Averil Dean - The Undoing

“Trouble in paradise?” he said.

His voice was low and rich with amusement, as though they were sharing an inside joke at the back of a crowded room. He propped his hand on the wall behind her head. She couldn’t look him in the eye without stepping aside or craning her neck; either choice felt like a concession, so she willed herself not to move, not to lift her face to him. She stared past the shadowy bump of his collarbone at the wall sconce near the end of the hallway.

“Let me by, Julian.”

He leaned in closer, lowered his head to speak from just above her ear. His breath was warm on her temple.

“What are you going to do when they leave you—tell me that. Do you even know?”

A shiver crawled up her neck. Don’t speak. He doesn’t know us; he doesn’t know what we’re about. But the question in her mind bubbled through the tarry silence and burst from her lips before she could stop it.

“Why do you hate me, Julian?”

For a moment she imagined a flash of surprise in his expression.

“I’ve been nice to you,” she said.

The surprise, if it had been there, was gone. His face hardened. He pushed back from the wall and turned away.

“You haven’t been,” he said. “You haven’t been nice at all.”

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