Page 45 of Devious Lies (Cruel Crown)
As if she had one compliant bone in her body that didn’t bend at anyone but Virginia’s will.
Her tapping persisted.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Crinkle.
Tap. Tap.
The elevator felt smaller, like the walls sucked in her direction, pushing me with them. Our breaths fogged the little container—hers heavier than mine. Her chest heaved to the point where her breasts hit her chin after a sharp exhale.
Her lips moved fast, quick mutters I could barely make out.
Tacenda.
Moira.
Koi no yokan.
I’d either heard her wrong, or she’d made up the words. You never knew with Emery. Her palms pawed at the floor, pushing her body further into the corner opposite of me. She stared blindly at me, unable to adjust to the dark as she blinked rapid blinks.
A smile curved my lips. I watched her fall apart, accompanied only by blackness. No mother to tell her what to do. No daddy to run to. No Reed to serve as a conduit of bravery. Meanwhile, I looked like the poster child for Xanax, calm and uncaring as I pulled out my phone and continued to crush candy.
Ding.
Ding.
A game played by children, yet my success brought me pleasure.
“I hope his battery dies, and he suffers with me,” she muttered, probably to herself, but I wasn’t deaf.
My attention clung to her side of the elevator, enraptured by the little differences becoming clearer with each second. Anxiety, mostly. The same quirky Emery, packaged differently and stamped with extra baggage.
Good. How does it feel to live a fucked-up life, Princess? Welcome to the club.
I paid the ninety-nine cents for five more lives after I used my last one and turned the volume all the way up until the crushed wrappers and pinging drowned out her insanity. The distinct sound of a zipper unzipping halted my fingers above a coconut wheel. I waited to see where she’d take this.
Her hands worked at the corset of her dress until it loosened, and she heaved ou
t another exhale. She bent both knees, rested a forearm on each one, and leaned her head between her legs.
The first dry heave elicited an eye roll from me.
The second one had me pulling up my Spotify app.
The third one pierced my ears until my fingers ran marathons across the keyboard.
The fourth one came, and I pressed play on “Shut Up” by Black Eyed Peas.
One second.
Two.
Three.
“Turn that shit off!” Her voice bounced off the walls, an unbridled shout. Her anger formed tsunami waves in the elevator, lashing at me. “I swear, I will smash your phone against your head unless you turn that shit off!”
Following orders had never been a strong suit of mine.
