Page 30 of Beautiful Chaos
“Weird.” He pauses, like he’s trying to be careful with his words. “Y’all don’t seem to…get along.”
I scrunch my nose. “I don’t like characterizing it that way. I appreciate and love him for all he did to keep me sane. But the way our mods clash…” Now I’m the one trying to be careful with my words. “Uncle Anders likes to say that we’re like two male betta fish in a single tank.”
Oakley chuckles. “That sounds exactly like something Uncle Anders would say.” He drums on the desk. “Yet Edison was the one who helped you direct that rage?”
I think back to all that entailed, not wanting Oakley to think worse of me. I simply nod and take a sip of soda.
“Does this have to do with the murder room I saw in the Cave?” he asks with a careful look.
I choke on my drink. It goes down the wrong pipe, and I start hacking up a lung.
Ouch.
Humiliation burns through me as I get the cough under control.
I didn’t know Hedy had taken them to the dungeon. I don’t want him to know this part of me. Not yet, at least.
But hedoesknow.
Since I have no other options, I answer him truthfully. “Yes. I—” I think through how to say it, wishing my cheeks weren’t so hot. “When Edison could tell that I had reached a boiling point, he would take me to that room.”
“How old were you the first time you went into that room?”
I press my lips together, but he’s clearly gonna sit there until I tell him the truth.
“Thirteen.”
Oakley’s eyes widen and his breathing slows.He didn’t know that part.
“Have any of those prisoners ever…hurt you?” he asks carefully.
I shake my head.
“Are you ever in any real danger?”
I shake my head again. And think about that room, which I frequently paint with the DNA of very bad people.
“Got it.” He grips my hand again. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. Just know you’re safe to share whatever you want to with me.”
I grimace.He already knows too much.
“Or not,” he quickly adds.
I pick at the label on my soda.
“I’m sorry. I have access to most of your personal information, which can’t feel great. Especially since you weren’t the one to share it with me.”
I shoot him a look, then go back to picking at the bottle.
“Look.”
I do. His smile is so warm that I want to bask in it like a cat.
But we’re in the middle of a conversation, and that would be weird.
“We can stop here,” he continues, unaware of my whole cat meander. “Or maybe you can tell me the part that’s bothering you the most, so I can step more carefully next time.”
Oh. Well. That’s easy.
