Page 111 of Seven
Instead, there was a strange, volcanic heat—something so new and so consuming I didn't have a word for it. There was want, yes, and something dangerously close to happiness. But no fear.
That scared me more than anything.
Tonight was no different. When I checked the digital clock on the nightstand, it showed 3 AM.
I got up and walked to the window, hugging myself, and staredout at the city. I only dropped the shades halfway down to be able to see the view below. At this hour, the only movement came from out-of-service buses and late-shift delivery trucks. The whole world was running on fumes.
I pressed my forehead to the glass until it hurt.
Maybe if I stood there long enough, I'd be able to burn the memory out. Although I wasn't sure if I wanted to.
Instead, the restlessness kept growing. It pooled in my lungs and crawled down my arms, like I needed to do something or I'd go insane.
There was a sound from the main room. A soft, careful click as someone unlocked the front door.
I froze and listened to the sound of footsteps. I recognized them immediately.
Seven.
Even before I saw him, I somehow knew. His presence filled the space like new oxygen.
He didn't turn on any lights as I pulled the bedroom door open and shuffled into the main room. The only illumination came from the city glow in the windows.
His boots made two dull thuds on the concrete, then he stopped right in the center of the room. His body was framed in negative space as he looked in my direction. His face was covered again, and I tried to remember it, but there were only fragments.
I stared back. Our eyes met, but no words appeared.
For a long time, he didn't move. He just stood there, glaring at me, then he pulled out a yellow envelope from underneath his leather jacket and dropped it on the table with a flat smack.
After he walked over to the window and pressed a palm to the glass.
He didn't turn around.
I counted to three and crept a little closer, feet bare on the cold floor.
He didn't react to the sound of me approaching. He remained at the window, watching the city, his back to me.
I sat down on a chair by the table, pulling my knees up. For a while, neither of us said anything. I took it as a sign that he didn't want to discuss the kiss. He'd never called me back.
Eventually, I broke the silence. "Is this the information on Valmont? In the envelope?"
He kept his face to the window. "No."
"Then what?"
He finally turned, and the city lights caught the edge his face. Helooked tired, the skin under his eyes gone gray, the exhaustion lines around them a little deeper.
"My real identity." His gaze locked on the envelope as if it were a bomb.
I felt something shift in the room.
"Does it…" I trailed off, unsure how to phrase it without sounding like an idiot. "Does it have your real name?"
"I don't know. I haven't looked," he admitted.
"Why not?"
"I thought I wanted to know. But now…" He stopped. "I'm scared, even though I don't have any fears." He chuckled bitterly. "Isn't it strange?"
