Page 57 of Forget Me Twice

Finally, I hear Wren slip back into the room, his footsteps more urgent as he returns to my spot behind the couch. He crouches down and holds out a plastic bottle of water that’s dripping with condensation.

I want to weep with joy. My tongue feels like a giant wad of cotton and I’ve never needed fluids more in my life.

“Legendary,” I croak, reaching a shaky hand for it.

He pauses, suddenly considering my prone position. “Do you…need help sitting up?”

“Probably,” I huff, trying to slide my elbows underneath me in an awkward attempt to prop myself up.

Wren places the water down before slipping his hands under my armpits and hauling me up. Between the two of us, we manage to get my mostly dead weight up and leaning against the couch for support.

He cracks the lid on the bottle and hands it to me. Then the only sounds are my desperate gulps as I guzzle the water down like a person dying of thirst, stumbling upon an oasis.

When I’m finished I let out a loud, satiated sigh, before dropping the empty bottle into my lap. My throat will be raw for a while, but I no longer feel like I should be spitting up mouthfuls of blood.

I catch Wren’s eyes darting towards the door again. “What is it? Do you need to go?”

He looks back at me, hesitance clear in his expression. “I should…”

I was kind of preoccupied.

“Just help me to my feet, then you can go,” I say, trying to contort my own face into something I hope resembles a wink and a knowing look.

It’s hard to tell. Parts of my face still feel numb.

He grunts, then scoops me under the armpits once more, only this time he hauls me all the way to my feet. I hiss like an angry cat at the sudden vertical movement, swaying like a drunken sailor as I fight the rush of vertigo. “Jesus Christ, Wren, a little warning,” I grit out.

He lets out a small huff. “Thought you were tougher than a little dizzy spell.”

A giggle—that sounds more like a gurgle in my ruined throat—bubbles up out of my mouth at his uncharacteristic cheekiness.

I shoot him a wobbly grin. “Jacobs, don’t find yourself on my steadily growing shit-list. Just don’t.”

He responds with a small grin of his own, and it feels like a victory. I need this boy as an asset for our organization, but there’s just something about him. He feels more…organicthan most of the students I’ve encountered so far.

What you see is already the stripped down, authentic version of Wren Jacobs. Not everyone will necessarily be invited in to get to know him, but you sure as hell won’t be served up anything less than the truth when he’s around. It’s refreshing.

I wouldn’t mind him on my Crew. In fact, I kind of…really want to be his friend. That’s not something I find myself wanting often. I’m too selfish to form lasting friendships. I always end up taking more than I can give back.

Without realizing it, Wren has already hooked one hand under my elbow and is steering me towards the door. Tremors run up and down my legs, and my knees feel like they’re made of Jell-O, but my steps get steadier the closer we get. By the time we make it to the end of the dark hallway, I’m no longer leaning on him for support.

We both come to a stop in the shadows, each of us taking in the crowd still occupying this dance floor and lounge area. I see Wren’s gaze jump to a small group of Rox Academy students that are currently sprawled across a settee on the other side of the room.

It’s a mixed group, and I can’t tell who has him so transfixed, but it's obvious to me that I’m not going to be able to compete against their attention tonight.

Knowing I also have a lot of lost ground to cover, I elbow him in the ribs. When he gives me an annoyed look, I tilt my head in their direction and mouth, “Go.”

His brows pinch slightly as he checks over my face and posture. His annoyance softens and then he mouths back, “You good?”

I nod once and then shove my reluctant rescuer lightly in the small of his back. He stiffens at the touch, but doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t even glance back. He just angles around the living mass of dancers and couples, heading determinedly back to his waiting group of friends.

That sharp twinge in my guts is just the lingering effects of theAsh.

It’s definitelynotenvy.

With the supportof Wren’s arm now gone, I slump wearily against the wall beside me. Despite feeling like I could sleep for a whole fucking month, I’m still lucid enough to use the poor lighting of the hallway as cover while I catch my breath.

My arms feel weak and heavy, and my fingers don’t want to cooperate, but after some fumbling, I manage to pull my phone out of my skirt.

---