“Yes!” they cried in exasperation.
Their father’s cane cracked against the marble floor, echoing like a gunshot. “Cylene, I’ve had quite enough of your dramatics for one day.”
“There really is no need to shout, sweetheart,” their mother rebuked. “How were we supposed to know you’d want to come?”
Because I’m your godsdamned child!Cya wanted to scream at them. Instead, they lowered their voice, practically begging as they said, “Please, can’t you just wait? I’ll go change. It won’t take but a minute.”
“But you’re covered in champagne, darling,” their mother tittered. “You need to bathe, and your hair is a right mess. If we wait for you, we’ll be late for cocktails, and you know that’s when the best networking happens.”
“But—”
“We’re already running late.” Opening the door for his wife, Cya’s father ushered her out into the late afternoon. “To the car, my jewel.”
Practically swooning at the endearment, their mother fluttered her fingers at Cya in farewell. “Kisses, darling.”
Cya followed them, stopping in the doorway as they clutched the empty champagne flute desperately. “Father, please—”
“Enough, Cylene! Your whining is tiresome,” their father snapped as he opened the car door for their mother. “Stop acting like a child.”
As he rounded the back of the car and climbed into the other side, their mother hesitated half-in, half-out of the sedan. Leaning on the door, she offered Cya an apologetic smile. “We can’t wait for you to get presentable or else we’ll be late, and you know that’s bad for business. It’s a very important night for your father. Honestly, you’re being a bit selfish, don’t you think, sweetheart?”
Defeated, Cya ducked their head. “I’m sorry.”
“We’ll talk tonight. Or, well, we’ll be getting back late, and tomorrow, we’re leaving for the Hamptons, so next week? I’ll tell you all about it then.” She beamed in self-satisfaction, and Cya could do nothing but nod. “Good girl.”
And with that, the car door shut, the engine purred to life, and the sedan pulled out of the driveway, wheels spitting gravel. Cya stood in the opendoorway until the April air turned their champagne-drenched clothing icy. They must have gotten some on their face too, because their cheeks were wet and cold. With a sniffle, they wiped at the spilled alcohol with the dry end of their scarf and shuffled back into the entry hall.
They glanced down at the crystal flute in their hand, at the near-perfect, red imprint of their mother’s lips left behind on the glass. Their chest felt hollowed out, like one of those orange vegetables humans gutted and carved to celebrate Ol’ Hollow’s Eve.
Tilting their head, they raised their arm straight out in front of them, glass dangling from their fingertips. They watched the waning sunshine catch in the crystal, casting rainbow prisms over the wall. They spread their fingers just enough to release the champagne flute, letting it plummet to the floor. The crystal shattered against the marble, and it was bright, and it was clear.
Cya watched the pieces scatter, little pinpricks of light, and smirked.
Chapter ten
Girl Fight
Dex
So,Cyawasina mood. Granted, they were usually in a mood, but tonight was different. They arrived late, shoving through the lecture hall door right as the professor finished reviewing the homework. Squaring their shoulders, they ignored the stares and snickers from other students as they hurried to their seat beside Dex.
“Apologies, professor,” they said quietly. “My tram was late.”
“Just take a seat,” Professor Myls said, and Cya obeyed.
“Thought you were playing hooky,” Dex said in a hush as they hunkered down in their desk. “Figured I’d need to track you down and—”
“For once in your life, can you just leave me alone?” they hissed waspishly, and Dex’s teasing grin faded.
Their eyes were bloodshot, and the normal bronze warmth of their complexion looked waxy. They wore no makeup, and their still damp hair was piled into a messy bun on top of their head. Even their usual drapings of gold chains and shiny jewels were absent from their arms and fingers.
He’d never seen them like this, so pedestrian, so… normal? They weren’t hard as ice, not even a little. They were soft and warm and real. And they were sad. Shit, they were so sad. The sour acidity of it stung Dex’s nose.
Anger burned, like ash and cigarette smoke. Joy smelled fresh and light, a spring breeze full of flower petals andhonyl. Arousal was thick and spicy and heady. But sadness stung; it made his eyes water and sent a whine scraping up his throat.
“Hey,” he whispered gently, placing the pads of three fingers on their shoulder, “you okay, Cy?”
“Fuck off, Dex!” they practically snarled, fangs descending, oval pupils thinning to dangerous slits.
