Chapter 12
“L evi, please,” she begged, as if the fear in her eyes would change my mind.
I rolled down a metallic chair in the middle of the classroom, pointing for her to take a seat. I hadn’t exactly planned out this little tête-à-tête, but her words “it all came back” captured my curiosity. She was hiding something I had to know. Something that broke her but wasn’t me.
“You can either spend your hazing with me or be at the mercy of the masked Tacticians in our dungeons with your Unifiers teammates. And you can be sure, generous as I am, I’ll ask them to be at their worst so that your nightmares appear like dreams in comparison. No one will save you, and your daddy will ship you back to your rich girl’s prison for the rest of your life.”
I stared at the party in the gardens where students were drinking big tanks of beers, regrouping the hazing students from the bullies to start the Hazing Night festivities. Kay and Tara led their group. Yet here we were, the both of us, alone. It was almost poetic.
Dalia finally capitulated and took a seat, folding her arms on her chest, accepting her fate. Her swollen eyes were red. What broke her? It couldn’t be those two brainless idiots. But what? Who?
“Good girl.” I went to the teacher’s desk and grabbed the bottle of alcohol in her top drawer. “Mrs. Yatz always keeps it there as a reminder of her recovery, yet she always thinks about drinking it. She should just drink it, get back to who she really is, instead of thinking she could be better.”
“You think you know everyone because of your skills, but you’re wrong,” she spat. “You think so little of everyone because you can’t even stand to look at yourself in the mirror. Maybe she keeps the bottle because it reminds her of how far she’s come and how strong she is now.”
“You sound like my old therapist. And you underestimate me, Mercier,” I said, watching over the windows while stalking to her. “Looks like your useless house finished second, right behind us. Isn’t that wonderful? Your headmaster is bringing his ducklings into the forest for a boring hide-and-seek.”
“I get it. You’ll never forgive me, but can you at least forget about my existence, and I’ll do the same?”
Huh, I’d never seen her defeated before, her shoulders slumping. She was always bursting with hope and annoying optimism. Witnessing her stripped of her usual rainbow of colors pissed me the fuck off.
“I’m afraid I cannot,” I admitted, halting before her. “Now, shall we play a little game? I ask a question, and you must answer truthfully. If you refuse or lie…” I leaned in closer, my hand gliding down her neck until she jerked it away. “I’ll claim something of yours.” I gestured to the bottle and glass, posed on her side of the table. “Or you could spare yourself by helping Mrs. Yatz resist her pathetic urges.”
“If this is your version of a truth or dare game, you’re the pathetic one.”
“Think of it as our official first date.” My lips tightened in a thin line. Taking a seat in front of her, I hook an ankle over my knee. “We have until midnight. Isn’t it romantic?”
“Having me sequestered in a torture chamber doesn’t sound like a first date.”
I scoffed. “Semantics. Plus, some first dates are horrendous, the kind you never wish to experience again, and this is the standard I’m usually aiming for.”
“Fine.” She bit her inner cheek. “Ask away.”
“You looked terrified before you mistook me for your knight in shining armor. What scared you?”
She blinked, not expecting me to jump straight to the point. “They were about to force me to take a pill to do God knows what. Of course I was scared.”
I tsked. “Not the entire truth. What went on inside that mind of yours?”
She rubbed her hands together, avoided my stare, and gulped. “Nothing else.”
“Let’s test it, shall we?”
I headed straight to her, caging her. One of my hands kept her locked in the chair. The other slid the zipper down on her sweater to reveal the awful lace tank top she wore like she was some eight-year-old.
“Levi, stop.” Her lips begged, but her eyes widened, her skin shivering.
“I don’t see the same darkness,” I said. “Is it because you lied to me, or is it because you secretly enjoy this? Don’t tell me you’re into me?”
She pursed her lips together. “I can’t see any sane woman wanting to date you.”
“That’s because I attract the unhinged ones who have a penchant for trying to hit me.” I arched my brow. “Is your father aware of that naughty kink of yours?”
As soon as I wrapped my hand around her waist, my fingers pressing into her rib cage, her breathing turned uneven. I sensed her abdomen tensing beneath me. I was tempted to reach higher, to cup her breast, while feeling the pulse of her frightened heart, but I didn’t. Yet.
“Remember, you were the one kissing me, throwing yourself pathetically at my feet,” I whispered to her.
“Is that the excuse you’ll tell yourself when you abuse me against my consent? Because that’s your plan tonight, right?”
I didn’t like to use physical force to obtain what I wanted because physical touch with others repulsed me. But right now, it didn’t. She teased every fiber in me to be a brute. And that outcome, if I were to touch her, would be terrible.
“I’m offended, Dalia. I’ve been nothing but courteous with you. If I really was that low-grade pervert you portray me as, I would have already exposed your breasts, pinched your nipples, and treated you like my own slut. I’d have branded my broken doll with the red marks of my bites and kisses all over your chest.” My fingers reached higher on her rib cage, and she held her breath. “But maybe I should review my tactics? Maybe I should do filthy things you never ever dared to watch before? Maybe I should even take a picture of you, so submissive and—”
“I choose the drink,” she blurted out.
“Disappointing.” Of course she would pick the cowardly option instead of the truth. I pulled away from her, going back to my seat and discreetly adjusting my hardness in my trousers. “We have until midnight. Your alcohol tolerance won’t last until then. It’s not the wiser decision.”
She seized the whole bottle and served herself a drink. “Don’t pretend to care about me now. It’s your doing.”
“If you’re trying to make me feel guilty, it won’t work.”
As soon as she drank it, she coughed. She didn’t seem like she could handle alcohol. If her strategy was to gain time, she wouldn’t last. Not that I should or would care about her well-being. Alcohol was a poison to this world. A brain killer. I’d stayed away from that shit since my mother’s funeral.
“Is this the first time you’ve ever drank?”
“Willingly, yes.” She was still coughing. “Dad never allowed me to drink, but Grandma sometimes spiced up her dishes with wine.”
I nodded. This whole rebellious act was against her daddy dearest and not directed at me. “How did your mother die?”
She poured herself another drink, spilling most of the liquid next to it. “You’ve got a morbid fascination, Levi.”
My jaw clenched. I shouldn’t have given her a choice, but she was sealing her fate. All she had to do was answer me, but she wanted to prove she was stronger, fighting me and her father by the same end.
“Probably because you’re the epitome of death, Dalia.”
Killing each of my neurons with those oversized green eyes. Haunting my sleepless nights since the day we met. Losing my sanity the moment I heard her music again. Everyone hated how fucking powerless death made them feel. Just like how she made me feel.
“Why was my mother so fond of you?”
“I don’t know,” she sulked; moody already.
“That’s not an answer.”
She took another drink, still coughing, with a disgusted grimace plastered on her face.
Then I asked another question.
She drank.
And again.
Again.
Again. Dammit.
I pinched my lips, crossing my arms. “I think you drank enough, don’t you?”
She laughed. “Why? You’re concerned about me?”
“Do you want to be unconscious? Is that your idea of winning? I could take what I want from you in a finger snap. Be smart.”
“But I am smart.” She smirked, her finger spinning on the edges of the bottle. “Because for the first time in your life, you can’t find what you want about me. Not with your computers. Not with your minions. As for the other part, you said you didn’t like weak opponents. I’m taking a leap of faith by thinking there’s still one decent part in you.”
She thought I was bluffing and wouldn’t hurt her, but she didn’t know how far I would go for her. She was special to me, so she deserved special treatment.
“Are you scared of this, Dalia?” I said, pointing at the skull mask.
She drank the rest of the alcohol until the last drop. She then threw it aside, the bottle shattering on the ground. “Oops.”
I rose, bored of these games. “Looks like you can’t hide anymore. You owe me a reply.”
“Then tell me something about you too!”
“You can’t negotiate in your position.”
She tried to stand from her chair but couldn’t walk straight. I despised drunk people. Just like Patrice used to be. They weren’t in control of themselves. Weak. Vicious. Perverted. Ugly. She pointed her finger at me, then lost momentum and tried to grab me. Needless to say, I took a step back and let her fall to the ground.
“Look at you,” I said, breathing loud.
“You could have caught me,” she protested, pouting. “It hurt.”
“You don’t need a Prince Charming.” I crouched to her height. “Now. Answer. Me.”
“Fine!” She lifted her eyes to mine, making them look big and unblinking for whatever reason. “I’m not scared.”
“Okay, then.” I put that damn mask on and cocked my head to the side.
She crawled back, not caring she’d almost cut herself with the broken pieces of glass.
“Levi”—she swallowed—“put it down.”
“Answer me, or I’ll give you something to be scared of.”
She snapped her eyes shut, burying her head between her legs, and screamed, “They killed her!”
“You have to be more precise.”
“Put it down,” she begged again.
I did as she asked. “Look at me now.”
She searched for my eyes, wondering if she could trust me. Not like I’d left her a choice. I was the only one allowed to break her.
“You have beautiful eyes,” she whispered. “Gray like smoky clouds.”
It caught me off guard. Alcohol makes people reveal their true selves. They grow evil, violent, sinful, not… kind .
“What happened, Dalia?” I repeated, not allowing her big eyes to distract me.
“There was a terrorist attack,” she admitted, her absent eyes falling on the floor. Looked like little Dalia had alcohol sadness. “Ten years ago. They stopped the performance at the opera house. Twenty-seven names . Twenty-seven people died, and I survived.”
That information sent a light switch in my head. Los Calaveras had attacked Pantheon ten years ago, aiming to kill the French president’s son; they’d disappeared after that. Their small mercenary group had operated for corrupt politicians, Mafias, and warlords. No one had ever found their locations or who they were; they were like an old myth.
“Your mother died during the terrorist attack at Pantheon’s opera. She was one of the victims.” Why did I not know that?! “And you were there too.”
She nodded, tears wetting her eyes. “Her name is on the plaque. Diana Caron. ” So she hadn’t been married to Mercier. “They wore masks, just like those ones. And I-I should have died, but Mom, she…” Her voice shook. “She told me to hide, and I’ve been hiding since then. Pantheon was our tradition. I begged Mom to bring me here every year for Christmas. It’s all my fault. Why did they die, and I didn’t? Why did I survive…”
So Mercier caged her after that. That bastard wasn’t even there, while his name would have looked delightful on a tombstone.
“That’s why you wanted to go to Pantheon?” But why would she want to go back? Why did she speak about it with my mother all those years with annoying, bright, shiny eyes even though it had taken everything from her?
“Yes.” She sniffed. “I couldn’t let them take away my dream, my happy memories, and our tradition. It belonged to Mom and me. Not them. Not to what they did. I thought I could be stronger, but I’m weak.”
She’d got it all wrong.
She was the opposite of weak.
I sat on the floor. It was my turn to stare at the void. She didn’t want to let them win. She went back to the place that had left her powerless while I avoided my past like a plague. Feelings were a weakness. They were unreliable, a decoy for our brain, but in Dalia’s hands, they gave her an unusual strength. All these years, I thought she was just daddy’s little girl who had never known pain.
“I’m terrified to play on that stage.” She closed her eyelids so tightly. “If it were to happen by some miracle, I’m not even sure I wouldn’t freeze. In my nightmares, they’re always in the crowd, watching me. What if I fail Mom? I’m weak!”
“And here I thought you would be a match for me, that you wouldn’t break so easily, but maybe I was wrong about you. If you think you’re weak, maybe you are.”
The Dalia I knew would never lose hope so easily.
Her eyes flicked open on me, and she rocked into a ball, her fingers gripping her thighs as if she wanted to tear apart her own skin. “I still hear the gunshots sometimes. The silence is so painful. That’s why I play music, to silence the ghosts.”
“I hear them too,” I said. Not like I meant to.
“You hear the ghosts too?” Her green eyes widened even more. “The ones who tell you that it’s all your fault? The guilt. The pain. The loneliness.”
My Adam’s apple bobbed, and thankfully, the midnight bell rang, announcing the end of the hazing and the beginning of the official party. I rose, feeling an unusual tightness, like thorns digging into the remnants of my rotten heart.
“I can leave now,” she said, trying to stand by putting herself on all fours, but she seemed to have forgotten how to do it.
“Kill me now.” I took a deep breath. “Stand up.”
“I can’t.” She winced. “Help me!”
“I won’t carry you, so stand, or I’ll leave you on the floor.”
She complained but eventually stood before tripping right after. I caught her, cursing myself for having to hold her. It sent a spasm in my arm, like a warning. Ignoring the tension seizing my body, as though her sole touch was shredding my muscles fibers apart, I scooped her over and cradled her in my arms.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“My room,” I said, not thinking twice. This was the closest place, and if her roommate was anything like her sister, I didn’t trust her not to drag her into trouble.
“No.” She gave me a weak shoulder slap before giggling. “No boy’s room, it’s forbidden.”
I ignored her, her mumbling, and the drunken students running in the hallway as I walked us there and snapped the door shut behind us.
“I’m in Levi’s room,” she sang, watching the boredom of it. “You need kittens.”
“Kittens?”
“Yes, they bring joy. It’s a scientific fact, just like Baron.” She slumped on my bed, not bothering to care her dirty clothes were on my freshly clean sheets. It irritated me. “I want to get naked and swim in a pool of milk and dahlias under the moonlight.”
That mental image of hers was unwanted. She was even more painful than usual when drunk. I picked up the trash and put it next to her bed, my bed, with a bottle of water.
“I want you gone tomorrow morning by six,” I rasped. “Don’t puke on my sheets. They’re satin. And drink. Water.”
“You’re not staying to torture me?”
“Torturing you isn’t pleasant right now.” It sounded like babysitting a girl who went to her first party or some shit. Plus, I needed to clear my head.
“You’re so beautiful but so horrendously scarred at the same time,” she said, half sad, half serious. She curled herself in a sleeping position as if this was her bed. “Who are you really, Levi?”
She had called me beautiful twice.
She wasn’t like Patrice when she was drunk.
I snapped the idea out of my head, then took my computer, left my bedroom, and headed to the computer lab. Her mother had died just before we first met. I needed to dissect every part of Dalia, which meant taking an interest in Los Calaveras. Each bit of information was a piece of the puzzle that was Dalia and a step closer to making Mercier fall.
I’d never chased anyone, but tonight I did, and on top of that, I’d just kicked myself out of my own bedroom.