“Let her go, Tamsin.”
Tam exhaled, hard. “We’ve worked for months to gather evidence on her. We’ll record her confession, clear your name. You deserve this.”
“I don’t want it. It won’t fix anything.”
“It’s justice.”
I flooded my lungs with cool air. “Then I don’t want justice. Hurting her changes nothing.”
“It stops her from hurting others.”
“Nothing stops that.”
“This will,” she said, gesturing with her gun.
Our eyes locked. Hardness in hers, an unforgiving gleam.
I put my hand on the pistol.
“Tamsin,” I said, “let her—”
We moved at the same time, in sync. Like always.
I grabbed the gun and Tam whipped an elbow at my chin. Part of me expected it and I held on through the pain, twisting till she dropped the weapon. It skittered between our boots and I kicked it away. Tried to pin her arms but she anticipated, slid free. She swept my feet just like I anticipated, and I braced. We knew each other too well now. How the other moved, thought. I was stronger than she was by far but also unwilling to hurt her past a point. So she pushed me to that point, again and again. We danced across the room, evading blows at the last second, taunting each other. She kicked a boot heel into my back and knocked me breathless. I slammed her against the wall, all my weight on her chest. Win passively, I thought. Wear her out. But she was wild, a demon energy in her veins. She jabbed my jaw and blood flew. I reeled and she tackled me, toppling us to the floor.
I knew what she was doing. Working me up, getting me to break through this final mental block. First I’d hurt her, a woman I cared for. Then I could hurt Ingrid.
“I won’t do it,” I gasped. “Just stop.”
Tamsin seized my collar. “Then bloody let me hurt her.”
“Why?”
“Because she hurt you, and I can’t bear it. Because I’m in love with you, you stupid boy.”
I stared up at her. Stunned, but no pain now. I worked a hand free and touched her face.
Tamsin winced. “Oh, hell. Oh, bloody hell. I’ve done a number on you.”
“Ditto, I think.”
Gingerly we sat up. Everything hurt. I felt bruised down to the bone. Tam dabbed the blood from my mouth, kissed my cheek, my temple.
“How sweet,” Inge said dryly. “She hits you, so it must be true love. You like it rough, right, Sofie? You always did.”
“Can I make that aggravating noise stop?” Tam said.
“Be good.”
Ingrid snorted. “No offense, Tamsin, but you’re simple. Sofie doesn’t do simple. It’s boring.” She shrugged. “I’m fucked-up on a whole other level. You’re about as complicated as Harry Potter. I’m Ulysses.”
“No offense taken. Ulysses is a crock of shite.”
Inge actually laughed. “I knew I liked you.”
“Now that is offensive.”
I peeled my jacket off, and my sweaty tee. Tam raised an eyebrow.
“Tell Laney to come get her,” I said.
Inge’s eyes moved over my bare chest, tats, muscle, hair.
“You can still come back,” she breathed. “It’s not too late. Your voice, your clit, that’s all you can’t change. And I kind of like you with a big clit.”
I twisted my tee into a rope.
“Ingrid,” I said, looping it around her mouth, “shut the fuck up, you toxic bitch.”
———
Two girls sat in front of the camera and the bright lights. Norah fidgeted, her gaze fluttering around the room. Ingrid stared into the lens stoically, her eyes empty and clear. Cold light cascaded off the high slopes of her cheekbones.
“State your names,” Laney said.
—Norah Grainer.
—Ingrid Svensson.
“Are you here under duress?”
—No.
—No.
Norah did most of the talking. Eager to take the blame, do penitence, absolve herself. The world held no pity for a woman who’d falsely accused a man of rape.
I knew how hard it would be on her. They’d hold her up as proof that all girls were liars. They would hate her. They would say she should actually be raped, for lying about it.
Strange, how those so eager to punish girls for lying turned a blind eye to the boys. As if the real goal was merely to inflict hurt on female bodies. To punish femininity.
I knew these things. I knew exactly how hard it was to be believed after you’d been hurt. Even by yourself.
But believing was Black Iris’s job. I needed my name cleared. My life back.
“How do you know each other?” Laney said.
—Through my friends. Inge hooked up with some girls I know. It’s kind of a small world. All the lesbians have slept with each other at some point.
“Did Renard Grant ever assault you?” Tamsin said.
—No. Never.
“Why did you lie?”
—She . . . well, everyone sort of convinced me.
“Everyone?”
—My friends said he’d played me. That I was nothing to him, just another slut. He’s slept with every willing girl at Umbra. That’s what they say.