Fuck. Was that really just this morning? It feels like a lifetime ago.
I haven’t even started to process everything that went down today. But I can count on my fucked-up brain to turn it into some horror movie in my sleep.
It’s late. Really fucking late. The party’s almost dead, the music on low, trash everywhere.
On instinct, I glance toward the table Adora was at earlier and stop in my tracks.
Domino’s passed out, slouched deep in his chair. Tank’s got Ria in his lap, both out cold. And Adora… shit. She’s face-down on the table, eyes closed, mouth open. A little puddle of drool spreading under her cheek.
Fuck. They all drank too much. But I don’t care about the other idiots.
She’ll hate me for this, more than she already does, but fuck that. I’m not letting her sleep like this — neck bent, head on a table soaked in booze.
I move, straight to the table. First, I flick Tank’s bald head. He jolts awake, blinking in confusion. I jerk my chin toward Ria, and then I turn to Adora. I lift her slowly, carefully. She stirs, and mumbles something. Frowns. But doesn’t wake.
And fuck me, holding her? It’s like the world rights itself for a second. Like something that was broken clicks back into place.
I shut my eyes, take a breath, and then force myself to move. My feet feel like they’re made of lead, but the faster I get her to bed, the faster this ends.
Her door’s unlocked, thank fuck.
I lay her down gently, pull back, and my heart stops. And then immediately starts beating a mile a minute. Her eyes are wide open, looking right at my face.
I’m about to say something —anything— but every word dies in my throat when her fingers brush my jaw.
My breath stutters.
“I wish you were real. Not made of lies,” she whispers.
Her hand drops. Eyes drift shut.
“I wish I could believe you,” she whispers again, then her breathing evens out.
It should be silent, but my ears are ringing. Just like that, I fall even deeper into darkness. Didn’t think there was any lower left to go. Turns out, I was wrong.
25. Spark
Ghost
She’s still ignoring me. Not like before, when she’d look right through me like I didn’t fucking exist. Now, if her eyes land on me, by some goddamn miracle, she just narrows them. Barely. Then looks away. Like I’m filth. Like I’m something stuck to the bottom of her shoe. Like I’m not even worth the energy it takes to hate me. And maybe I’m not. She got what she wanted, me signing those cursed fucking papers, and now I’m scrap. Tossed. Done.
I sigh and look away from where she’s standing. She’s surrounded by people. Ol’ ladies. Brothers. Ria. Temperance. Just like before, more than a decade ago.
She doesn’t even realize the effect she has on others. She never did, because of the shadows in her mind. They make her think no one really wants to be around her, but it couldn’t be further from the truth.
Those shadows are the only reason she was alone when I found her and dragged her to my dungeon. People want to get close to her, but she keeps them at a distance without even meaning to.
Only someone as pushy as Ria could’ve ever broken through. And,somehow, me. I broke through twice. Could I—? No. No, I can’t. Stop fucking thinking that!
Fuck. The itch won’t stop. This fucking thought — thisneedto have her back — it’s been crawling under my skin ever since she handed me those papers, four fucking days ago. At first it was quiet, just a whisper. Now it’s screaming.
On Friday, she was skipping around the clubhouse like she hadn’t downed half the damn bar the night before with Ria and Temperance. And I just watched her from a distance, waiting for those few seconds when her eyes would find me.
I couldn’t even make myself clean my room. The one she destroyed. Because she created that mess, and I’d rather live buried in the aftermath of her rage, than not have it at all.
My violin is destroyed. I could fix it, but what would be the point? Which reminds me...
I jerk my chin at Ria to follow me outside, and wait for her to move first. She points a finger at her chest and raises an eyebrow in challenge. I nod, waiting for her to make this difficult. To my surprise, she doesn’t.
