The Girl Who Wasn't Page 13

  I lie very still while her fingertips trail lightly over my chest and neck.

  “I’m going to apply a cream to some of these bruises,” she says to me. “It’s going to hurt.”

  “Okay,” I whisper.

  “I can give you another injection to help you sleep, but it would be more effective if you can wait until I’m done with the cream. Can you do that?”

  “I’ll try.” My voice is barely above a whisper but Josephine nods in understanding. She reaches into her bag and begins pulling out supplies.

  On my other side, a hand slips into mine. I look over at Linc, then down at our joined hands. His fingertips rest lightly against my palm, his hand weightless against me. He is afraid to hurt me. I curl my fingers around his and squeeze. He squeezes back and smiles, but it’s pained.

  Josephine wasn’t lying about the cream. It hurts. The moment her hand touches my skin, the burning erupts. I shift and squirm, biting my cheek to remain still and not make it worse.

  Her touch is feather-light against my skin and still it leaves a trail of fire behind. I have yet to see the damage for myself but I know it cannot be pretty if the pain returns so readily.

  “How are you doing?” she asks, still intent on what she’s doing below my collarbone.

  “Fine,” I lie.

  I tighten my grip on Linc’s hand.

  “It’s over,” she says finally.

  My cheeks are stained with moisture. Linc is watching me. His relief matches mine.

  Josephine forces a smile. “You did very well,” she says. “And that cream will help. By morning, it won’t feel as raw.” She frowns. “Nothing I can do about the bruising,” she adds.

  “It’s going to be bad,” Linc agrees, his voice a growl. “How can he expect her to go out tomorrow night?”

  I don’t hear Josephine’s response. The pain is building again, leaving behind a roaring in my ears. I don’t realize I’ve made a sound until their conversation cuts off and they glance at me. Josephine scoots closer, a syringe already in her hand.

  “I’m going to give you that second injection now,” she says.

  I nod, which I hope she takes as a signal to hurry. I squeeze my hands together as the medicine is forced into my vein and like before, I count to ten. A soft sigh escapes my lips as the pain recedes. My eyelids become heavy with the weight of the medicine and I let them close, enjoying the sensation of floating for as long as it will have me.

  The mattress shifts as Josephine rises. I listen as she moves about, straightening up and gathering her things. A moment later, I feel a strand of hair brush along my shoulder as she bends over me. “Get some rest,” she says. “I’ll be back in the morning to check on you.”

  I give a small nod, not wanting to spoil the relief I feel by talking or moving more than I have to.

  “You were very brave tonight,” she adds.

  Then she is gone.

  Linc is beside me, his hand still in mine. I don’t want him to go. The idea of him leaving makes me afraid for the first time since I was dragged into the alleyway.

  “Don’t go,” I whisper.

  I open my eyes just as he raises his to my face. I know he was staring at my chest again. I’m sure there’s an irony there but I can’t bring myself to joke with him right now. The idea of laughing hurts.

  “I won’t,” he promises.

  The drugs make my limbs heavy, my thoughts thick. I have trouble keeping my lids open and after a few moments, I let them close and just lie there, half awake, half falling off the edge. Oblivion sounds good.

  When the mattress shifts and Linc’s hand slides free of mine, I bolt upright—and immediately regret it. I cry out and he is there immediately, guiding me back with gentle hands. “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere,” he says. He sits next to me, shoulder to shoulder, and slides his hand back into mine. Even with the blanket and a few inches of space between us, my nerve endings hum at his closeness. Or maybe it’s the medicine.

  I begin to relax again.

  “I recognized her,” I whisper after a moment.

  “Who?”

  “The girl who attacked me tonight. I’ve seen her before.”

  He stills beside me but don’t look, unsure how far I want to take it. How much can I tell him?

  “Where?”

  “That first party I went to, with Taylor, when you saved me on the rooftop. She was there in the lobby when I arrived. Gus saw her too.”

  “Gus saw her?” he repeats. I can tell this is new information to him.

  “Yes. And there was a boy with her. I don’t remember him as well. He stayed farther back.”

  Linc is quiet for a long time. I wonder what it means if Gus hasn’t said anything about that night. “What did she want?” he asks finally.

  “She asked for my autograph. She took my picture.”

  There is an odd note to his voice when he asks, “Did you give it to her?”

  “Yes.” I try to shrug but it hurts and the motion is jerky and awkward. “She seemed so …”

  “Harmless?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think that’s the point.”

  There’s something in his voice. Hesitancy, though I can’t understand why. I recognize it because I have the same feeling. I don’t tell him what she said to me about my secret. Instead I say, “She got away tonight.”

  It’s not a question but he answers anyway. “Yes.”

  “Who is she, Linc?”

  He doesn’t respond and I wonder if he knows more about this girl than he’s let on. There is something he doesn’t want to say. “Where did you get that tattoo, Raven?”

  The change of subject is unexpected. I know the tattoo he means. My brain is foggy from the drugs and I can’t remember which lie I should tell. “I’ve had it since the beginning,” I mumble.

  “The beginning of what?”

  “Of me.”

  “So, you’ve had it since you were born? You were given a tattoo as a baby?”

  “No. I … not a baby.” An alarm bell sounds in the back of my mind. I am dangerously close to a line that, once crossed, cannot be uncrossed.

  Linc knows it, and he presses. “What does it mean?”

  I decide to tell as much of the truth as I can and hope it satisfies. I am too muddled, too exhausted to lie. “The tree represents life.”

  “And the numbers along the branches?”

  I curse inwardly. He’s seen more of it than I thought. But I cannot tell him about the numbers. “Linc, I’m tired.”

  “You’re not a very good liar, Raven.” He isn’t angry, only resigned. We both know the truth will come—eventually. Only, not tonight. Not like this.

  I sigh and lean my head on his shoulder. “I know.”

  Chapter Ten

  I wake sore and exhausted despite the hours of rest. My bed feels like rocks underneath my skin. Sunlight streams through the curtain. I’m still not sure what woke me, though I have a vague notion of some noise grabbing my attention from the subconscious. I shift from my side to my back to escape the glaring light and wince as my tender shoulder is pressed against the mattress. Last night’s attempt on my life has put all of the others to shame.

  I am not even fully awake before the redhead’s words replay in my mind. I know your secret.

  Everything has changed. It’s no longer her I am protecting through my silence. It is myself. They want me. Not Authentic Raven but Imitation Ven.

  When I remember the redhead and the way her fists felt, I swallow a sob, unsure whether the faceless security guard stationed outside my door will hear me if I let it loose.

  A noise sounds from the floor at the foot of my bed. Every muscle in my body stiffens. I wince and then very slowly push back the covers and crawl toward the foot of the mattress.

  I peer over the edge and find a wad of blankets that rise and fall rhythmically. They rustle again as whatever is wrapped inside rolls sideways. The corner falls away and I see his face.

 
It is Linc.

  He is sleeping in my room.

  My initial elation is stamped out by horror. I look to the walls, the dresser, the knickknacks where I have always suspected cameras hide. They cannot see him here. Titus would …

  I cannot finish the thought.

  I jump up. Every muscle and nerve ending in me screams in protest as I run over and crouch in front of the pile of blankets that is Linc.

  “Linc, wake up,” I hiss. My throat is scratchy but my voice is intact.

  I shake him and he stirs. “Hmm? What …?” His eyelids are sleepy, his words lazy.

  I shake him again. “You can’t be in here. They will see,” I say. I am pleading now.

  I cannot imagine a scenario where Linc is discovered in my room and gets to live through it. Whether I knew he was here or not will not matter to Titus.

  “What time is it?” He looks down at his watch, fully awake now. “Shit!”

  He jumps to his feet and looks around wildly, as if he can’t remember where the exit is. Then he focuses on me again. He casts a quick look over his shoulder—at what, I don’t see—and takes my arms with his hands. His grip is light as he backs me into the corner between the dresser and the chair. The walking is what makes me wince, the creaking of muscle on bone. He frowns as he takes in my expression. My shoulders bump the wall and he drops his hands, letting them slide lightly down my arms before lingering on my wrists.

  “How bad is it?” he asks, his voice low.

  “It’s … not good,” I say.

  His expression twists into something so fierce it makes me want to weep. For him. For myself. For how much I hate Titus Rogen.

  “Linc, you can’t be in here. If they find you …”

  “I know. I just—I was worried and you were in so much pain after the injection wore off.”

  “Can you call Josephine back so I can have another shot?”

  He shakes his head sadly. “I checked in after you fell asleep. Josephine isn’t allowed to treat you today. They don’t want word of your injuries spreading. Not until they have their desired outcome.” He spats the last two words, as if they taste badly in his mouth and I know then what I’ve been wondering for weeks. Linc knows my purpose here. Even if he doesn’t realize I am not Authentic Raven, he knows they will do anything to capture the ones who are after me. Including letting me die. Especially letting me die.

  “I have to tell them about the redhead,” he says.

  I nod, knowing he’s right but that it won’t make a difference in their consideration for my life. “All right,” I say.

  Linc steps back. “I’ll find you later. Try to rest.”

  “I can’t. I have the party.”

  He scowls. “Screw the party.”

  “You know Titus won’t let me skip it.” He doesn’t argue. We both know I’m right. “I’ll have to wear a long-sleeved dress,” I say.

  Linc rubs a hand roughly over his face. “I want to kil—”

  “Linc, don’t!”

  He lets his unfinished sentence hang in the air and then he turns on his heel and walks out. I sink into the chair beside me, curl up, and cry silent tears.

  ***

  Maria brings food in the afternoon. I manage to eat some but mostly I just lie in bed and stare at the ceiling. My thoughts are clearer but slow and lazy, an aftereffect of so much medication. I don’t mind it. It’s easier to keep my panic hidden this way.

  Titus comes at five. Through the open doorway, I see my guard in the hall. It’s not Linc but I don’t have a chance to wonder about it before Titus shuts the door and faces me. “Linc says you recognized the girl who attacked you last night.”

  “Yes,” I say, my voice scratchy but better. “At the party you took me to last week. The girl who stopped us in the lobby for an autograph and picture.”

  He frowns. “You’re sure it was the same girl?”

  “Positive.”

  He is contemplative a moment longer before turning to go. I stop him, knowing I have to tell. Partly because if he finds out I held back, I’m not sure what he’ll do. But another part of me can’t stand the uncertainty in my discovery. “There’s something else. She knows what I am.”

  Titus turns back. “What do you mean?”

  I relay the conversation that took place between punches. When I get to the part about her knowing my secret, his jaw juts forward. “How is this possible?” he demands.

  I don’t have an answer but he doesn’t seem to be speaking to me. He looks past me, at the gauzy curtains hanging on the window. I can see his wheels turning and despite what that girl did to me, I can’t help it. I actually feel afraid for her.

  “Have you told anyone else about this?”

  “No, of course not,” I assure him.

  “Good. See that you don’t.”

  “What does this mean?” I blurt out. “If they’re after me for … me, instead of her?”

  He pauses, his hand on the knob. Without turning back, he says, “If I knew that, you’d already be dead.”

  He pulls the door open and steps out. I don’t stop him.

  When it’s time to get ready, no one comes to help me dress. Even Maria stays away and I can’t help but wonder what she’s done to piss Titus off—or what I’ve done. Maybe it’s the dull throbbing of my injuries or maybe it’s that I’ve finally accepted the inevitability of my death but I no longer care if he’s angry.

  I manage to find a floor-length navy gown with sleeves that come to just below my elbow. Delicate blue lace covers my midriff, connecting the fabric on top and bottom. Another layer of lace exposes my legs from thigh to knee before the slinky skirt pools at my feet. It is high-necked and only an inch or so of bruising shows above the collar. The tattoos mingle with the bruises, dampening their full effect. It will have to be enough. There is nothing else that will even remotely cover the extensive blues and purples that coat my upper body. Either Authentic Raven stores her out-of-season dresses elsewhere or she likes showing skin. My gut tells me it’s the second.

  Gus knocks on my door to announce a five-minute warning just as I’m sliding my feet into a pair of nude heels. They are as uncomfortable as they look and I wince as I’m forced to walk straight-backed and prim to keep from tripping. My body screams in protest. I’ve already checked for flats but there are none to be found in the room-sized closet.

  I do one last mirror check and decide Titus can like it or not. I sweep my hair back from my face and then carefully arrange it in a braided twist over my shoulder to cover what bruising the dress won’t. I must remember not to flip my hair tonight. It is the only thing covering the large, purpling mass that spreads from my back, over my shoulder, and along my collarbone.

  I walk to the door and pull it open. Gus is waiting for me. His expression is impassive as usual, but he spends extra time letting his eyes roam over me. Inspecting the damage, I’m sure. I must pass the test because he gives a grunt and then spins on his heel, leading me down the hall to the elevator.

  Linc is nowhere in sight. I don’t even know if he’s on security detail tonight but something tells me he will be there.

  Titus is waiting for us in the foyer. He is dressed in a black tuxedo with shoes so shiny they look wet. He isn’t smiling when he sees me but his frown lessens as he takes in my conservative dress, my hair spread over my shoulder.

  “Move your hair,” he says when I approach.

  I comply without a word and wait while he inspects my skin. Before he can utter a word, Maria rushes up, breathless and harried. “Here, sir, I found it just now.” She hands Titus a cream-colored scarf that reminds me of my curtains.

  “Put it on her,” he says.

  Maria steps up to me and threads the scarf around my neck, tying it loosely.

  “What is this for?” I ask.

  “It covers what your hair doesn’t,” Titus says. “Don’t take it off.”

  When Maria is finished fussing with it, she steps back and Titus inspects the results. “Hmm. It
isn’t something you’d normally wear, but it’ll have to do. If anyone asks, the designer paid you.”

  “Paid me?” I blink back at him, trying to understand.

  “To advertise the line.”

  “People will buy this if they see me wearing it?”

  I can feel Maria watching me and I know my cluelessness has confused her, but she says nothing.

  “Yes,” Titus says through clenched teeth. He jams his thumb against the button that summons the elevator and we wait in silence.

  The doors ding as they open and we step inside.

  ***

  The party is held in a metal tower that has been sculpted to look like ribbons at its apex. Twisted metal glints in the moonlight as the car rolls to a stop underneath a canvassed overhang.

  When I reach for the door handle, Titus’s fingers on my wrist stop me. I hate that he is touching me but resist the urge to yank it back. There is hardness in the way he stares and my body is too tender to go against him tonight.

  “You will laugh and you will drink and you will flirt. You will be her and you will not forget who you are,” he says. “Do you understand me?”

  “I understand.” My throat constricts, aching with the simple two words.

  He lets go of my wrist and I push the door open, in a hurry to escape this stifling car, even if it means donning my mask. I am her now.

  A doorman ushers me forward with a sweep of his hand. The door slides aside automatically as I approach, and I wonder what his purpose is if not for actually assisting my entrace. He smiles politely, his expression distant. He seems to know he is not a part of this world except as a bystander. I start to smile back and stop myself. She would not smile. Stone-faced, I sweep past him.

  The lobby is crowded with arrivals and coat-checkers. People waiting for their partners crane their necks to see out into the night, searching for a specific face that has yet to arrive. I skip all of this, knowing Titus is not far behind me and not wanting to suffer through his escort. I hurry forward until my shoulder bumps another. I wince and am driven sideways half a step before I turn apologetically to the other party.