Page 144 of Worthy

“You should sleep,” Melanie says, as if she can sense my racing thoughts.

“I don’t think I can.”

A sigh leaves her.

Shifting onto my back, I take in the outline of her face in the dark room. Her long, raven hair is tucked behind her ear, and the column of her neck is exposed. I can faintly make out her bare thigh, peeking out through the rips in her jeans. Everything about her is as dark as the room. “Tell me something no one else knows.”

“Why?”

“Have you never been vulnerable with someone before?”

“Have you?” she counters, and I find myself shifting onto my side.

“No.” My fingers glide over the sheet, inching closer and closer to her. If she notices, she doesn’t let on. I don’t dare touch her, so I stop short of her wrist. “Something about tonight…”

“You should keep it for Jaxon. I’m sure he’ll want to hear how you let a stranger drug you.”

My hand retreats. I push up on my elbow and stare down at her in the darkness. “It was a mistake. We’re not all as fucking perfect as you.”

She bursts out laughing, a brash, harsh sound that lacks amusement. She’s on her elbow, too, glaring at me. “You think I’m perfect? Are you fucking delusional? Ever since you entered the picture, my dad has worshipped the ground you walk on. Every time he looks at me, all I see is how he wishes I was more like you.”

A breath of disbelief escapes me. “All your dad has ever done is try to get close to you, but you push him away.”

“There you go again, talking about shit you know nothing about.”

We glare at each other.

I yield first, flopping back down, staring up at the ceiling. “I’m jealous of you.”

She stays silent, so I continue, “You’re unapologetic about who you are, and you don’t give a shit if people like you or not.” I meet her gaze in the darkness. “I wish I could be more like that instead of seeking approval from the crowd.”

After a moment’s silence, I shift onto my side again and circle my fingers around her wrist. “How do you do it?”

She tries to move her wrist away, but I tighten my grip. “Tell me.”

“You wanna know how I do it?” She shoves me back and the bed creaks when she settles on top of me. Holding herself up with her hands on either side of me, her breath quickens. It’s subtle, but I notice it, and my own reaction takes me by surprise. “I don’t try. I don’t try tobeanything. People naturally stay clear when I walk into a room. Do you know why?”

“No…” My whisper is barely audible.

She leans down, her hair tickling my cheek. “Because they can smell the grief on me. The sheer fucking pain that refuses to leave. No one wants to taste grief.”

Feeling brave, I whisper, “I do.”

She stiffens, holding her breath.

Pushing up on my elbows, our lips brush. “I want to taste your grief.”

She scrambles off me like she’s been burned by my admittance. “The fuck are you doing?”

I don’t know, but I’ve never been more sure of anything than I am right now. I want to feed on her grief like a vampire drinks blood.

Crawling toward her on the bed, I sink my teeth into my lip. “Why are you hiding? You blame me for your grief, so let me see it.”

Her throat jumps, and her thick swallow is loud in the penetrating darkness that shields her from me. I’m in front of her now, my nose dragging over her cheek, closer to her ear. My lips spread into a smile, and I whisper, “Let me taste your hate.”

This time when she shoves me off, I laugh, falling back on the bed. It soon dies on my tongue as she straddles my waist. With my wrists secured in her hand, she stares down at me, breathing harshly. “What are you doing, Jessica?”

I cock my head to the side and wet my lips. “What are you so scared of?”

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