Breaking The Mirror [Edited And Complete]

Sting? Bee Sting?

After I say it over and over again for a few minutes, he's finally satisfied. Then he just stares at me for a while with a look that I can't identify. I'm not sure any emotion quite goes along with that expression. But I know from it that the kiss was real. I open my mouth but he apparently reads my mind and cuts me off.
"It never happened."

I swallow a lump in my throat and nod and he stands up, muttering something about me having to get some sleep.

"Yes, sir."

He pauses at the entryway to the hallway and turns back, his arms crossed and his brow furrowed in frustration.

"How many times to I have to tell you, brat?" He sneers, "Call me Seaton."
My eyes widen, and before I can respond, he's out of sight and down the hall. I hear his bedroom door shut and I curl up tight in the blanket, suddenly very cold without him in the room with me. I lay my head on the armrest, close my eyes and try not to think about the ex-cop-painter-Master Hypnotist-mind reader who had to go kiss me.

-
Seaton's shirt is much too big for me.

Well, duh. 'Cause he's 6'3 or 6'4, muscled and healthy and I'm short and skinner then Paris Hilton if she spent a year in Ethiopia on vacation. Yeah. That's the best comparison I could think of. And completely exaggerated. So sue me for bad metaphor skills. How can I think completely straight when I'm with a guy like him?

Seaton cooked breakfast, threatened to force-feed me until I ate it willingly, and handed me a black button-up shirt before telling me to take a shower. I did so as quickly as possible and put on his shirt. The shirt smells like laundry detergent. I like his shirts better when they're on him – then they're scented with Seaton, not flowery soap.

Jacobs was there when I came out of the bathroom and Seaton was talking to him in a hushed voice. They stopped talking when I came into the room, so I knew their conversation involved me. I look straight at Jacobs and say firmly.
"No trial."

He raises an eyebrow and meets my two-worded challenge.

"Too late."

No. I don't know what my face looks like, but it's got to be a comical mix between horror, devastation, humiliation and fury. No. Nonononononononono. No. No. I absolutely refuse. No. No. No. Never

"No," I reply, shaking my head and finally voicing what had been repeating itself in my head. "No."

"Hey, look –"

"You'll need my testimony," I say calmly. "And I won't give it to you. If you go to trial, no matter how good the lawyer, without a victim, you'll lose."
"We'll make you," Jacobs suggested, shrugging.

"I'll lie," I respond.

His eyes narrow, "You'll be under oath."
"I don't believe in God," I tell him honestly. The oath is to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God. If I don't believe in God that doesn't apply to me. That's my argument anyway.

"It doesn't matter, you'll be committing perjury," Jacobs tells me, obviously perturbed by my lack of cooperation. Never.

"I don't want this, and you can't make a victim testify," I inform him, calling his bluff. I know that much, anyway. I'm not a complete ignoramus.

"So you admit you're a victim!" the cop exclaims. The 'Ah ha!' is barely suppressed.

"No," I reply simply. I've already talked too much for this man that I care nothing for. I hate talking, have I mentioned? Seaton is an exception. It seems he always is.