Page 88 of A Heart of Bluestone

A heartbeat passes, a rapid and lurching one. Then another and another, and I wait, soothing my breaths, easing the thundering pace in my chest.

I wait for the panic to ease—and for that tingling sensation to die.

Courtney looks up as I come in.

Kneeling at the drawer tucked under the foot of her bed, she is surrounded by strewn clothes and sneakers toppled all over.

“Did you read it?” she asks, her hands fisted in polyester scarves.

Dazed, I blink at her. “What?”

The touch of Dray’s mouth still tingles my lips. The sharp fragrance of his cologne lingers on my clothes.

“The article.”

“Oh.” I move for my bed. I drop my caddy onto the nightstand, my movements like that of a zombie, a freshly resurrected corpse. “No. I… I uh, built snowmen.”

A frown cuts my face.

I built snowmen.

Feels a lifetime ago, not just in the day that passed.

I flop down on the mattress, right onto my front. Cheek pressed to the bedspread, I stare at the pillows.

“Well, the print is due in a month, soplease,” and there’s nothing polite about the emphasis on that word, “read it soon, yeah?”

Still, I stare at the pillows. But I only see long, dark lashes low over diamond eyes.

“Yeah.” My tone is light but monotonous. “I will.”

The rustle of clothes comes from behind me.

Courtney digs through her things again. Ignorant to the coma I’m about to slip into.

“Have you seen my gloves? The pink cotton ones with the little smiley faces?”

Serena might have tossed them into the fireplace. She was as offended by them as me. Every time Courtney wrangled them onto her hands, Serena didn’t hide the pursed mouth look she glowered.

I mumble my answer, “No.”

And for a long while, I just stare at the pillows.

14

Sunday, I stay in bed.

I eat from the drawer of snacks.

I hide behind the drawn curtains.

Sometimes, I bite down on my bottom lip and slide my hand between my legs. Other times, I cry. Most of the time, I slip into daydreams of my life with true power, with a print, and how that would be.

The day is spent hidden.

The only time I abandon my cave is close to midnight, when I run down to the cigar room for the water closet. Then I’m back in my bed, rugged up, and I become a sushi roll of self-pity.

15

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