Ethan.
Oh God. I push away from Oliver and scramble to my feet, fumbling to fasten my jeans.
‘What are you . . . ?’ I glance back to Oliver, but he’s just sitting there, expressionless. ‘Ethan—’
‘No.’ Ethan shakes his head slowly. ‘No, you don’t say anything. Don’t say a f**king word!’ His voice breaks. He’s breathing heavily, agitated, hands reaching and then closing into fists, like he doesn’t know what to do with his own body. ‘This is why you broke up with me? It’s him, it’s always him.’
I catch my breath. ‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, but he isn’t listening.
‘I should have known you’d get to her.’ Ethan paces, jittery. ‘You have to have everything, don’t you? You always find a way to wreck everything. Well, you’re not doing this. You don’t get to take her!’
Oliver watches him. ‘Don’t do anything stupid, baby brother.’
‘Don’t call me that!’ Ethan roars.
I flinch back at the fury in his voice. I’ve never seen him like this, so angry and unhinged.
‘Ethan . . . ’ I start, but Oliver speaks over me.
‘I mean it. You don’t want to go crazy and do something you regret.’ His gaze shifts away from Ethan and I follow it. The knife, resting on an upturned box.
I suck in a breath. Ethan notices. He looks across and sees the knife. Oliver makes to move towards it, but he’s strangely sluggish, and Ethan beats him to it. He grabs the knife and ducks back, pointing the blade towards the both of us.
‘Get up,’ he orders.
Oliver obeys, unfolding himself slowly from the floor. I stand there, stranded, fear racing through every nerve in my body.
What are we going to do now?
Our lives are made up of choices, you see. Big ones, small ones, strung together by the thin air of good intentions; a line of dominos, ready to fall. Which shirt to wear on a cold winter’s morning, what crappy junk food to eat for lunch. It starts out so innocently, you don’t even notice: go to this party or that movie, listen to this song, or read that book, and then, somehow, you’ve chosen your college, and career; your boyfriend or wife.
So many choices, we stop counting after a while. They blur into an endless stream, leading seamlessly to the next question, the next decision, yes, no, no, yes. The line of dominos falling one by one. Click, click, click, they tumble faster until you can only see the two that really mattered:
The beginning, and this, the end.
Oliver, and Ethan, and I.
After the fighting, and the blood. After I almost talk Ethan down; after Oliver makes his murderous plan clear, we’re left, the three of us.
Two boys. One knife, heavy in my hand. And a way out of this, so simple, I can’t avoid it, however horrifying it seems.
‘Do it,’ Oliver orders. ‘Chloe, I’m warning you. If you don’t, I will.’
‘You can’t be serious,’ I protest weakly, even as I know he is. My fingers wrap around the hilt of the knife, gripping tight. ‘He’s your brother,’ I whisper, fascinated and horrified all at once.
‘And I’m choosing you.’ Oliver meets my eyes, and the expression there is chillingly matter of fact. He’s weighed the calculation between us and, somehow, the scales have tipped. To me.
It’s crazy, but that knowledge sends a surge of power through me. He’s chosen me, over Ethan. I’m the one he wants.
‘We’re the same, you and me,’ Oliver continues, hypnotic. ‘You know it, you can stop pretending.’
‘So we go, just leave here, right now,’ I say. ‘Nobody has to get hurt.’
Oliver shakes his head. ‘He’s a loose end. You know I don’t leave any evidence behind. Besides,’ he adds with a dark smile, ‘I need to see what you’re made of. Are you the girl I think you are, or just another one of these pathetic sheep?’
I catch my breath, blood racing, boiling in my veins as I realize it was set from the start. Bringing me here, the roses and Champagne; calling Ethan to discover us. Even the way he pushed Ethan towards the knife was a manipulation – Oliver knew all along, this was where he wanted us.
It’s another of his games. The final test.
Who am I?
‘You want me to kill him?’ I ask quietly, calm rushing ice-cold through my body.
Oliver’s lips quirk in a smile. ‘I want you to do whatever you want.’
Slowly, I turn to Ethan. His eyes widen, as if he sees the darkness in me for the first time.
‘Chloe, no!’ Ethan pleads. ‘Whatever he says, it’s not true. You’re a good person, you always have been. You won’t, please. You can’t!’
He’s begging, no pride left in those broad shoulders; no easy swagger now. Ethan begs for his life and I watch him, horrified I could reduce him to this.
Horrified and thrilled, all at once.
‘Don’t you see?’ Oliver takes another step towards me, hand outstretched for the knife. ‘It was always going to end this way. Him or me. You can’t have us both, Chloe. You can’t leave with him still hanging on. You have to choose.’
‘Please, Chloe, don’t!’
‘Do it.’ Oliver is relentless. Another step, he’s closing in now, and I feel myself sway towards him, the way I always did. ‘You’re curious, aren’t you? To see what it feels like to have that power. You wanted to know, before. Now’s your chance.’
He’s right. I feel it, deep inside, the rage that won’t be quieted; the hunger only he could ever satisfy. Ethan smiled and petted at me, kept me up on his gleaming pedestal so pretty and sweet. He never knew me at all. He never wanted to know this part of me. But Oliver . . . he knew, right from the start. Everything I could be if I could just let go.
He showed me what it meant to feel power, and anger, and desire. To be the one calling the shots, never to cower and beg like I used to.
That’s what I want my life to be.
I close my fist around the knife, the hilt tucked snug in my palm.
‘That’s right.’ Oliver smiles. ‘I knew you’d realize.’
‘No,’ I tell him, steely. ‘You said, this was my choice, and I haven’t decided yet. Who knows?’ I add, arch. ‘I could choose to kill you instead.’
Oliver laughs, his eyes glittering at me in the dim light. ‘You decided the minute you picked up that knife, sweetheart.’ He grins. ‘You could have given it to him, you could have thrown it clear. But you like it, you like being the one with all the power.’