Page 39 of Glitter Rose
“Uh-huh. Interesting reading material?”
“Not really. Just… descriptions of… landscapes.” A body can be a landscape, right?
His smile widens. “Landscapes.”
“Yep.”
His eyes flick to the cover, a shirtless man embracing a swooning woman.
“Very… boring landscapes,” I say.
He sets the comic down. “About last night?—”
“Don’t.” The word comes out sharper than intended. “Seriously, it’s fine. I get it. Sarah and all.”
“That’s not?—”
“I was drunk. You were… whatever. Moment of apocalypse weakness.” I shrug, aiming for casual. “No big deal.”
“Paris.”
“And it’s not like we’ll see each other after you leave, so?—”
“Would you stop talking for two seconds?” He rubs his hand over his face. “I wasn’t rejecting you. And I didn’t mean to make you feel…”
“Rejected? Embarrassed? Like I misread every signal?”
“I’m sorry.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “The community I’m from—it’s complicated. I’m not sure which is the right thing to do.”
“Then get your head straight.” I escape to my bedroom without another word, the romance novel still clutched in my hand like evidence of a crime I can’t quite bring myself to regret.
TEN
PARIS
The Wolf-zombies howl outside my window, their cries cutting through the night like rusty chainsaws. I draw the silk duvet over my head, burying myself deeper in the Egyptian cotton nest I’ve built on my king-sized bed. Blocking them out.
Blocking everything out.
Another howl splits the darkness, closer this time, and I clamp my hands over my ears, eyes squeezed shut like a child convinced monsters can’t get you if you can’t see them.
Stupid.
Almost as stupid as throwing myself at Knox last night.
My eyes burn from crying all day. Silently, like a pathetic little princess in her tower, too proud to let anyone hear. Not that Knox tried to. He knocked once at dinner time and called my name through the door. I held my breath until his footsteps retreated.
I shove my face into the pillow, humiliation burning through me all over again. His rejection stings worse than?—
Another howl pierces the night. I curl tighter, knees tochest, trying to make myself small enough to disappear. Pathetic.
My mattress dips.
I freeze, breath caught in my throat.
Warm fingers brush my shoulder through the blanket. “Paris.”
I whip around, tangling in the sheets. Knox sits on the edge of my bed, silhouette dark against the faint moonlight filtering through my curtains.
