Page 25 of One Twisted Lie

It makes me think of something that’s been on the forefront of my mind for the last few days. “Do you ever wonder why we always hated each other?”

He snorts around his cookie. “Easy. It’s because you’re…”

But he trails off, just as I had expected him to. He has nothing to say. “Exactly. I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

“Do you remember when we first met each other?” he asks, picking at his nails, forgetting his cake.

“Yeah, I told you I was Carter Everett and you flipped on me. Called me a brown-nosing leech.”

I actually remember it perfectly, even though I haven’t thought about that memory in a while. Ozymandias had been pleasant, shaking my hand with a charming smile, on his best behavior. I said my name, and everything changed. He basically strangled my hand and hissed at me, and our rivalry was only cemented when I realized who he was.

“No—well, yes, I said that—but before?”

I wrinkle my nose in concentration but still shake my head. “Not really.”

“We were on the train, and you asked to sit next to me. You looked so nervous, all nerdy and shit, so I said yes. You pulled your laptop out and were playing some stupid video game.”

“Oh, yeah!” I say, snapping my fingers. “Fallout!”

“Yeah, and you asked me if I wanted to play with you. Remember you tried explaining to me how the graphic designers managed to make the setting so realistic.”

“And you told me that was boring.”

“And you told me to shut up and we laughed.”

“Then I introduced myself and…”

And the rest is history. We started a feud that both of us fed. We loathed each other for four years. We’ve spent every minute at each other’s throats. We’ve ruined friend gatherings, pranked each other, fucked with the other until neither of us could take it any longer.

But it wasn’t always like that. That first day, for those first few minutes, it was nothing like that. He was nice by letting me sit with him. He was funny when he asked about the game. He was almost cute when he laughed.

“So, basically we could have been friends?” I ask.

No, we could have been more than friends. We could have beenthis—whatever it is—all along. Our kisses could have lasted years. Our hands could have wandered for infinite minutes. Our emotions could have grown and grown, flourishing from a spark that all started on that train.

“I’ve been starting to think so,” he says. “If it weren’t for our fathers, we might have been? You’re honestly not that bad.”

I smile at him, reaching over to ruffle his hair which just irritates the hell out of him. “You’re not that bad either. I’m not like in love with you or anything, but you’re okay.”

“Oh, fuck no,” he laughs, slapping my hands away. “I’m the farthest thing from fucking love. But…”

“But?” I ask, anticipation on an all-time high as he looks at me through his lashes.

“I’m…” He reaches for my hand and twines our fingers together. “I’m glad we started this.”

My heart warms. Maybe this was fucked up to begin with, but it’s more now. I’ve seen every side of him, a new one every time we’re together. I can’t imagine a time when we weren’t doing this. Even without a title, it still means something to me.

“Me too,” I say, brushing some crumbs off his chin with my other hand. “Want another cookie?”

“Fuck yes!” he says, his eyes widening in delight as he stands, tugging me up with him. “Can we go see the street artist after?”

I nod and throw my arm over his shoulder awkwardly since he’s tall as fuck. “Sounds like a plan.”

And here, in Interlaken, in an anonymous farmer’s market, we’re not Ozymandias and Carter. We’re not mortal enemies. We’re not could-have-been friends.

We’re just two guys. Two guys that time and circumstance have pushed closer and closer together.

Chapter 13

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