Because you hate me.
Because I killed your father.
Because your mother's next, and based on that look in your eyes, I think you know it.
"Because you weren't here when I woke up this morning."
"Oh." She pushes away from the wall to trudge through the room, plopping down on the black chair that remained vacant all night long without her. She kicks off her flip flops and pulls her filthy feet up, tucking them beneath her as she settles in. "Well, we're not related, and they only let family stay overnight, so…"
"So they wouldn't let you back here."
"Yes."
Anger stirs inside of me. It's one thing for her not to come; it's another thing for them to turn her away. I can't fault her, as much as it stings, but I most certainly will hold it against them. "Did you tell them who you are to me?"
"No." Her voice is even smaller now. "You were out of it, so it wouldn't have mattered. I just stayed down in the waiting room until they told me you were awake."
"You stayed there all night?"
She nods slightly, tinkering with her hands, picking at her nails. My gaze shifts to them, the skin pink and scrubbed raw. I wonder how many times to washed her hands to rid them of my blood. Her engagement ring is visibly absent, a fact that doesn't surprise me. She never even put it back on.
Maybe it's an act of rebellion.
A way to assert some control in an out-of-control situation.
Or maybe she wants nothing to do with ever marrying me.
I don't ask her about it, though, and she's never brought it up. She sits there silently, attention focused on her lap, before she lets out a sigh. "I thought you were going to die."
I can't tell how she feels from her hollow voice, so I ask a question I dread. "Are you disappointed I didn't?"
It's like zero to sixty in a second flat, her head turning, narrowed eyes meeting mine. Tears swim in the corners, threatening to spill over as she glares at me with so much hostility, if I weren't so goddamn injured, I might move away from it. The woman tells me I'm a monster, but there's a little beast in her that she unleashes from time to time.
I probably shouldn't love it as much as I do.
"I should be," she says, her voice shaking as she fights to keep those tears from falling. "I should want you dead. God knows you probably deserve it. I should hate you… I do hate you. Some days I wake up and wish you'd disappear, so I'd never have to look at your face again… but then I thought you might. I thought you might actually die. I though you were dying." She pauses, a tear breaking free. She wipes it away with her fingertips as she looks away from me, laughing bitterly under her breath. "I thought I might never see your face again, might never hear your lying voice again, and that hurt more than I expected it to."
I watch her as she brushes away another tear… and another… before I respond. "I've never lied to you."
"You keep saying that," she says, her voice an octave higher than just a moment ago, stronger, like maybe admitting she might not like to see me dead lifted a weight off her chest. "And the sad part is, I think you actually believe it."
"I do," I say. "I've never lied to you."
"Well maybe that's true in whatever universe you live in, but here in the real world there's such a thing as lying by omission, and it hurts just as bad. You deceived me. You played me. Toyed with me. The whole time we were together I wondered 'why me?' And now I know why. You were manipulating me! So maybe you didn't lie to my face, but you certainly weren't being honest. You weren't being real. You can't smile and act like you love me one second then destroy my world the very next. You can't do that and expect me to still trust you, Naz."
You can't smile and act like you love me one second then destroy my world the very next. Those words hit me like a punch to the chest. Somebody did that to me once, and I certainly never forgave him for it.
"I never tried to be somebody I wasn't," I respond. "Maybe I didn't show you all my cards up front, but I never misled you about what game we were playing."
"It's not supposed to be a game!"
"That's where you're wrong," I say. "The world is a game, Karissa. There are winners and losers in life, and I did everything in my power—and I'll always do everything in my power—to make sure I never lose. Maybe I have to cheat sometimes, and I don't always play fair, but I can't. Not if I want to survive it. You can hate me for that, but it won't stop me from protecting you. It won't stop me from making sure you win, too."
"And what if you can't?" She finally meets my eyes again. She's putting it all out in front of me, her heart on her sleeve, airing her grievances instead of bottling them in. "What if we both can't win?"
"I've already told you what happens then."
"What?"
"I give you the plank, Karissa."
It takes a moment for her to understand. The Plank of Carneades. If only one of us could survive, who would it be? Some people believe murder is justified when it's vital to save yourself. And while I'm not one to frown upon stealing another life, there are certain people I could never bring myself to take from this world.
Certain people like her.
Just her.
Because a world without her in it, I'm not sure is a world worth living in anyway. I've lived a life of darkness already, years where the sun didn't shine on me, and now that I've seen daylight again, I don't think I could ever turn my back to it.
She stares at me, not bothering to brush away a stray tear when it breaks free. It falls from her chin into her lap as she shakes her head, like she can't believe what I'm telling her.
She doesn't respond, doesn't press the issue, as she shifts around in the chair and lays her head against the arm of it, using the hard surface as a makeshift pillow. Silence smothers the room for a few minutes, neither of us speaking or even moving. My eyes are glued to Karissa as hers slowly drift closed.
Hours pass, each tick of the clock agonizing. I'm stiff and tired, annoyed and in pain, wanting to be anywhere but in this goddamn bed.
People leave me alone, stepping into the doorway and glancing in, but moving on without addressing me. It's late afternoon when Karissa reawakens, stretching and yawning, clearly uncomfortable sleeping in that chair.
She should be at home.
We should both be at home.
"You don't happen to know where the clothes I came here in are, do you?"
Karissa's attention shifts my way. "They were ruined."
"And you didn't bring me any extra?"