Page 72 of Haunt Me

And neither will she.

Book Margin

The book: Eden’s copy ofWuthering HeightsbyEmily Bronte

He looks at me as if I am his entire world.

I don’t know what he sees in me, honestly.

I think I am too skinny to be beautiful. I can feel his eyes caressing my skin, heat erupting wherever they land, and I know he means it when he says he thinks I am gorgeous. But I’m looking in a mirror right now. All I see is black (cringe) hair tied up in a tight braid, empty brown eyes and shallow cheeks. I don’t see gorgeous—although what do I have to compare myself with?

Just this girl in the mirror.

My only friend.

eighteen

I text her as soon as I get to the cafeteria.

I can’t stand this. I can’t be without you.

It’s literally been fifteen minutes, you idiot, she replies at once and I breathe.

I imagine she was, for once, staring at her phone. The same way I’ve been staring at mine since she gave me her number, all these months ago.

Otherwise known as an eon, I reply.I didn’t like the way you left.Scared. Upset.

Don’t worry about that, she types back. I’m always scared.

Not when you’re with me you aren’t.

I hope that didn’t come across as angry as her last text made me feel.

Not usually, she replies.

Then again, maybe I hope it did sound angry. Because I am fuming right now.

“Hey, Isaiah,” a dude slides in the seat next to me and bites into his burger. Three more guys take their seats around us.

“Hey.” I try to eat as well, but I can’t get the food down.

This isn’t new: it’s been this way since October. But after I met Eden, I started swallowing the food, even though it tasted like dust, because I could distract myself by thinking about her. At first, being curious about her. Then… more. And more.

Now, I’m back to not being able to eat at all again, but for a different reason. I’m too euphoric to eat. The conversation buzzes around me, but I can’t concentrate on anything. I can’t stand that I chased her away.

This isn’t healthy, a voice inside me says.You can’t eat because you’re thinking about a girl.

I don’t care, I reply to it.It beats not being able to eat because you’re thinking about your dead dad anyway.

I pick up my phone. A girl sits next to me on the other side, eyeing my phone. I know she is hoping to start a conversation, possibly to flirt a little—or, if the past is any indication, a lot—with me, but I don’t have the energy to let her down gently right now.

I’ll tell you what, forget I said I love you, I text Eden, fully realizing how ridiculous this is. Seeing as I literally just typed ‘I love you’.

“Gosh, I’m such an idiot,” I murmur to myself.

“Did you say something, Isaiah?” the girl next to me asks—her name is Cameron.

We meet sometimes when she sneaks into the music rooms to dance; her parents are forcing her to pursue journalism. She has been nothing but sweet to me, and I’m ignoring her like a jerk.

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