Page 68 of Grim
My thought is cut off by her shriek.
“What the fuck, Kane?”
I turn to see her standing in the archway, her stormy eyes burning holes through my hands that still firmly clutch her notebook. I clock the anger and disappointment etched on her face—but it’s more than that. Anger and disappointment I can handle—I might not like it, but I can get over it. No, it’s the betrayal, the embarrassment written all over her pretty face, that guts me.
“Rue,” I say slowly but am immediately cut off.
“How dare you?” she says, her voice now low and sharp.
I flinch while muttering a curse. I do not speak, but my eyes stay locked with hers as they swirl with a cocktail of hurt.
“That belongs to me,” she growls.
“It’s beautiful—” I try, but she refuses to hear me.
“Your actions are anything but,” she spits.
“It should be shared with the world.”
“Yeah, well, that should bemydecision to make. Not yours. You took my choice away and couldn’t respect my privacy, could you, Kane?” Her short laugh is cold. “Then again, you’ve already meddled in my life in unthinkable ways. Why stop now? Right?”
“Rue—”
She grabs the notebook and slams it shut, pressing it to her chest like a wound.
“It wasn’t intentional.” It’s a weak excuse, but I can’t find any other words. I should be able to shrug, say something dismissive or demure. And yet I can’t bring myself to feign disinterest.
“Oh, so you didn’t mean to sit down and read my naked soul scribbled out on paper?” Her voice cracks, and shame crawls back over me.
My throat tightens. “I just … it was open, and I saw the title—”
Her eyes gleam. “And what, Grim? Privacy means nothing to you? I’m dying, so the rules don’t apply to me? In a few days, I’ll be rotting on the floor somewhere, and you’ll have your soul to shove into AfterLife Processing or whatever, so what does it matter about my silly little poems or my sad little dreams?” She shoves past me, grabbing her coat off the hook by the door.
“I’m sorry.” I finally say what I should have said right away.
She pauses, but her resolve does not waver. “I’m leaving.”
I step in front of her. “No, you’re not, Rue. I’m responsible for you and—”
“Oh! Yet another thing I didn’t ask for. Now. Get. Out. Of. My. Way.”
“No.” There is no malice behind the word, no threat.
“You don’t own me, Kane.”
“I do actually,” I say quietly. “Your soul is mine until you cross over. And I’m not letting what’s mine walk out of this house overly emotional and under protected. Now calm down and talk to me. Please.” I should’ve come up with a better line. Something softer, something that doesn’t make her sound like athing.
She turns to leave, taking all my thoughts with her.
All save for one:What if something were to happen to her?
Perhaps sensing the intensity of my thoughts, she turns back around. Her jaw works as she glares at me. Her nails dig tightly into the cover of her leather notebook. “UGH!” she shouts, her small body shaking with rage. “You are not a good man, Kane. You’re not even a man. I am starting to doubt that you ever were.”
She hits my chest with her notebook and balled-up fist, then goes limp. I can see the last of her energy leaving her body.
I’m not sure which hurts worse—the sting of her words or the powerlessness of seeing her weak. They both cut deeper than the sharpest scalpel. My neck throbs, a phantom pain, as Rue storms out into the glowing moonlight. I scratch at the scarred ridge on my neck, then follow her despite her protestations.
“Stop following me,” she says over her shoulder as she makes her way to her father’s plot.
