Walter de Ville's Advocate

Chapter Fourteen

I knocked on her door, but didn't wait for an answer before opening it.

"E—Evie?" I asked, my voice shaking. "You okay?"

"I'm leaving," she replied, her tone monotonous as she grabbed a stack of her clothes from the left side of her wardrobe.

"Why? Did Viktoria say something?" I asked, walking further into her room. I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold the truth from her now. She likely didn't suspect what we actually were, but I still had to play this off like Lucy hadn't already come to tell me what had happened.

"I do not care about Viktoria." That makes two of us, likely even more than that.

Evie thrusted the papers into my hands – the ones I knew were coming, and barely glanced at them. "Okay, look, I can explain this."

Evie came back into view, more clothes in her hands as she approached her suitcase. "What, that you were stalking me?" she asked, pain evident in her voice. She felt betrayed, she was hurt.

"Mm," I bit my lip, "that's a bit of a stretch."

She leaned against the settee, "You have a file on your desk with my name on it, Walt."

"If you let me explain—."

"You know, I knew this was too good to be true," she said hurriedly, her heartrate picking up. "And here's the evidence."

Too good to be true? What, all this? Or me?

Did she mean me?

"Evidence of what?" I finally asked, genuinely curious.

"You said you wanted to get to know me, but it's all here in black and white," she sighed and then started counting off on her fingers. "My mom's name, where I grew up, my school . . . You already knew everything!"

I raised my hands in defense, "Let's not jump to conclusions."

"And tell me," Evie continued, "do you vet everyone who comes here, or is that a privilege reserved for – you know – people like me?" Now the hurt in her voice was turning to anger.

"That's nothing to do with it," I replied, offended that she would even think that. As if I care about that!

But she went on without hearing me. "Smart thinking, getting my criminal record checked," she wandered back over to the wardrobe, "but that'll need updated seeing as I broke into your study with a hairpin; a trick I learned at 13 years old when my assigned locker had a junky lock on it." Her tone had adopted a sardonic edge. "Should I go on, that way you can add more to your little dossier?"

Now I was getting frustrated.

I walked over to her vanity to drop the papers. "You're being obstinate," I groaned.

"And you're being arrogant," she shouted back.

"You don't know what it's like to have people use you, and take advantage of you," I gestured behind me, an unintentional slip as to all whom I meant, "all the time."

She scoffed, "Really?" Evie turned to look at me, "I don't know what that's like?"

Of course, she was right, but I couldn't go down that avenue.

I took a deep breath, more for show for her, but it somehow propelled me forward. Actually, I was practically yelling now. "I wanted to know a few things about you before I let you sleep under my roof," I walked back up to her, reaching my hand out as I gestured to her. "Would you not have done the same?"

Evie resumed packing, silence stretching between us.

My neck tightened, and I feared I wouldn't be able to hold back my rage long enough – that the beast within me that fed on situations like this would come forth without command.