The Girl Who Wasn't (10 page)

“
Raven,” he says.

Gus nudges me from behind, driving me
forward, and Titus steps in front of me, blocking my
path.

“
Care to explain what
happened?” Titus asks.

“
Someone came after me. Linc
stopped him,” I say, doing my best to hold his stare. I can feel my
chin jut forward, a trait I learned from Lonnie, and I hope it
makes me look fearless.

He takes a step toward me and my
shoulders go rigid. “Do not think for one second that I don’t know
what sort of nonsense had you up on that roof tonight,” he
says.

“
I don’t know what
you—”

Without warning, his hand flies across
my cheek and I am driven back. My shoulders hit the wall first and
then the back of my head. I wince as my headache from earlier
pounds anew.

“
You are a fucking idiot!”
he hisses, “for thinking you’d survive without me. For thinking I‘d
give you the chance to try.”

He is in my face now. I can feel his
hot breath, taste the staleness that mingles with the scent of
alcohol. My eyes are squeezed shut because I know that if I open
them, moisture will escape, and I refuse to cry for him.

“
You are goddamned lucky
Linc was there. If he wasn’t, you’d only be getting what you
deserve for betraying me. Betraying your purpose.” I can feel his
shoulders pressing close, his lips inches from my nose. I press my
lips together to keep from making a sound, knowing any response
will be interpreted as weakness.

“
Know this,” he whispers.
“If you try again, I will terminate you myself.”

His footsteps echo as he retreats. I
don’t open my eyes until the sound dies away. I expect Gus to be
waiting for me from where he stood by and watched the whole
exchange with a bored expression, but he is gone too. A hand at my
elbow startles me. I jerk away with a short cry and find Maria, the
maid, staring at me.

“
Would you like some help
getting ready for bed?” she asks timidly, and I know she heard
everything.

“
Yes, thank you.” My voice
is deceivingly steady, even to my own ears. I should be proud that
I’ve kept my cool but I’m ashamed. And angry. My hands shake with
the emotion. It is heady and almost too big for my body. If human
rage is anything like this, it explains the root of the evil I’ve
seen tonight.

Chapter Six

Taylor comes for lunch the next day,
accosting me as I enter the parlor, her brows are raised with
practiced concern and morbid curiosity. The bruise on my cheek
doesn’t help matters, though the staff has already been informed it
was part of my rooftop attack. Only Maria knows the truth—and Gus,
but he never gives anything away.

“
Are you all right?” Taylor
asks, managing to hug me while barely touching me. She smells like
orange juice and smoke. I wrinkle my nose and pull away. “Oh, I had
brunch with some friends in the art district. Smoky as hell but
great for a quick buzz,” she explains. “Gawd, I heard about your
close call last night and I just cannot believe the assholes out
there who get their rocks off trying to hurt women. I mean, you
could have been killed—or worse.” She stops, newly horrified as she
realizes what her words imply. “I mean, they didn’t actually …
touch you, did they?”

“
No, they didn’t,” I say,
thinking of Linc and the way he commanded the situation so
effortlessly, so fearlessly. I remember his comment on the rooftop,
how he is not afraid to die, and I know it is the truth.

I wonder what it would be like to have
nothing left to live for—or what it is I think I have.

“…
Bet Daniel will be livid
when he finds out. Just beside himself with worry, I mean, the
lowlifes thinking they can come into our part of town is downright
degrading, even if they didn’t actually touch you.” She stops,
cocks her head at me. “You did call him, right?”

“
Who?”

“
Daniel. Are you even
listening to me?”

“
I …”

“
Just because you guys
aren’t officially an item to the rest of the world, he would still
want to know. I mean, three public appearances … that’s, like,
practically engaged, which isn’t a big deal since I guess that’s
the plan. But at least tell him so he can stay ahead of the
press.”

Engaged? It’s a surprise but after
hearing about Daniel being groomed to take over Rogen Corp, this
makes sense. “You’re right, I should call him.”

“
Speaking of which, what’s
up with your cell? I call and call and it goes straight to voice
mail.”

I falter, unsure what to say. I hadn’t
thought of it until now, but whatever phone Raven Rogen owned has
not been given to me. I wonder who Titus thinks I would call. “My
phone is … broken. I dropped it when I was attacked.”

“
Ugh,” she says, as if that
is the most annoying part of what happened to me.

“
I’ll get a new one soon,” I
say, trying to emulate her annoyance.

She nods once, and just like that,
moves on. For the rest of the meal, she does not speak of my attack
again. Even when I reach across the table for the salt shaker,
revealing the purpling bruise on the inside of my forearm, a
perfect match for a handprint, she doesn’t comment.

She speaks of parties and couples and
scandals and affairs. Who’s dating whom. Who’s cheating, who’s
broke, who’s running for office. She gives an entire monologue that
lasts as long as my lemon meringue muffin about the size of Senator
Warren’s penis and how the strategic use of it will gain him
re-election—provided Taylor doesn’t get pissed enough to tell his
wife he sometimes fucks interns on his conference table.

It isn’t hard to understand the meaning
of the words she throws around. One thing about being with Taylor
is the swift education in all of the subjects Twig City failed to
teach. I’m caught up before dessert.

Beyond that, the politics in this world
scare me. In Twig City, there are two classes: Imitations and
Authentics. The latter rule the former. That will never change.
Here, the rise and fall of power is based on fortunes and blackmail
and sex scandals exposed. It is good that I will not be a part of
it for long. I could never fit in here. I don’t want to.

Taylor leaves an hour later with
promises that we will see each other soon at some benefit gala or
another. A senator is getting re-elected. The fact that Taylor
knows this without a doubt three days before the election is not
lost on me. Everything is a game here.

I don’t feel like I play very
well.

***

After lunch, I am confined to my room
with a subtle click of the lock, but I don’t mind. Not this time. I
am more comfortable alone than I am with a single Authentic I’ve
met here. And part of me is terrified over seeing Titus if I’m
allowed to wander. The makeup job covering the bruise he left on my
cheek has worn off, so I touch it up with unsteady fingers as I
stare at my reflection.

I am paler than usual, my skin tone
almost matching my translucent hair. When I’ve covered the bruise
as best I can, I attempt the same with the darkened circles under
my lids. I’ve never had a problem sleeping before coming here, but
I rarely sleep more than two hours at a time anymore. It’s too
quiet. I miss the humming pipes, the melody of a room full of
rhythmic breathing. Ida and Lonnie.

My chest aches when I think of them. I
wonder if Lonnie is comforting Ida or if she’s taken her usual
“stiff upper lip” stance and expected Ida to do the same. Fragile
Ida. She is not cut out for this, despite what they tell us about
our “chemical makeup” and our being “created to serve.” I am glad
that it is me and not her who has been called up.

My thoughts wander to Linc. I haven’t
seen him today. I wonder if he is in trouble for killing that man
before they could learn who he was. I think of the motorcycle ride
home and my lips curve into a small smile that feels like a secret.
My mood lifts.

I tinker with Authentic Raven’s stereo
and switch it from the jazzy album she had playing to a moody
drums-and-guitar sound.

Radio is new for me. So is the freedom
and variety. Commercials are my favorite. The choices are endless.
These people get to choose what food or clothing to buy. It shocks
me how many different sorts of fabric there are for curtains alone.
In Twig City, no one has curtains because no one has a
window.

Out of boredom and then sheer delight,
I spend an hour trying on the different clothes in the walk-in. And
the shoes. My feet feel like princesses in the heels. As much as I
dread more parties, I am willing to go if it means I can wear a
pair of these shoes.

I brave some of the tinier dresses and
stare at myself in the full-length mirror, trying to recognize the
girl reflected back. It’s strange and thrilling to see myself in
such suggestive clothing. Raven clearly didn’t have a problem with
it. When I pull a silky camisole over my head, I almost remove it
immediately.

The cream-colored fabric is so sheer,
it’s transparent. My nipples are dark rings with pointy tips. My
panties are nothing more than a thin line of string before dipping
into the curve of my thigh and disappearing as if they aren’t there
at all.

I imagine what it would be like to fall
asleep in something so naughty—and be woken by Linc. I imagine him
running a hand over the shiny fabric. His expression would darken
when he saw the outline of my breasts through the thin layer. I
ache at the thought of him slipping a hand underneath the
nightgown, running his fingers across my hip.

I know without needing to be told, the
release I experienced on the motorcycle would be nothing compared
to having him join me.

Gus comes to get me for dinner. He is
his usual unsmiling self but there is something else. Caution.
“Daniel Ryan is joining you for dinner. Dress accordingly and meet
me in the dining hall in ten minutes. Don’t be late or I’ll have to
come get you.”

The way he says it, menacing and
certain, chills me. Despite the fact that he leaves the door
unlocked, I know I won’t try anything.

I dress for dinner in a pants suit that
has a matching half-jacket and hope this is what Gus meant by
“accordingly.” I have no idea what Daniel is like but if Taylor is
any indication, he will notice something like a wrong
outfit.

I make my way around the circular
hallway, certain I’m being watched. I cannot see cameras but they
are there. Titus is not so trusting that he would let me walk this
far unescorted, especially after last night.

I see him as soon as I cross the
threshold. Linc. Near the back of the room, hands clasped behind
his back, head down as he concentrates on whatever Gus is
whispering at him. He doesn’t see me, but I breathe all the way out
in relief. My mind doesn’t register the twisted worry I’ve been
carrying until it’s melting away at the sight of him.

Gus finishes what he’s saying and Linc
straightens. He raises his chin and catches me watching. I feel my
cheeks warm. I curse myself for it and look away—straight at Titus.
He has risen from his seat at the head of the table to greet me. He
stares at me with a hard set to his jaw and I know that I’ve made
him angry with something as simple as failing to acknowledge him
first. Behind his left shoulder is the boy who has come to see
me.

“
Good evening, Raven,”
Daniel says. His expression is relaxed and easy but even from this
distance, I can see how polished and manicured he is. From the
perfect cut of his jacket to the precision of his mussed and gelled
hair, I distrust him immediately.

“
Good evening,” I reply,
taking a tentative step into the room.

I look at Titus again, silently asking
permission to approach. He sweeps his hand toward the seat on his
right. “You look lovely, Raven. Come, sit with us.”

We take our seats and the meal is
served. Daniel watches me curiously and I know that somehow, I’ve
already done something wrong. Something Authentic Raven would not
have. I think Linc is watching me too, and I have the urge to turn,
but I don’t. Titus is close. I can feel my skin growing cold at his
nearness.

“
Your father told me there
was another attack last night,” Daniel says when we have our soup.
“I wish you would’ve called me. I worry.”

His voice is pleasant. Too pleasant
considering the topic of conversation is my attempted murder. “I
didn’t think …,” I begin, unsure what else to say.

Titus pats my hand and I have to force
myself not to recoil. “She really doesn’t think, Daniel.” He laughs
and it’s harsh, unkind. “She’s too caught up in her own little
world of clothes and shoes.”

He is baiting me, I think. Or testing
me. I don’t respond.

Daniel laughs lightly, as if this is a
familiar idea where I’m concerned. “This girl and her wardrobe,” he
agrees.

Under the table, something brushes
against my ankle, and I drop my fork in surprise. It clatters
against my plate. Titus looks at me quizzically, but I mumble an
apology and go back to eating.