“It’s not what you think,” he said woodenly. His voice sounded foreign, detached; my knees buckled. He didn’t deny it. God, what excuse could he have for doing something this mean? This creepy? “You don’t know what I think.” A miserable smile slashed my face. “But tell me how it is anyway.” “Can’t.” Face expressionless. Eyes dead. Muscles stiff. “Why?” “Reasons.” “Reasons?” My neck and face heated further with rage. “That’s not even an answer.”
