“Is that something we do?” she says. I can’t read the inflection in her voice, although I do detect a slight squeak.
I pause again, thinking of Operation Jack. “I don’t know. Maybe not.”
Silence.
“Should we try to get out of here, since Jack is taking his sweet time?”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
“I wouldn’t want to miss out on the rest of the asylum. Especially when I could be at home reading a book instead.”
I smile and feel a random rush of affection for her. “I’m sorry I dragged you out tonight, little skeleton.”
“You can make it up to me later.”
That sends my mind to worrying places—places where I pull her close and kiss her. Places my mind has no business going. Not with Mina.
We untangle our fingers, and my hand feels cold without hers pressed against it. I stand, and I hear her do the same. I hear her shuffle around next to me, maybe pulling her phone out, but before she can get there, I find myself saying, “Wait.”
She stills until all I hear is her breathing. I reach for her in the darkness, and when I find her, I pull her toward me, folding her into my arms. She slips her hands around my waist without hesitation.
“Thanks,” I say. My voice is gruff. “For—you know. Talking to me. About feelings and all that junk.”
“Of course,” she says, sounding bewildered.
“Well, no one has ever really taken the time to,” I say. I rest my head on top of hers, and it feels intimate in a way I hadn’t expected.
“Of course,” she says again, but now her voice is soft, understanding.
And because I know neither of us will ever mention this again, I give in and press a kiss to the top of her head. I was right; she’s taken her hood down. Her hair is soft against my lips, and it smells faintly of shampoo. I feel her arms tighten further around me, and I don’t mind.
I’m reluctant to let her go, but I force myself to anyway. I step back and feel her do the same, and I say, “Now, let’s get out of here. You have books to read.”
In the end, it takes about ten minutes of combing every inch of the bookshelf before we find a switch hidden in the corner of the very bottom shelf. The door swings open with a low creak, and we step back into the real world—the world where we don’t hold hands or hug, the world where I don’t ever think about kissing her.
18
Mina
It is safe to say that I will never, ever go anywhere Halloween-related ever again.
Ever.
When we finally get home that night, I am exhausted in a way I did not know was possible. It’s a mixture of several different kinds of exhaustion. I’m feeling a little guilty because of my thoughts about Virginia. Jesus would be nice to her; I am not being nice.
She shut me in a hidden room.
At. An. Asylum.
What iswrongwith her? Is she nuts? There’s a line you don’t cross, like killing puppies and kittens. Trapping people in hidden rooms with blood-stained beds is on the wrong side of that line.
She said she was just playing around and that she thought we’d be able to get right out again. And I actually believe her about that part, that she thought we’d be able to come right back out. Because that’s what we thought, too. But apparently when they went to go find someone to help with the door, she delayed, making sure they took as long as possible.
And yes, realistically I know that she’s probably just very insecure. She clearly wants every man of her acquaintance, and here I am, suddenly spending time with Cohen. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he was right about what he said in the hidden room; maybe she measures her worth by her relationships with men.
Either way, she is not getting any Christmas presents from me.
Aside from my silent fuming at Virginia, I’m also fuming at myself. And at Cohen, to be honest. All that fuming is tiring. Thus the exhaustion when I get home, scrub my face clean of all the skeleton makeup, and pull on my pajamas.