Page 8 of Bound to a Killer
That doesn’t make me weak.
Maybe they just aren’t worth my time. Maybe it pisses them off more not to get a rise out of me.
Yeah…
Right.
I duck into the bathroom and turn on the faucet, pumping a few squirts of soap into my palm before scrubbing the grime from my hands, my thoughts drifting back to bigger problems—my car. Or the lack of one.
When I glance at my reflection in the mirror, I nearly flinch, lips parting in a gasp as dark crescents stare back at me, etched beneath dull eyes, my hair a tangled mess from this morning’s trek through the snow.
God, I look terrible.
I rake my fingers through the knots, sweeping the bulk of it over one shoulder, as a flush of abashed warmth seeps into my chest. This is how I looked sitting in that guy’s passenger seat. Wild and wrecked. A walking ball of disaster.
It’s fine, I tell myself, though I’m not convinced. But it’s not like I’ll see him again.
So, it shouldn’t matter that he looked perfectly composed, jaw set firm and eyes of tempered steel that I swear could cut straight into the deepest layers of my self-consciousness. All while I sat there, picking at my chapped lips and stubbly knees, my reflection sagging with the same wilted defeat I’d woken up with.
It doesn’t matter. Not at all.
But telling myself lies doesn’t stop the mortification from sinking deeper into my cheeks, deepening them into a brighter scarlet. I drop my gaze and shut the faucet off.
The one time I speak to a guy, and of course that’s how it went. I press my hands beneath the weak gusts of the bathroom dryer, then make my way toward the cafeteria, forcing myself to breathe evenly so Kelsey and Clara won’t notice something’s off. I prefer it that way. I always do.
They appear out of the corner of my eye, red and blonde hair bobbing around the back table where we usually sit. Clara catches sight of me and flashes me a pink-tinged smile, nudging a lunch tray forward as I approach. I drop into the seat across from them.
“You took a while,” Clara says.
I reach for the straw on my milk carton and toy with the wrapper. “I stopped by the bathroom.”
She doesn’t press me about it, reaching instead for a carrot stick and dipping it in ranch. I scan for signs of Hunter or Maddie, then drop my gaze back to the strawberry milk in front of me, my shoulders loosening when I don’t find them.
Kelsey glances between us. “So, what do you guys think about coming over tonight? My dad’s out of town, so my mom won’t care if anyone’s over.”
“Sure, why not?” Clara says, dunking a carrot in ranch. “My parents are too busy with thelaw firmto care.”
The wordslaw firmcoil in my stomach. I picture this morning’s walk and wonder if her parents know him.
“You in, Aria?” Kelsey asks, her pizza slice going cold.
I sip my strawberry milk, trying to soothe the roughness in my throat. “Sure.” It’s not like I have to ask anyone for permission.
“Hey,” I say to Clara, “can I borrow your phone to text the cafe? I can’t make my shift.”
“Uh, yeah, but where’s your phone?” she mumbles around amouthful of food, furrowing her brows as she wipes her hands with a napkin.
I let out a long sigh. “Left it at home. My mom took the car and was gone before I even woke up this morning, so I was a bit frazzled and forgot about it.”
Both girls gape at me. Clara’s eyebrows arch, her mossy-green eyes flashing with concern. “What? How’d you get here, then?”
“I walked.”
Clara gasps at my admission but still reaches into the pocket of her oversized hoodie, tugging it free and handing it over. “In this weather?”
Kelsey’s head snaps up. “With a skirt?” Both of them are staring at me now. “Wait—did your mom take your clothes, too?”
“Shit,” Clara breathes. “Is that why you’re dressed like that?” Her voice softens slightly. “I just thought you were trying to get someone’s attention.”
