Page 6 of Hook, Line, and Tentacle
My throat tightens. “What?”
“Because you’re lonely.”
There’s nothing cruel in the way he says it. No edge. Just… understanding. And that’s worse, actually. I go still. Then I smile, and I know it’s brittle as hell.
“I’m not lonely,” I chirp. “I’malone. That’s different.”
I don’t give him time to respond.
My stupid plastic juice box shakes in my hand as I turn and walk. My ribs are screwed in too tight. The air’s grown too dense to breathe, and by the time I’m outside, I don’t even remember opening the door. I don’t even hear the bell, though I don’t try and stop it ringing this time.
Maybe he even calls my name. I don’t know, because I’m already stalking off.
The wind off the sea hits me full in the face. I let it, and I don’t stop walking.
I don’t mean to end up at the shoreline. I just have togo. Past the narrow streets and the sagging porches, that woman who’s always sweeping her fucking porch, past the bookstore with its window full of dust and the diner with the neon sign half burned out. My boots scuff over old cobbles until they hit sand and start sinking a little. The sky’s the same gray as the sea, flat and quiet and not even pretending to be pretty.
It’s not pretty here. It’s ugly.
I drop down onto a rock near the edge of the searching tide, and I curl my arms around my knees. I’m not cold, but I feel like I should be. Like maybe that would explain the way my chest hurts. Not the sharp kind of hurt, either—just that really heavy pressure of being seen too clearly, too fast. Of not being able to put the wall back up before someone noticed the crack. I wasn’t trying to be an asshole with the whole alone versus lonely thing, but I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. I played myself.
I don’t hear him approach, but I feel him. That shift in the air, the way the tide seems to hush itself when he’s near. It’s like it can sense him. When I glance over, Cal’s standing a few paces back, hands in the pockets of that same hoodie as always, hood pulled up to shield against the wind.
“Look,” I say flatly without getting up. “It’s my turn now. I want to be alone. Or lonely. Whichever. Can you please leave?”
“No.”
I huff out a sharp breath, almost a laugh, but not really. “Why not?”
He hesitates. His feet shuffle in the dirt and sand. “Because I upset you.”
“You didn’t upset me,” I bite out. “I’m just upset.”
He doesn’t answer right away. The waves break soft, melting into the sand. I feel his eyes on the back of my neck, roving over my shoulders, like he’s cataloging me.
“Why are you upset?” he asks finally.
I don’t answer, just wrap my arms around myself tighter, resting my chin on my knees. My ass is definitely going to be wet when I stand up, but I’m past caring at this point. Seems like everything here is wet.
Cal takes a step closer, boots crunching over the grit. “You shouldn’t sit so close to the water.”
I tip my head, so I can just about see him over my shoulder. “Why?”
He’s inhumanly still. If I didn’t know he was a living thing, and he wasn’t wearing clothes, I’d wonder if he was a statue.
I bite down hard on my lip to stop myself from thinking about him without clothes.
As if I haven’t already.
Cal hums a disagreeable sound. “It can be unpredictable.”
“Maybe I don’t mind that,” I murmur, looking back out to the horizon. “Maybe I’ve had too much of predictable. Maybe I need something a little more capricious.”
His breath pauses. “No. I don’t think you do.”
Something in me folds tight at the center. So tight it hurts, actually. I glare out at the ugly, gray sea. “You have no idea what I need.”
“No,” he agrees. “So tell me.”
