the bone. I haven’t come close to feeling any kind of normal since.

Living here under Connor’s protection isn’t sustainable. I can’t pretend to be his wife forever. I should be relieved that it’s been two weeks since I’ve heard from my brother—but the silence feels intentional, like a shark swimming in the shallow depths before the fatal strike. As if I have a giant invisible countdown over my head, I can hear the ticking of the seconds but I can’t see how long I have—and it’s driving me nuts. It makes me wonder if I’ll survive any of it

I don’t hear Connor enter the kitchen and I startle when he speaks. “Is my wife making me breakfast? How thoughtful,” he drawls.

I shoot him a searing look. “In your dreams, assho—” My words die in my throat when I look down and find the kitchen knife I’m holding is covered in blood. It clangs on the black marble counter after I let it slip out of my hand, a shocked breath squeaking out of me. I quickly glance up to Connor who’s staring at me quizzically and by the time my eyes find the knife again on the counter, it’s back to normal. No blood in sight.

In a blink, I’m suddenly reminded of the daydreams I would slip in and out of when I was a child. They had faded and eventually disappeared after I ran away.

That's it. I’m losing it.I’m seeing things now?

What might be the most startling thing of all, is thisfeeling. This deep rooted awareness, an all-encompassing knowing that this has happened before. This nonsensical, however baseless, belief that I’ve stood in front of Connor just like this.

Hisblood staining my hands.

But the feeling dissipates almost as fast as it came, and I am left breathless.

“What the hell was that?” Connor asks with a small frown.

My heart rate triples as I try to suck in a breath and laugh it off like I didn’t just hallucinate something close to his death. It’s the stress. Itmustbe the stress. My mind is playing tricks on me. That’s all. I quickly bring my index finger up to my mouth, sucking on it and then look at it pretending to find an invisible cut. “You just startled me. Thought I cut myself,” I answer, my voice weaker than usual, and my smile looking more like a grimace, I’m sure.

I know Connor isn’t buying it. His eyes narrow and I start to sweat. Rounding the corner of the island, his dark eyes don’t leave mine. I refuse to break eye contact and admit defeat. Trying to contain the tremble in my hands, I place them on the counter behind me and manage a forced casual pose before he invades the space right in front of me.

Slowly, he places a hand beside mine, his pinky finger gently grazing my thumb and lightning sparks up my arm just by that soft touch alone. He hasn’t stopped staring, as if he can make me confess just by his forceful gaze.

It almost works.

But then he speaks. “Liars get caught, darling.”

His hips are now pressing against mine, pushing me into the island behind us. His other hand finds the curve of my shoulder, his fingers trailing up my neck and then curling around my chin, holding me there. Pressing against my bottom lip with his thumb, he pulls it down slightly.

I should be pushing him off. I should sneer, or talk back, orsomething. But I don’t. Maybe it’s because I’m still too unnerved by what just happened. Or maybe I’m just too tired to fight this morning so I let him. And I’m sure he’s noticing by the devilish curl of his full lips, watching me.

“I need you to buy a dress,” he finally says, a dash of amusement in his baritone voice.

“What?” I say in a hushed tone, feeling slightly whiplashed by the change in topic.

He releases me and takes a step back, sliding his hands into his plaid slacks. His shoulder leans on a cupboard near the fridge, one foot over the other, casual, elegant and downright infuriating.

“The mayor is having a fundraiser for the upcoming election on Thursday. His uncle, Governor Morrissey will be attending. As will we.”

“I can buy my own, just let me know what colo—”

“You can’t afford the kind I want you to wear.”

“Okay, well fuck you too then.” I turn to leave, but he grabs my wrist barking a laugh and that only annoys me even further. My nostrils flare and my chest grows tight by the time I glare back at him.

“That’s not what I meant,” he says with a cocky smile. “I just need you looking a specific kind of rich. I need you dripping in wealth, not just a pretty dress, but anexpensiveone. I need you stealing everyone’s attention, especially the governor’s.”

Ewan chooses this exact moment to jump onto the counter next to me and I watch Connor’s body jolt before taking a large step back.

I laugh in disbelief. “Wait. Are you scared of cats?”

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