Page 98 of Bite
I drop my mug in the sink, scoop up Ozzy, and grab the tote I hastily packed yesterday before calling a cab to flee the estate. I pause at the door, gaze circling the apartment one last time. My eyes linger on the weathered futon, the beat-up coffee table, the old tube TV that barely works…
I’m not coming back. I know it in my bones.
We step out the door, closing it behind us. I engage all three locks out of habit, then turn the knob to check, catching Bex watching me.
“Compulsive much?” she teases.
“Shut up,” I mumble, but can’t help smiling.
We take the stairs down together, Ozzy cradled in the crook of my arm like a baby. The air in the stairwell is cold and damp. I shiver, wishing I’d thrown on another layer. Bex doesn’t even seem to notice– or maybe she’s just too stubborn to let the weather win.
Outside, a black car idles at the curb with its engine purring. I didn’t request it, but it doesn’t surprise me. James probably had the poor driver sitting out here all night. The window rolls down, and the man behind the wheel inclines his head in greeting, his face familiar from other rides I’ve taken with James.
I pause at the edge of the sidewalk, uncertainty pinching my chest. Bex nudges me with her elbow.
“You sure about this?”
“No,” I admit. “But I guess we’ll see what happens.”
She grins, then tugs me into a one-armed hug, careful not to squish Oz. “Call if you need a rescue.”
“Same,” I say.
“Don’t tempt me,” she fires back, then flicks her gaze to the car. “You want me to come with?”
I shake my head. “No, I think I need to do this on my own. Want a ride to your place?”
“Nah, I could use the walk.”
I squeeze her hand, then cross to the car, sliding into the back seat and closing the door. As we pull away, I glance back. Bex stands on the sidewalk where I left her, the sunlight catching the silver of her nose piercing as she gives a little salute.
I’m not sure I’ve ever loved her more than I do in this moment.
The city slides past, block by block, every turn carrying me further from the home I fought so hard to keep. Yet strangely, I don’t feel like I’m leaving anything behind. Instead, I feel ready to move on.
I’m readingAnnabel Leeagain. I still can’t decide if Poe’s narrator is just tragic, or the only person in history who’s been honest about what it’s like to love something you shouldn’t. The air in the library is tinged with dust and dying sunlight, the west-facing windows throwing long shadows across the shelves. I trace a finger under the last stanza, mouthing the words silently, the syllables now familiar as a prayer.
Ozzy’s purr vibrates against my thigh, a grounding line in a poem about obliteration. He’s been especially clingy today, insisting on being in my lap every time I sit down. Sometimes I wonder if he’s a better emotional support animal than I am a person.
I glance up to see the last scrap of blue daylight draining from the sky. My pulse quickens, a drumroll for a show that only grows more dangerous with each encore. He’ll come soon and find me here. He always does.
It isn’t long before I feel it– a subtle shift in the atmosphere, the soft whiplash of space bending around something morepowerful than it can contain. I look up and see James, framed in the library’s arched doorway.
He’s bare-chested and barefoot, a pair of black sweatpants riding so low on his hips it should be illegal. His skin practically glows in the moonlight, shadows clinging to the dips of muscle, white-blond hair wild like he’s been running his hands through it nonstop.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this disheveled. He usually emerges at night like he’s been sculpted for perfection. I think I like this even better than the polished version– he’s never looked so frighteninglyreal.
He devours me with his gaze like hasn’t eaten in days. As if he’s not sure whether he wants to consume me, worship me, or just hold me until I dissolve.
“You’re here,” he rasps.
I close the book on my lap, smoothing a palm over the cracked leather cover. “Where else would I be?”
James smiles, then crosses the room in three steps– the kind of movement too fast to register– but I never flinch anymore. Not with him. He stops just close enough that I have to tilt my head up to meet his gaze.
Ozzy wakes, arching his back and hissing. A warning– or maybe just an excuse to insert himself between us.
James cocks an eyebrow at him. “Could’ve leftthatat the apartment.”
