Page 9 of Moth
In my brain, those facts don’t negate his obvious instability. Certainly not enough to explain the genuine appreciation coloring her voice. “Good sex makes up for him being a psycho?”
“Of course not.” Mara sighs and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not a slut or anything, Mother Theresa,” she mutters, her frown apologetic. “I just haveeyes. Some of us can’t be innocent little virgins who cast judgment on the rest of us sinful mortals.”
“I’m not judging you,” I say.
“Sure, you aren’t.” She raises an eyebrow. “You’re such a cliché. The sheltered, sweet writer girl who loves to people watch, sneering down on the fuckups of us normies. Let’s be honest, you wouldn’t even be friends with me if I weren’t such a pushy bitch.” She crosses her arms, convinced of that fact. “I don’t even know a damn thing about you, other than you write morbid short stories about monsters and drowning people. If I didn’t know any better, Dewitt, I’d assume you were ashamed of me.”
It’s my turn to play skeptical. “Says the girl who impressed so many professors on campus that they’ve practically begged for you to take their classes next semester.” Meanwhile, I had to rest on my grades to score the next credits I need. “I’m the idiot who banked all of my hopes on one program.”
“Well, there is that,” she concedes, beaming. “Butit’s not like you don’t have a shot at entering the Fenwick program next year. I haven’t even bothered to apply, and don’t give me that look. Anyone would kill for that internship.”
“Like I really have any chance of winning,” I say with a forced laugh.
“Yeah, right. Your shit is so good you’ve already made the paper. I’m sure you’ll ace the entry essay. What’s the topic again?”
“Inner demons,” I say, recalling the assignment that’s been plaguing me since the semester ended. “We’re supposed to describe a narrative during which we faced an inner demon—”
“But with fancy descriptive prose. You’re the queen of that. If anything, tonight just gave you plenty of inspiration to draw from. ‘Inner Demon’ could perfectly fit Rafe Wei-Shen,” Mara declares with utter conviction. The tears have already vanished, and she’s back to her usual self. “Anyway, about tomorrow. Promise you’ll come?”
“I have to work. Mr. Zhang wanted me to stay late tomorrow to help close up the store.”
“Oh, come on! It’ll be great. You can trial balloon your essay!” She delves into a vivid description of how much fun it will be—how exhilarating—much like she had to convince me to come with her tonight. Though I barely register her words, I nod along anyway.
I’m too busy staring at the object clutched within my fist as if it appeared there by magic. Or… if I’d stuck my hand into a certain “punk’s” pocket and took it while he was distracted.
Stole it.
The brilliant orange ombre lighter looks more beautiful up close. Too lovely to belong to a monster—though one is etched onto the front of it in gleaming, brilliant gold.
A snarling, fire-breathing dragon.
Not all monsters are destined to be bad in the end. I’ll save this one.
Or at least protect it from its original owner’s reach.
