It’s tall and shrouded in darkness, but unmistakably human-shaped. Man-shaped.
A small chuckle leaves me at the sheer ridiculousness of this night. What, now I’m seeing ghosts? I must be having a heat stroke.
Scooting down my bed, my feet hit the carpet of my bedroom floor.
And then the shadowmoves.
It’s a small movement, only a singular step forward, still covered in a thick shadow. But itmoves.
I freeze, my hands gripping the full-sized mattress beneath me. This… this can’t be real, right? I’m genuinely hallucinating in this heat.
“Uh… hello?” I whisper, feeling only slightly stupid as I talk to shadows.
Nothing responds, obviously. As soon as the words leave me, I realize that even if itisa ghost, it most likely isn’t interested intalking.
As soon as I shift again, just an inch, the shadow takes another step.
I can see it a bit better now. It’s definitely man-shaped and looks to be a bit taller than me. If I’m hallucinating a man in my bedroom, he’d better be a hot one. Maybe then I could get over Atticus.
No… I won’t go there. Not right now; it’s far too soon.
I could take my chances and run for the door, looking mildly crazy if anyone sees me. Or I could scoot back onto my bed and hope that if this thingisreal, all it wants is for me to stay put. It seems to only move when I do.
The latter seems like the safer option, so I use my palms and pull myself to the center of my bed, drawing my knees in.
It’s far too hot, or I’d hide under my blankets.
Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed by the scent of smoke.
And the shadow moves again. Closer. It becomes half-revealed in the moonlight, showing me a gray t-shirt and black joggers—very human-looking limbs—and straight brown hair just long enough to fall over a pair of hazel—
Oh, you have to be fuckingkidding me.
Atticus fucking Chastain is standing in the corner of my bedroom. Like a damn creep.
Couldn’t he come talk to me like a normal person? And after calling me pathetic, now he shows up? I’m stuck between being incredibly relieved and absolutely peeved.
The latter wins.
“Are you serious?” I hiss, glaring at him as he fully reveals himself. “Why are you standing in the corner like a weirdo?”
Atticus says nothing, only peers back at me with that expressionless stare that he perfected so long ago.
And fuck, no one can deny he’s handsome. In fact, I’ve never seen a man quite as handsome as he is, which only infuriates me more.
“Not speaking?” I push. “Right. Of course. Why would you spare words for someone as lowly as me? Someone sopathetic.”
I roll my eyes, turning my gaze away from him.
Atticus takes another step forward.
“I’m not sure how you got in here without me knowing, but you have to leave. There’s a reason I never had you at my… never mind. Just go, Atticus.” I’m speaking, but he’s not registering the words, it seems.
Atticus takesanotherstep toward me.
He appears to be sweating through his clothes, the same as I am, and his hair is slightly damp.
“Dude, go home,” I demand, scooting back until my back hits the headboard. He justkeeps advancing. “Go back to the party. You’re genuinely creeping me out.”
