Page 113 of Dead Set on You
I don’t think I hate Rafael Vela.
I’m glad for the ground beneath my ass, because my heart’s engaging in emotional Olympics.
Closing my eyes, I force my breathing toget it together.
One Mamma Mia.
I was a ghost (or a spirit—I never quite figured it out).
Two Mamma Mia.
I spent all those days with Rafael.
Three Mamma Mia.
And I fell for him.
Leaning my head against the island, I mentally pick apart each of the memories, or was it a dream? But I wouldn’t havedreamtthose days with Rafael. Vivid nightmares in which he’s torturing me or sweet dreams where I torture him? Yes. But imagining a reality where I wake up with him each day? Most certainly not my idea of a dream.
It was real, and I spent those days with him. Up until …
“I can count on myself more than I could ever count on you.” The words—my words—right before it ended, before I pushed him away.
I feel sick.
I went for the kill, and he wants nothing to do with me. No emails, no texts—not even ones to taunt me. The evidence is all there.
And can I blame him? Not even a little. I was cruel and selfish. If he never wants to see me again, I deserve it. If we’re back to being rivals, I earned that.
Liar! My heart snaps. I could never hate him again. I never hated him to begin with. And I can’t let him think I meant any of it. I wish I could get a do-over and take it all back (just kidding, Great-Aunt Julia!).
All I know is I can’t live with Rafael cutting me out of his life. Because turns out, I want to be in his. Not as a coworker. Not as a ghost with unresolved feelings. But as me, flesh and flaws and all.
The threads of a plan—the craziest, most reckless one—begin to weave together. My checklists until now were written with a specific goal in mind: moving ahead in the world. I was ensuring my future, ensuring that I never went back to survival mode. That I never felt vulnerable again.
My next checklist doesn’t guarantee any of that. Because I’m going to tell him.
Teetering on the verge of passing out or doing a dance, I push from the floor and find my phone. My fingers wobble as I unlock it and tap on Gemma’s name.
She’s beaten me to the texting game.
Gemma:Are you okay?(Sent 9:18PM)
Gemma:I hope you’re not answering because you’re sleeping.(Sent 9:20PM)
Gemma:You have ten minutes to text me before I head over.(Sent 9:25PM)
I groan aloud.
Me:I was sleeping. I’m alive and well and fed. I promise.
Three dots dance on the screen, but the text never comes because Gemma’s face pops up on the screen as it buzzes. Steeling myself, I answer.
“Are you okay?” She sounds breathless.
“I’m fine.” A lie. I’m the opposite of fine until I find Rafael and talk to him, after which I might permanently reside in theopposite of finezip code.
“You know I’ve known you too long to believe that.”
