Chapter 21 James
James
The collective weight of all these stares is uncomfortable, but Warner’s gaze is the heaviest. I’m guessing he knows more
about what Rosabelle is feeling than I do, but if he’s picked up on any emotional cues from her that might fuel my delusion,
I don’t think he’s planning on sharing.
Me, on the other hand? I can’t even pretend to hide how I feel about her. I don’t even want to.
Even now I’m trying to ignore the constant, steady ache that chases my every waking moment. It’s like she buried a knife in
my chest at an expert angle, and now I just have to live with it, because removing the knife might kill me.
I look away for a second to try to cool my thoughts, but my mind decides to make things things worse by cuing up the sound
of her voice instead.
I’m trying—I’m really trying to be a better person, but if even one of them hurts you I swear I’ll slaughter them all—
I take a tight breath.
God, the way she looked at me.
This is the memory that haunts me most when I’m alone, in the dark, struggling to sleep. The way she’d grabbed my shirt, as
if there was any chance she could scare me away with a desperate promise to keep me safe.
I feel suddenly overheated.
I always knew my romantic expectations were warped, that growing up with Warner and Juliette had messed me up for life. I’ve
never been interested in the kinds of relationships built on things like shared hobbies and favorite seasons; it doesn’t matter
to me whether we like the same foods or listen to the same music. I’ve always wanted something bigger than that, something
I didn’t even know how to name. For years I thought there was something wrong with me.
Turns out, I was right.
Apparently, what I’m really looking for is a girl who threatens to murder my enemies.
Rosabelle has set the bar too fucking high.
“Look,” I say, trying to take a full breath. Everyone is still staring at me. “Uh, I can’t tell you what Rosabelle is thinking.
I really wish I could. But I feel like we’ve gotten off topic. I was just trying to say that Hugo is a bad choice for custodian.
She’d sooner kill her dad than open up to him, and I think we can understand what that feels like.” I nod to the group. “We’re
all a bunch of traumatized weirdos with murderous daddy issues. Kenji exempted, of course.”
“Weirdos?” Warner echoes, insulted.
“Daddy issues?” Nazeera pulls a face.
“Thank you,” Kenji says, pointing at me. “My parents were awesome, unlike the rest of you losers.”
Juliette’s eyes widen. “Kenji.”
“What?” he says, crossing his arms. “I’m not naming names or anything, but some of you were never hugged as children and it shows.”
Nazeera tries to fight a laugh; it comes out choked.
Warner sighs.
“Anyway,” I say. “Everyone in this room can attest to the fact that big, emotional wounds don’t heal overnight. That, in fact,
sometimes they don’t heal at all.” I look at Warner. “What did Rosabelle say before you had her dragged off to prison? My mother is dead but my father is dead to me?”
He nods.
“Yeah, well, I think she meant it.”
“But Hugo genuinely cares for her,” says Juliette. “This period has been excruciating for him. He wants a chance to build
a relationship with her.”
“By interrogating her?” I raise my eyebrows. “By asking her to pay for his affection with her secrets? You really think she’ll
go for that?”
Nazeera sighs. “Yeah, okay, this is sounding kind of bad.”
Kenji shakes his head at Warner. “I think he’s right, man. We gave Hugo a chance and he gave us nothing. I mean, maybe with
time he could become a resource. We could try to see if something grows between them organically—”
“We don’t have time for that,” I say, urgency building inside me again. “And we need to wake her up now, before we accidentally
kill her.”
“I will admit,” Warner says, “that it’s not an ideal solution, not even for me.
” He sounds tired. “The problem is, this is a highly classified project. Given the security risks, we have few options for managing the situation while maintaining discretion. We already had to do some damage control after James shouted privileged information at me in front of nearly two dozen soldiers, at least three of whom were not cleared to receive sensitive intelligence—”
“I did what I had to do,” I argue. “You left me with no choice—”
“Otherwise,” he says, ignoring me, “there are only a handful of people with the necessary clearance to be fully and unconditionally
briefed on the matter. Most of whom are in this room.”
Warner looks around at us.
“I’ve been trying for days to come up with a better alternative,” he adds, “but Rosabelle is going to need a dedicated, around-the-clock
security detail. Most of us are already operating beyond capacity, and no one else wants the responsibility of managing her—”
“I do,” I say in a rush.
Everyone turns to look at me.
I hear how desperate I sound and I want to kick my own ass. Still, I can’t stop myself from adding, “Let me manage her.”
“Bro,” says Kenji, the word heavy.
Pointed.
He’s sitting in one of the velvet reading chairs, tossing and catching a throw pillow into the air, and just then he lets
it fall to the ground. “Tell me that wasn’t a serious request.”
“Why not?” I ask this even as a small voice in my head tells me to shut up. “Why is that so crazy?”
“He didn’t mean it,” Nazeera says, shooting me a warning look. “James was definitely joking.”
“I did mean it.” I’m unhinged. I’m unhinged and apparently I’m committing to the personality all the way down. “I’m not joking.”
Warner looks at me. “Are you seriously suggesting I lock the two of you alone together in a safe house where you might have
unfettered access to her day and night? Are you really asking me to part with my mind long enough to even consider such an
idiotic request?”
“Yes?”
“Separate and apart from the fact that you’ve clearly developed an unstable infatuation with her, your past attempts at interrogating
her in a contained environment have achieved nothing but repeated bloodshed—”
“But it’s the obvious solution,” I say, having lost control of my mouth. “She trusts me—and I can handle her. I’m here, I’m
available, I’m capable—”
Warner pinches the bridge of his nose. “Kenji,” he says quietly. “Please kill him.”
Juliette laughs.
Kenji chucks the pillow at me, hard. “No problem.”
The cushion glances off my body. “Look, we don’t have a better option—”
“I can do it.”
We all turn toward the sound of Nazeera’s voice.
She shrugs, then pushes her hood away from her face. “The girl can stay with me.”
Warner looks at Nazeera with surprise, like he’s only now realizing there was a solution right in front of him this whole time. He’s looking at her like this is the best news he’s heard all day. Like this is a revelation.
It pisses me off.
“No way,” I say. “You don’t even live here.”
“So what?” she counters. “I was already planning on staying longer than usual.” She darts a glance at Kenji, who seems suddenly
fascinated by the throw pillows. “I have an empty house, a spare room, and no personal effects; it’ll be easy to turn it into
a safe house. Plus, it’s here.” She spreads her arms. “Within the boundaries of The Waffle, totally secured. Hugo lives off campus, where the risks are
higher. If she’s here, she’ll be within easy reach of all of us. She won’t have access to public spheres. We can keep a closer
eye on her.”
I move away from the window. “The only reason you’re staying longer than usual is to assist with Juliette’s responsibilities
while she’s on maternity leave,” I point out. “You won’t have the time—”
“I can do both.”
“No you can’t—”
“Are you sure it won’t be too much?” asks Warner, who’s studying Nazeera closely. “You’re already helping to manage a lot
of her day-to-day.”
“I’m sure,” she says, turning to lock eyes with Juliette. “You’ve already established a system out here that’s optimized to ensure your safety, which means you operate without the need to be physically present—so most of the work is remote—”
“Fine, okay,” I say, waving a hand. “Maybe you can find the time, but I don’t think you realize that taking on Rosabelle will
require monitoring her around the clock and caring for her needs as they arise.”
“You say that like it’s hard,” she says, annoyed.
“For you? It’s fucking rocket science.”
“James,” says Kenji.
“Language,” Warner says with a sigh.
Nazeera glowers. “Rocket science isn’t even as complicated as people think it is. Your analogy sucks.”
“Whatever, you know what I mean,” I counter. “Hell, everyone knows what I mean. I love you, Nazeera, but you don’t know how
to take care of things.”
“What?” she says, drawing back. “That’s not true.”
“You might be able to take apart a jet engine, but you don’t even know how to keep a houseplant alive. You once got a betta
fish and then forgot you had it—”
“I didn’t forget,” she says, looking sheepish. “I just realized it was better suited to life with Winston.”
“It died!”
“After a couple of years!”
“Five months,” Kenji says under his breath.
“Look,” I try again. “It wouldn’t even matter if you knew the difference between a fitted and a flat sheet. Rosabelle is a
trained assassin. She doesn’t know you and she won’t trust you. She’ll be trying to kill you constantly—”
“Um, I thought the idea was that the girl only gets to live if she’s willing to cooperate,” Nazeera says. “If Rosabelle wants to be an asshole about living in my house, I’ll be happy to put her out of her misery.”
I turn to face Warner, alarmed. “Are you hearing this? She thinks she can troubleshoot her issues with murder—”
Juliette stifles a laugh.
“You’re being ridiculous,” Nazeera says, shoving her hands in her hoodie pocket. “Just because I don’t know how to iron a
shirt doesn’t mean I’m incompetent. It means I grew up with maids who did everything for me, and you can blame my parents
for that. They were more interested in me learning how to kill things than clean things. And at least now I know how to cook—”