Page 69 of Terror Tuesday
“Thank you,” I whisper, unsure what I’m thanking him for. The beer. The space. The way he never once tried to make me smaller. That connection and electricity between our bodies. For creating a desire in me that I haven’t had in a long time.
He turns to face me, eyebrows lifted in curiosity.
Grabbing the collar of his jacket, I push him gently, until his back hits the tree.
His breath hitches.
I don’t wait.
My mouth finds his, hungry and sure. He tastes like dark wheat and fire. For a second, his hands stay polite, but then he fists in my sweater and pulls me closer, deeper, until my heels leave the ground and all I can feel is him.
This isn’t a kiss. It’s iron sharpening iron. We’re two magnets being pulled closer until every cell in my body wants to be one with him. Instead of that frightening me, I lean in more, letting him consume me.
Wefit.
When we finally break apart, our breathing comes in ragged, shallow bursts.
“Wow,” he mutters, like I stole something from him.
I blink bashfully, but full of heat. “Go on a date with me.”
His eyes flare as they flick between mine. My pussy wants himdesperately. Right now.
“You sure?” he asks, voice low. I know he’s not asking if I’m sure abouthim. It’s what he represents. No future. Nomoney. No approval or societal expectation. It would befun…
I nod. “Pick me up Friday at eight p.m. Don’t be late.”
nineteen
The bong hitdoesn’t soothe me fast enough. Even with the suction seal tight to my lips, my eyes stay locked on the monitor—on her. Footage plays in a loop, and with every pass, the ache behind my ribs gets worse.
My Monarch.
Touching Elliot.
Laughing.
That goddamn giggle. That light, airy flutter she only gives when she’ssafe. When she thinks no one’s watching. That sound burns more than the kiss. Thatfirstkiss.
The one she gave up like it was a fucking blessing.
A cloud of white smoke spills past my tongue, furling thick, angry clouds as it snakes toward the ceiling. I cough, but it doesn’t matter. I hit again. Green glass glints beside the monitor as I set it down, hands trembling.
She’s failing her test.
No, not yet. Give her time. She’ll choose right.
But another voice inside me laughs—What if she doesn’t?
What if I was wrong about her all along?
What if the last three years of watching her—of building the game, planting the cameras, threading my entire fucking life into hers—was all for nothing? What if she was never meant to be the one?
Except now…
Now that I’ve studied her every day, touched her, tasted what it means to be near her…I finally see where I went wrong.
She brought me back from the brink of nihilism, and she doesn’t even know it. Everything before her was black and white. Now, I see all the colors. I was ash, and she made me ember again. And now, I’m bleeding for her. Wanting her. Watching her smile for others while I rot behind the screen.
