The Girl Who Wasn't (13 page)

“
I heard you fenced with
Sofia earlier,” Maria says when I’m dressed and seated at the
vanity. She is methodically running a soft-bristled brush through
my wet hair.

Between that and the lingering drugs in
my system, I am so relaxed I answer without thinking, “Yes, she is
much better than I am.”

Maria’s hand hesitates only briefly
before continuing her even strokes with the brush. “Truly,” she
agrees. “She is most gifted.”

I curse myself for my
admission. Even with Maria, I must continue to be
her
. Haughty,
condescending, confident. If Titus finds out, I am positive I will
have another bruise to match the first—or worse. Still, I can’t
help but recognize the note of pride in Maria’s voice.

“
She is special to you?
Sofia?”

Maria nods as she brushes. “She is my
daughter.” I can hear her reluctance to admit this. I wonder if she
is afraid Raven Rogen would use that sort of affection against her.
Probably.

“
She is very lucky to have
such a caring mother,” I say.

Through our reflections, our eyes lock.
Finally, after what feels like a million years, she nods. Her
expression never changes. “Thank you,” she says, and I know it is
the only nice thing I have ever said to her.

Chapter Eight

By the next morning, my cheek is
jaundiced from the fading bruise. No amount of makeup will fully
cover the damage, so I give up and walk to breakfast with my hair
in my face. No one in this house will care but I hate that evidence
of my slavery is so prominently displayed.

Halfway to the dining hall, someone
steps out of a doorway and I stop abruptly to avoid a collision. I
recognize his boots and look up into the face I’ve missed the past
twenty-four hours despite all efforts to the contrary.

“
Linc,” I say as my hair
falls away.

“
Rav…” My name—my
Authentic’s name—dies on his lips. His brows lift in surprise and
then it’s as if a mask falls over his features, effectively hiding
his thoughts from me. “What happened to your face?”

“
I … was struck.” I am
suddenly unsure of how to explain my injury. Or how he will react
if I do. He shouldn’t care how I’m treated. I hope he
does.

“
Did that happen on the
rooftop?” he asks.

“
Yes…. the rooftop,” I say,
grabbing hold of the flimsy explanation.

He stares for a long moment and I am
positive he doesn’t believe me. My heart races as I wait for him to
demand the truth, but he doesn’t. He nods toward the hallway, a
muscle in his jaw working. “Breakfast?” he asks.

“
Yes, thanks,” I say. We
fall into step together.

“
Can I ask you something?” I
ask.

“
Sure,” he says after a
hesitation—as if the idea of conversation makes him nervous. Or
maybe it’s still an inconvenience to speak to me even after our
brief connection the night he saved me.

It could be either. Or both. I decide
to ignore all of that in favor of the question that’s plagued me
since Daniel’s forced advance.

“
What makes someone … react
to one person and not react to another?” My hands twist nervously
in front of me.

“
What do you mean?” he asks,
although the tightness in his voice suggests he already
knows.

“
Well, I’ve been thinking
about how some people cause different reactions than others. Some
incite annoyance,” I say, thinking of Taylor. “Some fear.” That’s
for Titus. “Some instill nothing more than cold indifference. And
some,” I say, choosing my words carefully, “send sensations of heat
and excitement to sensitive places and …” I trail off, my cheeks
warming at my own vivid description. I clear my throat. “In your
opinion, is it chemical? Or psychological?”

He is quiet for so long I’ve given up.
When he finally speaks, it’s not an answer. “What makes you
ask?”

“
I …”

We reach the dining room before I can
think of a reason that won’t sound either lame or obvious. I’m one
foot over the threshold when Linc yanks me backward into the
hall.

He spins me to face him and breathes
down at me like we’ve both just reached the end of a sprint. His
eyes are searching as they hold mine. I don’t know what he’s
looking for but he’s bound to find it.

“
I think,” he says slowly,
his warm breath hitting the tip of my nose, “for that kind of
passion to be real in a person, it’s mind and body. One feeds the
other and it’s something so strong you can’t possibly ignore
it.”

His voice is a rugged whisper that
sends chills all the way through me. I don’t know which of us moves
but his toes bump mine as our feet slide closer. There’s not much
air left between us now. I want there to be none. I want to share
his oxygen.

“
And what do you do when you
can’t ignore it?” I whisper.

He leans in and for a breathtaking
moment I think he’ll kiss me. But then he sees something, either in
my expression or in the vault of his own mind, and he blinks. His
eyes shutter and all of the emotion he wore a moment ago is
gone.

“
Nothing,” he says roughly.
He steps back and curls his lip. I get the impression he’s going
for snide but it’s twisted up with something that looks like
disappointment as he adds, “You do absolutely fucking
nothing.”

As he walks away, I know I’ve botched
things in a way far worse than him discovering my true identity.
I’m horrible at being Raven Rogen but even worse at resisting Linc
Crawford.

I play tennis with Sofia on the roof.
She’s quieter than the last time and takes the loss without
complaint or suspicion. I’m either better than I thought, or Sofia
is worse.

After lunch, when Gus is convinced I
won’t have another migraine meltdown, I run laps. The guard watches
from the doorway but like before, I enjoy the solitude of being the
only one in the fresh air.

The ends of my hair tickle my shoulder
blades as I move. It would be more comfortable pulled back but I
don’t want to risk exposing the ink behind my ear—or more
importantly, Titus’s anger should the staff notice. I am hyperaware
of the exposed skin between my cropped sports bra and the waistline
of my shorts but I tell myself this is me, her, Authentic Raven,
and they’ve all seen it before. Or they think they have.

Running is repetitive but it helps in
ordering my thoughts. I concentrate on my footfalls, the rhythm it
creates. Soon my heavy emotions fall away. I still think of my
situation. Of Titus and his threats, of my GPS chip ticking away
inside me like a bomb whose countdown I can’t read. But my physical
exertion has drowned out my mind’s reaction to it all. I am
detached and cold. For the first time since leaving Twig City, I
feel like I’ve been trained to feel … nothing.

Three miles in, Linc takes the place of
my original guard. He watches from against the outside wall, but I
don’t mind. Linc’s presence isn’t oppressive like the others. I’m
too caught up in the run to agonize over our earlier conversation.
I know I’ll have to face him eventually. For now, I enjoy the
comfort his presence lends.

When I finish, Linc is waiting with a
bottle of water. I take a swig and keep walking to let my body cool
down. He falls into step beside me, and I hide my surprise behind
gulps of water. We are halfway around the loop when he speaks. The
wind gusts are strong this close to the edge and I have to strain
to hear him.

“
You’re different,” he
says.

As soon as he speaks the words, my
heart hammers against my chest double-time. Any coldness or
distance I’d achieved during my run vanishes. “What do you
mean?”

“
I mean there’s something
different about you, ever since that first attack where you got hit
on the head.”

I focus on controlling my breathing,
which is coming faster and has nothing to do with the four miles
I’ve just completed. “Well, I do have amnesia—”

“
No,” he interrupts. “It’s
more than that. You’re not … you. I haven’t figured it out, but
there’s something off.”

I can’t think of an answer that will
pacify him. The amnesia story is all I have and if that isn’t
working, I don’t know what will, short of the truth. But I can’t
bring myself to tell him that. Even if it didn’t mean his certain
death—or my own—I can’t bear to see the horror in him that I’m sure
my words would bring.

He lets out a frustrated grunt. “I know
there’s something you’re not telling me, Raven. I may only have
worked here a few months, but I can see there’s more going on than
I’m being told. Not just with you but Titus, Gus, all of them.
Everything’s a damned secret.”

“
I don’t know what you mean.
Maybe you should ask your boss.”

“
Titus is a liar and a
tyrant. I’m not asking him. I’m asking you.” He stops walking and
pulls me to a stop beside him. We are on the outer rim of the track
and I’m not sure if we can be seen from the glass doors, but I
don’t dare look away from Linc to check. “I’ve worked for you for
almost a year and I’ve never—I didn’t feel like this before. You
didn’t matter. I didn’t matter to you. And now, when I touch you …
It’s all I can think about.”

“
You think about touching
me?” Just like that, from nothing more than his whispered words,
the heat between my thighs returns.

His eyes darken and he presses in, his
chest brushing against the tips of my nipples. They harden to taut
points beneath my sports bra. “I want to touch you so badly my
hands hurt. If you’d let me, I’d strip you down here and now and
bend you over this railing.”

I’m more aware of my body than if I
were naked. It’s all I can do not to reach down and place his hands
on my skin, guiding him to the all the right places right here on
this rooftop.

Before I can muster the sort of courage
that would take, he blinks. The storm clouds in his eyes clear.
Desire is replaced by longing, a desperation for answers. “I just
need to know why I feel this way,” he adds. “It doesn’t make sense.
You don’t make sense.”

“
Linc, I …” I have no idea
what to say, but I desperately want to say something, because
suddenly this boy matters very much. It’s more than just wanting
his hands on my body. “I am different. I’m not that girl from
before.”

“
Why? What changed?” He is
leaning forward, hanging on my every word, desperate for me to give
him a real answer.

I open my mouth but the next words out
of my lips cannot be the ones on my tongue. I cannot tell him the
truth. I close my mouth again. He recognizes my decision and the
fire goes out of him.

There is nothing else to do. I begin
walking and clear the blind spot we stood in just as the door opens
and a guard steps out. He blinks at me in relief and then steps
back inside.

I hear Linc’s footsteps as he catches
up. He passes me without a word and disappears inside.

I don’t see him again all
day.

Chapter Nine

On Sunday, Titus joins me at breakfast.
He is all smiles and compliments and a complete stranger in his
forced joviality. It is the first time I have seen him since he
struck me but all traces of his anger are gone. My own, however,
has only grown. The sight of him jars me so heavily that I have to
grit my teeth to keep from snarling. I force one foot in front of
the other and somehow I make it to the table. Biscuits and eggs
have already been laid out. A steaming mug sits in front of my
plate and I concentrate on it.

“
Raven, darling, you look
lovely this morning,” he says as I take a seat and fold my napkin
primly across my lap.

“
Thank you,” I say. The
compliment makes my skin crawl because it has come from his
mouth.

My satin blouse is thin but more than
that, his gaze roaming over me make me feel exposed in a way that
disgusts me to my core. I remember what Linc said about mind and
body affecting a person’s reaction to another. It must be true
because I am filled with a distinct passion to damage both of those
parts of Titus so badly he can never recover.

I smile and sip my gourmet
coffee.

The entire meal is Titus fawning over
me and telling me what a great job I’m doing. By the end, my nails
have torn the skin in my palms where I’ve curled my hands into
fists. Titus doesn’t notice, or pretends not to.

“
You should take a day off
from all this constant exercise, darling,” Titus says when the
dishes have been cleared. “It’s Sunday, a day for rest. You should
get out, get some fresh air.”

I almost choke on my coffee. “Excuse
me?”

He smiles. He is fully aware of what
he’s suggested—a reprieve from my prison—and I’m not sure if he’s
teasing me just yet. Still, my heart thuds against my chest at the
prospect of being allowed to walk out the front door.

“
I mean it,” he says. “Go
for a walk or something. This will all be here when you get back.”
He waves a dismissive hand.