“Sorry, Secora and I have to go,” Margot says. Her voice slurs and she breaks into a fit of giggles. She stumbles to the side into my line of sight. She’s grinning at me, and when she gives me a cheesy thumbs up, I’m certain I’ll implode from humiliation.
“All right, give us a second,” Elliot says. “I’ll walk her over.”
Margot giggles again and stumbles across the rocky shore. I realize most of the party has taken off, leaving only a handful of stragglers. I wonder how many people saw Elliot kissing me.
A lot, probably.
“Is it a joke?” I ask again. My voice cracks, and I’m horrified at the tear that slips down my cheek. Now that I’ve already made the leap, I’m terrified it was the wrong decision. I acted out of desperation, out of neediness, rather than logic. If this was a ruse, some elaborate plan by the popular kids, I’m not sure I’ll survive it.
“No, it’s not a joke,” he says. He kisses me again, and this time, his tongue swipes out, darting across my bottom lip. When I gasp against his mouth, he smiles. “I’ll take you on a proper date, all right? We’ll go on a date, and then I’ll teach you how to kiss with tongue.”
15
THAT WASN’T REAL
ELLIOT
“Well, now I know why you didn’t tell me she was hot,” Henry says. He lays on the lounge’s couch, pillows once again spilled across the tile floors. We’re alone, but Henry is still on shift.
Luckily, I’m not. I’m too fucking stressed, too scattered to have people’s lives in my hands.
Henry is the opposite. He’s relaxed and stretched out, enjoying the last of his lunch break before he goes into another surgery. He takes a bite of apple before tossing it up in the air like a ball and catching it.
“She’s not—” I break off. I can’t finish the sentence, and Henry smirks knowingly at me.
Cora Reedishot, and until today, that was fine. It was easy to ignore her attractiveness when she was nothing more than my best friend’s killer. Who cares if she’s hot if she’s psychotic?
“She was my friend,” I say finally, gritting the words through clamped teeth. “She was my friend. She was probably Harrison’s friend eventually. And she killed him. That’s completely fucked, Henry. It makes it worse, if anything.”
“To be fair, you were twelve,” he says. He takes another biteof apple before sitting up, resting his elbows on his knees. He studies me, blue eyes quietly assessing until I’m squirming. “I think you’re overreacting.”
“I think you’re under-reacting,” I argue. I run a hand through my hair and slouch back in my chair. “Ilikedher, Henry. What if we ended up dating or something? Maybe she killed Harrison because he tried to get between us. Or maybe she killed him because I broke up with her, and she wanted to get back at me.”
“You were twelve,” Henry repeats, slowly, as if I’m stupid. “You having a crush on the hot, spooky girl isn’t nearly as monumental as you’re making it. I’m sure half the guys in your school wanted to get it on with the freaky outcast.”
“There’s a reason she took those memories,” I say. I’m starting to spiral, but I can’t help it. This woman stole my memories, and I’m terrified of what I’ve forgotten. Of what I’ll learn if I keep digging.
“I feel like I should tell you to leave this alone,” Henry says, grinning. “But clearly you don’t like that advice.”
“Would you?” I challenge. “Would you leave it alone? Knowing that you might know something about your friend’s death? That maybe?—”
“It won’t bring Harrison back,” Henry says. His smile falls, voice softening. “I know you feel like you owe him, but…you don’t. Nothing you figure out now will change what happened. It’s only going to bring more hurt.”
“Maybe,” I agree.
Henry chucks his apple at me, and it smacks against my shoulder.
“Shit!” I grab my shoulder, glaring at him. “What the Mother was that for?”
“I can already tell you’re going to ignore my advice.Again,” he says. He rises from the couch, carelessly stepping over the apple as he heads for the door. “We both know you’re going todig until you’ve shattered your own heart, so be strategic. Get closer to the date he died. She’s giving you memories from when you were twelve. That’s not going to tell you shit, and you know it.”
“Yeah, but?—”
“Tell her you want the good stuff,” he interrupts. “You were, what, sixteen when Harrison died? Tell her you want those memories.”
“I doubt she’ll?—”
“There are other ways to get vampire blood,” Henry says, cutting me off again. “I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have other options for witch allies.”
