When Perfect Meets Crazy

Chapter 22: 21 - The lying game

It was him. I was certain of it. That tousled hairstyle that screamed, ‘Touch me, I’m as soft as I look’ had

to be his. I knew those dark locks, just like I knew that physique. That tall and built but not excessively

so in such a way that was off putting physique. And the tuxedo. No one else could feel out a tux like

that. It was him. It had to be, which could mean one thing; the sneaky little bastard was avoiding me

and spying on me from afar. I was absolutely sure of it.

I had caught a glimpse of him two days ago at a café downtown during another entirely unnecessary

prom committee meeting and again before that when I was picking Olly up from her violin lesson. Both

times, as soon as I caught sight of him, he’d be gone. He disappeared that fast. By the time I turned

back for a closer look to be sure my eyes weren’t deceiving me, he was nowhere to be found so I wrote

both times off as my mind playing tricks on me but, clearly, it wasn’t that. The asshole was spying on

me and avoiding actual contact. Can you imagine the audacity?

Sure, it could’ve been that he didn’t notice me but believing that felt a lot like lying to myself. He had

actively stalked me for over a month, following me everywhere but the toilet and now, he could overlook

me in a crowd? That made no sense.

I was going to get to the bottom of his strange behaviour. Who exactly did he think he was? If he

thought he could just pop in, stalk me for weeks and then pop out with no warning, he was mad. Plainly

insane. How dare he even?

I kept my gaze trained on the dark locks covering his scalp, tracking his movement through the crowd

as I brusquely brushed past people in a bid to catch him before he bolted again.

How he thought he could avoid me in this crowd was beyond me and to an extent, it pissed me off. This

was my turf. I had been coming here for years and this year, I was part of the organizing team for the

show. Thank you, private elitist schools for your fancy events meant to ‘create opportunities and nurture

the talents of your students.’

Claire Anne High, like a lot of private schools of its kind, believed in fancy events and affiliations that

promote and strengthen its position as both advanced and elitist. In this case, that meant showing the

works of some of her artistically gifted students alongside the works of locally renowned pros at the

most acclaimed art gallery in town under the guise of a charity event. To be fair though, some of the

students’ works were really good and with the hefty fees our parents paid the school, it was safe to say

this was covered as well.

Masked Idiot must not have properly done his homework on this one because, opening night or not, he

definitely was not going to escape me here.

“Hey!” I yanked him back, planting myself in his path.

His eyes widened, settling on me. Owned by NôvelDrama.Org.

“Avyanna,” he breathed.

“Avyanna?” I hissed. “Really? Avyanna? That’s all you’ve got?”

“Hi?” He frowned.

“Hi?” I scoffed. “Hi?”

He tilted his head, wordlessly asking what my problem was.

I rolled my eyes heavenward and let out a sarcastic bark of laughter. His eyes narrowed, darting left

then right before settling back on me. Confusion filled his gaze.

“Hi?” I repeated, my annoyance coming to a head. “Are you crazy? Where the hell have you been, you

psycho!”

“I wa--”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I cut him off, eyes flashing with anger.

“Well, I--”

“Why the hell have you been avoiding me?”

“Are yo--”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” My face distorted distastefully. “What the hell were you trying to

do just now? Run away? Again?”

He pursed his lips and released his breath in a huff. “Are you going to let me answer?”

I bared my teeth and took threatening step forward. My expression made it clear it was not a good time

to get cheeky. He took a step back, putting his hands up in the universal sign of surrender.

“Calm down,” he said.

My eyes narrowed, anger sparking in their depths.

“Sorry,” he quickly added.

Mildly abated, I folded my arms across my torso and ordered, “Explain yourself.”

“Well, I...” he trailed off.

“You...?” I prompted, tightly gripping my opposing arms to keep from giving into the urge to smack him.

“What? Spit it out.”

“You know what?” He flared up suddenly. “This is all your fault so drop the act.”

“Excuse me?” My tone was low, levelled and venomous.

“Forget it.”

He shook his head, scoffed condescendingly and tried to go around me. I planted myself in his path

again.

“The fuck are you going on about?”

“You! You’re the problem! It’s all you!” he exploded, throwing his hands up.

I bristled.

“Did you just yell at me?” My eyebrow arched. “Don’t. Ever again.”

He drew in a fortifying breath, closed his eyes, and then let out the breath on a sigh.

“Forget it,” he bit out through tightly clenched jaws, absently raking a hand through his hair.

Thanks to his outburst, a few heads had turned our way. I gritted my teeth, irritation filling me up as I

waited impatiently for their gazes to turn away. When it didn’t fast enough, I grabbed him by the sleeve

and dragged him out.

“What is going on? What am I missing?” I asked. “Why are you acting weird and why did you ghost me

like that?”

• • •

Third person POV

• • •

He had miscalculated. It was a big mistake on his path. He should have known she would be at the

gallery opening. He should’ve seen it coming.

He scowled.

He really should’ve known. Her school’s logo was emblazoned on the cover of the brochure for the love

of God. He should have immediately guessed that she would be involved. She was, well, herself after

all. Avyanna Johnson, do-it-all extraordinaire.

Unfortunately, his brain hadn’t immediately made the connection. Not until their eyes met across the

room and thanks to being unable to bolt fast enough, he was now cornered.

He had only himself to blame. He knew that very well but as she led him outside, into the chilly night

air, he couldn’t help but want to blame everyone else involved; his handler for not being able to figure

out just what Avy was truly up to beneath all her façades, his mom for being so keen on the arts and

making him to scout for pieces to add to her already massive collection, his dad for agreeing to the

request, the organisers for not putting Avy’s name -preferably in large neon print on the front page- on

the brochure so he instantly knew to stay away, the couple who didn’t move out of his way fast enough

so he could escape, the waiter who thought he was in desperate need of the bathroom and slowed him

down trying to offer directions. Not a single one of them escaped a barbed insult in his head.

She finally came to a stop a significant distance from those loitering around the entrance. She spun on

her heel, pinned him with a sharp unyielding gaze and said, “What is going on? What am I missing?

Why are you acting weird and why did you ghost me like that?”

His mouth was dry. All the champagne in his system, giving him a pleasant buzz, instantly fizzled away.

Just like that, he was sober and ingrained in the moment. He did not want that one bit.

A large part of him wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her to her senses. Another part

wanted to shove her and her lying ass as far away from him as possible. He should’ve have known

something fishy was going on the second she didn’t scream on finding him in her room that very first

night. Well, to be fair, he did know. He just stupidly forgot thanks to her superb acting. She almost had

him fooled.

Never again, he swore silently.

Thank God he went back that night. And to think he only went back because he felt bad about leaving

her all alone, sick and dosed up on meds. How stupid of him.

He sneered inwardly.

At least now he knew better. Thanks to that stupid impulse, he got to hear her sleep induced

babbling. He knew what torture PTSD looked like. He had seen some cases among the guys at the

arena; the whimpering, the begging for it to stop, the bargaining with their tormentor, the sweating and

shaking, the ragged breathing. She exhibited every single sign that night before finally babbling about

doing better, getting another chance, keeping her mouth shut and taking ‘it’ down.

He smiled scornfully. Taking him down, he corrected.

She really was a great actress. He had totally believed her ‘honor roll, perfect suburban kid’ act but

every single thing had been a lie. He had completely bought everything she said when she was doped

up on meds, even going as far as to feel guilty for pumping it out of her. She probably hadn’t even been

loopy at all. It most likely had all been a ploy to get him out of the house faster because the meds were

making her drowsy and she knew what she could accidentally reveal in her sleep.

His smile was bitter and tinged with self-mockery as he replied, “Sorry. Things... things got a little...

problematic at the club. There was a leak to the cops and some other hiccups to take care of.”

For the first time ever, he lied smoothly to her. Nothing had come up at the club. The one the cops

raided was a different club but he figured she would have at least heard of the raid but not all the

details. He might as well throw her and her cohorts off his trail with the lie.

He had been spying on her the whole time, hoping to catch her slip up but she was too good. Not even

once had she done anything suspicious. He had even looked into her gaming. Apparently her

pseudonym was very popular in the gaming community. A lot of professional teams had tried -and

failed- to recruit her. According to his findings, she would pick a video game, play it for a few years,

build a strong account and then sell it to pro-gamers and rich gaming enthusiasts for sizeable amounts

of money. Of which, not a significant amount was missing from in the account he traced it to.

Every single thing about her checked out. Whoever was covering her tracks was pretty damn good at it.

There was no single loose thread to unravel her web of lies. If she hadn’t slipped up that night, he

definitely would’ve been fooled.

As she stared up at him, her seemingly guileless doe eyes reflecting the streetlight, he made his

decision. His heart slowed, pounding steadily but forcefully. He knew what he had to do.

“It’s all settled now. Don’t worry about it. I just thought for a second that you were the one who sent the

cops our way but judging from your reaction, I guess it wasn’t you.”

He pasted a smile on his face. Two could play the lying game.