Page 41 of Bonepetal
“Just wear something black and sexy. I’ll bring accessories when I pick you up,” he says immediately.
“Absolutely not. I refuse to be a Sexy Balloon Animal again, like for Summerween where you were in charge and you strapped me into latex twists and a tiny hand pump.”
“That was iconic,” he says, hand to heart. “Hot-pink, squeaky, the pump as a clutch? Art. Come on, Salem. Even for just one hour. I’ll drive.”
I look at the window to avoid his face. A crow drops onto the sill like it heard its cue and just… stares, head tilted. My stomach dips for no good reason.
Miles follows my gaze. “Okay, that’s creepy,” he says. “Why is it looking at you like it knows you.”
“It’s just a bird,” I say, too fast. “They do that.”
“Feels like its judging me,” he mutters, eyeing it back. The crow taps the glass once, like a knock, then hops to the gutter and settles there like it owns the building. Miles shudders. “Yeah, no thanks, I hate that.”
I force a laugh and tear off another piece of muffin so I don’t have to explain anything. I’m not going to say,the boy I loved crawled out of the ground and I can feel him like a second pulse.I’m not going to say,I don’t know where he is.I’m not going to say,I want him and I don’t and it’s making me crazy.
“Fine,” I say, because the hum is too much and I need to drown it in something that isn't my thoughts. “I’ll go. One hour.”
“Two,” he counters, grinning. “Compromise.”
“One and a half,” I point at him. “And you’re not putting me in anything that squeaks or has sequins.”
“No promises,” he says, already standing. He collects his trash, rinses his cup like a polite raccoon, and shrugs back into his coat. “I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“I’m picking you up at eight,” he repeats, smug. “Text if you need me sooner.” He hugs me again, a quick squeeze that says a lot without forcing anything out of me. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’m okay enough,” I say. “And… thanks. For showing up. Like always.”
He knocks his knuckles on the table like a drumroll. “Okay. Nap. Shower. Eyeliner that could stab a man. I’ll handle transport, costumes and snacks.”
“Deal.”
He opens the door, pauses. The crow on the gutter tilts its head to look at him upside down. “I’m leaving,” he tells it, deadpan. “You can stop glaring at my friend.” Then, to me, softer, “See you at eight.”
When the door clicks shut, the apartment goes quiet in a way that’s too loud. The hum under my skin fills the space he left. I stand there with a half-eaten muffin and a cup that’s gone lukewarm and listen to it. I don’t know where Finn is. I don’t know when he’ll knock, or if he bothers with doors anymore.
I clean the table just to move. I set out the outfit I want to wear tonight. Something I know will hide the bruises on my body but still draw attention.
His attention.
The crow’s still there, hunched like a guard. I look away and pretend I didn’t see it.
I know better—it’s him, looking out through those eyes.
Waiting.
For what, I have no idea.
I flop back on the bed and stare at the ceiling.
Eight o’clock feels both way too close and stupidly far.
CHAPTER 9
SALEM
Pines fold over the road like ribs.
