Page 23 of Atone

“Thank you for letting me read that.”

He nods, tucking the journal back at his side.

“I have nightmares sometimes,” I admit, feeling like a secret given means a secret owed. “I don’t know if that’s what you were talking about in that passage, but that’s what it made me think of. I try to tell myself that eventually they’ll go away. But that’s the problem with things that are only half imagination. They never really do.”

I pull a hair tie off my wrist and wrangle my hair back into a ponytail, suddenly very hot as Alex watches me.

I’ve never wanted to read someone’s mind like I want to do his just to know what he’s thinking.

Probably:why hasn’t this girl left me alone yet?

I tug my ponytail tight, and my hands fall to my lap. “Sometimes I tell myself the nightmares aren’t such a bad thing. At least I can wake up from them. And at least they mean I haven’t fully forgotten.”

I’m saying too much, even if I’m not saying anything at all. But I can’t seem to help it. Alex feels like a safe space in a world that isn’t.

“Anyway, you don’t want to hear me ramble about my sleep habits. I’m sure you have more important things on your mind.” I tangle my fingers in my lap, avoiding his gaze. “Besides, I’m fine.”

If I say it enough, I’ll believe it.

I’m fine.

I’m fine.

“I should let you get some sleep.” I force a smile and stand. “Thanks for keeping me company tonight. I know I kind of forced it on you by showing up unannounced, but I appreciate it all the same.”

Alex shrugs, and it’s…

Borderline playful?

Or maybe I’m just terrible at reading people.

I move to stand, and Alex follows, suddenly towering over me and forcing my neck to crane to meet his gaze.

Except, he’s not looking at me. His stare is locked on the sleeve I used to wipe Oxy’s blood from the back of my hand. He surprises me by reaching for it, tugging the fabric away from my arm so he can brush the pad of his thumb over the dried blood.

That simple gesture has my body burning for his touch.

Touch he denies, much like the relief he mentions in his journal entry.

When Alex’s hand falls away, he turns and walks to his dresser. Opening one of the drawers, he pulls out a hoodie.

“It’s not cold tonight,” I assure him.

But he glances back to the window as the first raindrop spatters the pane. It multiplies quickly, until water makes rivers on the glass.

“Oh, right.” I watch the rain spill down the pane. “Thanks.”

Alex unfolds the hoodie, handing it to me.

I slip it on, and I’m swimming in it, but it’s warm and soft as butter inside. It smells like Alex, and I have to force myself not to pull the collar to my nose and risk him thinking I’m juvenile or obsessed.

His expression is unreadable as he steps closer and reaches for the hood, pulling it up over my ponytail. He barely avoids touching me, no matter how badly I ache for it.

With my neck still tilted, I stare up at him for a minute. I look into his eyes and wonder what they look like when he smiles. What he sounds like when he talks. How he feels when he’s not so closed off.

I wonder if there’s any light left inside him, when his sister seems certain the House burned it out.

“Thanks for the hoodie.” I step back and clear my throat, putting some distance between us before I do something reckless like try to close this gap. “I’ll make sure I get it back to you tomorrow. Have a good night, Alex.”

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