Alex said nothing to either affirm or refute my declaration that he was with my dad when he died, but his silence was confirmation enough. I recognized in his expression that he knew I was prepared to hold him responsible for my dad’s death. I cringed at the guilt flooding his eyes. The apology looming. That he was to blame.
I didn’t know how far his abilities extended, or what all they were yet, but I knew what he was and what that meant. Beautiful or not, charming and mysterious or not, Alex was the dealer of death, and that changed things. I could never forgive or care for someone who took those I loved from me. This can’t end well, I thought.
I nearly succumb to the weakness in my knees, but the anger welling up in my heart steadied my resolve. I wanted to throw up. The sight of him at that moment made me sick to my stomach. I’ve never been a violent person, it’s not like me, so I was surprised by the overwhelming desire to punch Alex in the face. I knew it wouldn’t have an effect on him, but the want was there.
I leaned against my dad’s dresser for support.
“Was it…?” I swallowed hard. “Did you…?” I could barely put the two words together to properly accuse him of the atrocious thing I suspected. I kept space between us, afraid of the wrath that was building in me, enticing me to act.
I didn’t care when his god-like face crumbled. From where I stood, it was nothing in comparison to the ruin my insides were experiencing. I could afford no compassion for my dad’s killer.
A hush fell over the room, amplifying the steady rhythm of Alex’s wristwatch. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. The prolonged wait for his answer was maddening. My mind became more frantic the longer I was left without a reply.

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