His Identity

38

"I don't want to talk to you."

"Come on," he pouts and I back away further. "Don't give me that treatment. It's been so long."

I want to say, 'I was hoping I'd never have to see your ugly face again, asshole.' But I bite my tongue, holding the words in. I will not entertain him, I know how much he enjoyed it when I'd talk back. Sometimes.

Anxiety begins clawing at my chest. Images of how he used to treat me flashes in front of my eyes, reminders of what I did makes me look at the door behind him desperately. I want to get out of here, I have to.

Air refuses to go in. I have to get out of here. Now. Having a panic attack in front of him is not something I ever want to experience.

No. I take a deep breath. No. I'm not weak. I am not the same naive girl I was when we dated. I've changed, I'm stronger. I'm better.

"Aveline," my name sounds so wrong coming from him.

When Nick says it, it's different. The way he says it makes me want to hear it over and over again coming from him, however weird that sounds. But when Brian says it, I feel shivers crawl up my spine. I don't like it. I can't believe I ever used to but I preferred that to the nickname he had for me.

"Doll," he smirks as if he just remembered that and takes a step closer to me. My breath hitches and I back away into the sink, my hands going to grip the edge, desperate to put space between us. I would've stepped aside but I know he'd reach out for me, I don't want to feel his hands on me ever again. 

His eyes seizes me up, and I raise my head in defiance. I hold his stare— something I've never done before. He raises his brows and his smirk widens, "well, well, someone grew some balls."

"Fuck off."

He raises his brows, his stare containing nothing but pure amusement as if he expected that. "I'd rather not," he stuffs his hands in his pockets, "like I said, I'm here to talk."

"I really am not interested in whatever you have to say."

"Oh, but I think you are," he blinks, smiling like a total psychopath. Even his smile is no longer attractive. There's a villainous glint in it. "See, it's about one of your friends."

My expression remains blank, "I don't want to hear it." What does he have on them? Probably shit. Either way, I'm not interested in holding a conversation with him.

He narrows his eyes on me for a split second before he sighs and steps aside. "Fine," he nods towards the door, "leave, if you want. I really just wished to talk."

I glance at the door then back at him. Is this some sort of trap? He's done this before. Made me think I could leave only to grab me and drag me back to him. As if reading my thoughts, he steps further away, "no foul play. You can leave."

And I don't waste time as I run to the door. My hand reaches the knob when what he says makes my action falter. "It's about Nick though."

"Don't you want to hear what I have on him?" At his question, I slowly turn around, keeping my hand on the knob. Never give him your back. He clicks his tongue, the sound echoing in the room. "So, you do then."

I say nothing. He smirks and leans against the sink, crossing his arms. "Nick. Fascinating guy, isn't he? So. . . Mysterious. Is that what you like about him? You like a little challenge, don't you? Is that why you're messing around with him?"

I try to not let the surprise show on my face. He has been stalking me. He has been watching me and I hadn't known a thing. Dread fills my entire body. For how long?