She looked down. “I’m so sorry for what happened, Zane. I never meant for you to be caught up in the—”
“It was my fault,” I said flatly. “I was the one who called Jacobs. You had a plan, and I ruined it.”
“We’ve been over this. You were trying to save me. You did the best you could, the only thing you could do,” she said with a fierceness that was supposed to convince me of her words.
But all it did was remind me of the inadequacy of my actions. I’d wanted to keep her alive, and the extent of my power in that situation had been to make a phone call and get her captured by the slightly lesser of two evils. Yep, that had been my best.
Not anymore.
Ariane reached up, touching my cheek lightly with her fingertip, her eyes searching mine. “What happens if you stop?” she asked. “Can it be stopped?”
“What do you mean?”
“Can he…Emerson”—she hesitated over the name as if it were foreign or the first time she’d said it—“reverse the effects?”
I jerked back, as if she’d suggested physically taking something away. “Why would I want to do that?”
She looked at me, her gaze focused at a point between my forehead and the back of my skull. She was trying to read my thoughts.
“Stop,” I said sharply.
“You needed it to save you, and you have no idea how sorry I am about that. But you’re okay now, and you don’t know what the consequences might be,” she said, pleading.
Actually, Emerson had been pretty clear about those after I’d woken up in the lab. The long-term effects were unknown, obviously. It wasn’t like there were years of studies and research behind this with human test subjects. If my body eventually accepted the changes, I’d be fine, more or less. If not…well, that’s when things would get significantly bloodier.
“You’ve seen Adam,” I said to Ariane lightly. “He’s the first test case. That’s pretty much as good as it gets. Though, you’re right, the asshole personality is definitely an unwanted side effect.”
But she wouldn’t take the joke, her mouth a flat, unhappy line. “It is changing you. I’ve never seen you so quick to fight.”
“Maybe because I would have lost before,” I pointed out.
“You don’t need this,” she said. “You don’t need to—”
“I don’t need what? The ability to actually make a difference? To help? To be something other than a useless lump of human?” The frustration in my voice came through loud and clear, even to me. My whole life I’d been second best, doubted, unable to do anything right. But Emerson had changed all of that. “Right now, I admit, I’ve still got the training wheels on, but give me a few more months and I’ll have it down.”
“Down for what?” she demanded. “What will this do for you, except make your life more difficult and possibly shorter?”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “This is the first time I’ve had the chance to contribute in some way.”
Backing away from me, she raised her eyebrows, the rest of her face a careful blank. “Is your ego so fragile that you cannot accept help in a situation that you never should have been in in the first place?”
“I could ask you the same thing,” I shot back.
“This has nothing to do with helping me,” she said. “This is about you risking your life to become something you’re not.”
“Yes, because you’re so comfortable with who you are,” I muttered, and immediately regretted it.
She stiffened. “Maybe not. But I am who they made me. I wouldn’t choose it.”
I was tired suddenly, of this fight, of fighting with her. After all of this, with everyone else after us, we were going to turn on each other?
I met her gaze straight on. “And I wouldn’t choose who I was, either. That’s the problem.”
“But I would,” she said softly. “That guy, he made me laugh. He showed me a world I didn’t even know existed. French kiss cookies and Puppy Chow and Rachel Jacobs covered in shaving cream and shrieking. Having a life, being normal.” She edged closer, touching my chin. “When I was stuck in the house, hiding behind my father’s Rules, that was all I ever wanted. It was like everyone else lived in a different reality than the one I was in. And I couldn’t get there, just had my face pressed against the glass, watching. Until you came up to me in the hall that day, looking so tired and angry. You wanted my help, wanted to bring me into that other reality.” Her eyes were shining with emotion, gratitude, love—I couldn’t pin it down, nor did I want to. It was rare enough that I didn’t want to diminish it by trying to classify it.
“I hate to break it to you, but I’m not sure you got an accurate picture of regular life. Rachel coated in shaving cream wasn’t exactly a weekly event,” I said, my voice gruff.