Page 40 of Bonepetal
“I’m fine. I went out to Thorned Patch to clear my head, sat with my mom, came home and crashed. You don’t have to?—”
“Yeah, no. I’m coming anyway,” he says. “Muffins and coffee. Ten minutes.”
“Miles, seriously?—”
“Ten,” he repeats, already moving. “Lock your door.”
He hangs up before I can argue.
I set the phone down and breathe. Miles can be a lot—texts, calls, check-ins like it’s his job, but thank God fora lot. He’s the person who actually shows up. He’s stocked my fridge, fixed my dumb smoke alarm at 2 a.m., driven me around when I couldn’t make myself get on a bus, sat on my floor and let me ugly-cry without asking for a plot summary. I would not have made it through this year without him. Annoying? Yeah. Necessary? More than air.
I dress in soft things that don’t feel constricting—cotton shorts and an old sweater that will hide the bruises on my wrists. My jacket lies crumpled on the floor, zipper teeth parted.
I think of his hands splitting it, of the way he held me together by taking me apart, and my stomach swoops.
I kick the jacket under the chair. I bandage my palm proper, carefully. The bruises at my wrists burn behind the gauze like a secret.
The knock is gentle.
I open the door and Miles pulls me into a hug before I can say hi. He smells like coffee and cold October air. There’s a paper bag in his hand.
“Brought muffins,” he says, squeezing once before letting go. “And yes, I got the good kind.”
“Bless you.” My voice is rough. He clocks it but doesn’t comment.
He hangs his coat on the hook, kicks off his shoes like he’s done a hundred times, and follows me to the little thrifted couch.
He drops the bag on the table, pops it open, and pushes a cup toward me. “Eat,” he says. “And… no offense, but you look wrecked.”
“None taken.” I break off a piece of muffin just to have something to do. The hum in my skin hasn’t shut up since I woke. It’s like I swallowed an amp.
“So,” he leans back, studying me, “talk to me.”
“A random girl DM’d me on my way home from class,” I say, picking the lie he’ll actually buy and keeping it bare-bones. It’s not like I can say,oh yeah, my ex is back from the dead, crawled out of his grave, killed Nathan and wore his skull while chasing me around town and fucking me every time he caught me. Oh, and now he’s bound to me, and I—unfortunately—like it.So. Lie it is, even if it sucks to do it to him. “She was looking for Nathan. Found me off his socials. Sent screenshots. Months of it. She didn’t even know I existed. So yeah—he was definitely cheating.”
Miles’s mouth goes flat. “What a catch.” Beat. “You okay?”
“I’m… doing the world’s worst self-care speedrun.”
He snorts, then sighs. “Well, not that I give a shit anymore, but we still can’t find him. No one’s heard from him since yesterday.”
I shrug because I don’t know what face to make. “Maybe he’s with… some other chick.”
Miles barks a humorless laugh. “Honestly? Maybe. And if so, who cares. Fuck him.” He tips his chin at me. “You deserved better anyway..”
“Thanks,” I reply with a genuine smile. Because he’s right.
We pick at the muffins. He tells me Jamie’s already stress-decorating and tried to bedazzle a plastic skull. I drink coffee. It’s hot and tastes like sugar pretending to be moral.
“Okay, logistics,” he says finally, brightening on purpose. “Halloween. Jamie’s party. Lakehouse. Playlists from 2012. Please come.”
“I’m not feeling?—”
“You never feel like it,” he says, gently. “But tonight, I’m not taking no for an answer. You owe me. After bailing early at the corn maze and then giving me a heart attack and ghosting me. You’re coming. Don’t dance if you don’t want to. You can stand by the chips and glare at people for all I care, but you’re coming.”
I rub my wrist under the sleeve of my sweater. The hum spikes and settles. I still don’t know where Finn is. I don’t know when he’s coming back. The not-knowing scrapes against my brain, against every fiber of my body. Maybe Miles is right. Maybe the noise might help.
“I don’t have a costume,” I try.
