Chapter One

I groaned as I heard the gentle sound of his laughter echo through the air.

“You know,” he grinned easily, and I pulled back to avoid his touch, “you don’t have to be afraid of me.” He shook his head vehemently, “I just don’t get it.”

I didn’t get why he couldn’t leave me alone. I swear to God, it was his intention to make me as miserable as possible. “Neither do I,” I muttered, hating him more in that moment than I ever had, “It would be so much easier if you were afraid of me, like you should be.” I was furious, though I couldn’t tell whether I was mad at myself or him.

The corners of his mouth twitched, but, amazingly, he didn’t laugh. “Becky, you know that I have no reason to be afraid of you. You can’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?” I challenged, not without desperation. I was beginning to feel sick to my stomach. What I wanted more than anything right now was to lie down before I passed out in front of him.

“Stop,” I was whining and I knew it, but I couldn’t help myself.

He looked amused. “If only I could smack him,” I thought viciously.

He tilted his head to the side in what I supposed he considered a very endearing sort of way. It was revolting, really, the way he kept staring at me. “Stop what, exactly?”

I let out a low, territorial hiss. “Looking at me.” This was wrong, beyond all doubt. I felt oddly violated just by his gaze.

His laughter did not ease my intense desire to kill him. “I’m still surprised that there’s anything there to see…”

“Please don’t bring this up again,” I had to restrain myself from begging. This was not something that I wanted to get into.

“Please, can you just answer my questions?” he asked softly.

I did the only thing that I could think of: I looked away. God, how I hated when he would do this to me…overwhelm me like this. It didn’t help that he was unnaturally handsome. He knew it made it harder for me to ignore him. Well, that and the fact that I found him terrifying.

“James…” I moaned, hoping he would let it go.

“No, Becky, you never answer,” he actually had the nerve to look sad at this. I scoffed lightly.

“Of course I never answer. They’re stupid questions.”

He merely glanced at me, and then noted, “You have too much trust that I’m not going to hurt you.”

I have to admit - If my heart was still beating, it would have frozen in my chest. I started to panic. Here I was, afraid he was going to hurt me, when it should have been the other way around.

“James, you can’t –you - I,” I began, feeling distinctly nauseous.

He lifted a hand to my neck gingerly and sighed in disappointment. “Nothing.”

“Did you expect there to be?” I asked scathingly, but I was still having trouble forming coherent thoughts, especially since he was so close…

He pulled back as suddenly as if I’d shocked him. Which, I reminded myself, I probably had.

“You’re going to need to learn how to control yourself, Becky.” He stared at me intently and I couldn’t remember any other person making me feel so guilty and upset at the same time. Every time he said something to me, it came out chiding. I couldn’t stand it.

“And why,” I gritted out, “do I have to listen to you?”

“Shh,” he hushed me, “You never answered my question.”

I frowned, “You never asked a question, moron.”

This only seemed to make him grin more. Wasn’t there anything that I could do to make him leave me alone?

“What,” I started, hoping to get this over as soon as possible, “do you want to know?”

“If I take your picture, will you show up?” he laughed.

“What kind of a stupid question is-” I tried to sound as angry as possible, which wasn’t actually that hard to do, since I was fuming.

“Just answer me, please.” He was getting me all worked up again. I swear he does this on purpose. I could almost feel the heat rising.

I hesitated, and then told him the truth. “Yes.”

He didn’t believe me. Of course, I hadn’t really expected him to, but still…it was rather unnerving that he always made me feel the need to explain myself.

I had every intention of leaving it at that, but then I made the mistake of looking up at him. “Damn him,” I thought immediately, hoping that, by thinking this, it would erase the face that he had on. Honestly, I don’t know why he was looking at me that way – I hadn’t done anything wrong. I had told him the truth, god only knows why, and he repaid me with a look that clearly accused me of lying. Well, if I was going to be accused of lying, I might as well…

“…If you take the picture in 1905,” I finished solemnly and proudly, the anger finally easing away. I had this odd habit of telling him the truth too much; it was comforting to know that I could lie to him and not face any consequences.

Against my better judgment, I couldn’t seem to stop my gaze from rising up to meet his. Traitorous eyes…

“Damn him,” I thought again, feeling myself get angry again. It was seriously becoming a problem that whenever I looked at him I felt compelled to do whatever the hell he wanted me to. I wasn’t used to people having this kind of control over me; it just wasn’t healthy.

He was raising an eyebrow at me and I flinched thinking about how much I wanted to tell him the whole story, as though I trusted him. Which I definitely did not. He just…kept taking me by surprise (I couldn’t help but notice the irony of this).

“And now?” he asked coolly, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Now,” I started, anger flashing in my eyes, “I still show up! I still reflect light, don’t I?” I didn’t understand who he thought he was, but I was fully prepared to tell him what I thought of him.

He raised his hands back in surrender. “Okay, just asking. No need to get defensive. I’ve never taken a picture of -”

That was it. I jumped up, throwing my hand over his mouth. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out quite as I planned. In fact, it kind of supported what he already knew.

“Becky,” he sighed in warning, “Your hand.”

I pulled it away warily, but only after I saw how disappointed he looked…in me. I still didn’t understand how he managed this.

“Thank you,” he said, and it horrified me that he sounded amused, as if this were something that should be taken lightly. He just didn’t get it.

“Sorry.” And, given the humility that I felt, it was actually somewhat sincere.

“Sure,” he breathed lightly, looking more amused than ever, and I glared, forgetting whatever it was that I had intended to say.

“You asked me a question, Becky,” he reminded me slowly.

I had to look away, because if I had to keep watching him smirk at me like that, I would have found a way to make sure that he could never smirk again.

“I – I don’t actually remember what I was asking you,” I admitted, feeling embarrassed.

“Hmm,” he responded, then he straightened up, adopting a much higher voice, “‘And why do I have to listen to you?’” A voice that was apparently supposed to be mine. I frowned, horrified, then decided to pretend that I hadn’t forgotten in the first place…and therefore hadn’t heard that horrendous impression of me.

“And do you have an answer?” Perhaps that came out a little too harsh.

“Not exactly…” he deliberated, grinning, and I grew impatient…rather rapidly.

“Well?” I urged a bit desperately after the pause grew too unbearable.

He then had the nerve to laugh at me, which, admittedly, was not helping my anger issues. “Patience!” he laughed softly.

I had glared so much in the past minute that it was actually beginning to get boring. I’d had enough. It disappointed me when I went to yell at him and he chose that moment to answer. I had been oddly excited by the thought of telling him off. Since I couldn’t, after all, cause him any physical harm. Damn rules.