But if he can have two personalities, anyone can have two personalities.
What if I’m like Donovan? What if there’s another person inside of me?
Nathan squeezes my hand and I find that we are already in the woods. Deeper than we should be, had I not just lost time.
“We have a tree house,” Nathan is saying. “I built it for Indie when we were teenagers.”
And then I’m back there. In the summer heat. Fresh off a kidnapping. Wearing a white dress and with the jars of fireflies lighting up our little secret getaway.
I’m pretty sure that night was real. Our first time.
And it was… so good.
It was a little bit rough, as I recall. But I liked it.
We ate ice cream, and kissed, and he tasted like mint chocolate chip.
Then he fucked me like I was a woman and not some clueless teenager. It was such a weird contradiction. Everything about where we were was soft and magical. But everything about who we were was hard and dark.
His hand around my throat. His hips hitting my ass from behind.
God, I liked it.
I’m not usually the kind of girl who likes to be controlled like that, but with Nathan? I just don’t care. No, that’s not even true. I do care. I want him to be that way.
But only when we’re fucking.
He needs to be in control of me during sex because… well, let’s just face it, Indie. You’re cra-zeee! And not in the ‘haha’ way, either. But the ‘you’re a psychopath’ way that comes with poison cupcakes, candlesticks, and ninja kicks that knock people out. And sex is one of those triggering experiences. That’s what Donovan always said when we did it. He was always asking me questions about how it made me feel and—
Hold on. Was it Donovan?
Oh, God. Maybe I was fucking Carter?
And now that I think about it, it probably was Carter. Hell, it had to be Carter because I nearly killed Donovan, and if he was in charge, why would I do that?
Never mind Donovan, Indie. You nearly killed Nathan. The only reason he’s alive is because McKay got him out of here.
How did I get here?
Oh. Right. Control.
“Wow,” Wendy says. “You built this?”
That’s when I realize we’re already at the treehouse. I lost a few minutes there, but I’m not worried about it. I was deep in thought.
“I really did,” Nathan is saying. And then he’s climbing up the wooden sticks that he nailed to the tree trunk all those years ago. And I’m coming up behind him.
When I get to the top he’s already lying on his back in the center of the treehouse, so I crawl in and plop down next to him. Wendy appears a few seconds later. She pauses to look around, takes in where Nathan and I are and how she fits in, and then decides to crawl in and lie down on the other side of him.
It’s a logical decision. Nathan is in the center of my world and everything else surrounds him.
Personally, I think he likes the two of us this way. I think he likes Wendy. Hell, I think everyone likes Wendy. Even though she has spent most of her life with the nickname Creepy, and people actually do think she’s creepy, they still like her.
There’s just something about Wendy that makes you want to like her.
I put my hand on Nathan’s hard, muscular stomach and rest my head on his shoulder. I watch Wendy for her reaction, but she pretends not to notice.
“He put fireflies in jars for me,” I hear myself say. My voice is a little echo-y, but it’s still OK. I hear it like this sometimes. When I’m floating. And I’m definitely floating today.
“Hmm,” Wendy hums. “That sounds pretty.”
“It was,” Nathan admits. “It was fucking perfect.”
I huff out a little laugh. “That was our first time,” I tell Wendy. “I had just gotten back from that Johnny Boston fuckup at the lab. He took me prisoner.”
Nathan turns his head to look at Wendy. “She had dropped me hints before she left.”
Wendy turns her head to look at him too. They are mere inches apart. “What kind of hints?”
“That she wanted to have sex when she got back.”
Wendy blushes like a teenager, then turns her head away, looking up at the ceiling.
“So I made her this place. And filled up jars and jars of fireflies. And put up mosquito netting to make it all princess-y.”
“It was so nice. But also so funny, ya know?”
Wendy props herself up a little so she can look at me. “Funny how?”
“You know, it was all romantic, right? But the sex, Wendy? The sex was—”
Nathan laughs. “Enough, Indie. She doesn’t wanna know about how we have sex.”
“Hold on.” Wendy puts up a hand. “Maybe I do. What was the sex like?”