Page 181 of I’m The Worst

“I wasn’t actually going to do the Hunt,” she says after a while, reaching over me to grab the cheap wolf mask Graves handed me earlier. She dangles it for a second, then tosses it onto the floor with a soft snort. “I hate being scared like that. I just wanted to get drunk and forget everything for a few hours.”

“That’s your plan now? Blackout and hope for the best?”

“Something like that. It’s worked terribly so far, but now I’m committed.”

I huff out something that almost sounds like a laugh, and she glances up at me.

“There’s that thing you do.”

My eyes narrow. “What thing?”

“You make that face, like being around me is the worst thing that’s ever happened to you, and then every once in a while, you accidentally act like a person.”

The words land somewhere I don’t let people reach. Her fingers keep tracing slow patterns against my skin, and I keep staring at the ceiling like that’ll stop me from noticing how good she feels curled against me.

“Do you ever think about Russia?” she asks quietly.

My heart stutters. “What kind of question is that?”

“A yes-or-no one.” She props herself up on one elbow, looking down at me with her hair spilling over one shoulder, mascara smudged under her eyes. She’s still drunk and high.

“Do you think about it?” she asks again. “About what happened? About us being there?”

I let out a slow breath through my nose. “Yeah,” I admit finally. “I think about it.”

“Every day?”

I don’t answer, which is answer enough.

“I do too…” she whispers. “But not always the worst parts, which is probably fucked up. Just…stupid things.”

Stupid things.

I can’t imagine there being anything stupid worth remembering about Russia.

“Like what?” I can’t help but ask.

She traces the line of one of my scars with her fingertip. My skin tightens beneath the touch. “You getting pissed off every time I wouldn’t listen to you.”

“You were a pain in my ass the entire time.”

“I know. It’s one of my better qualities. I also think about how much you hated when I talked.”

“I still hate when you talk.”

“No, you don’t.” She smiles, completely unbothered. “And you got this look on your face every time I woke up and started asking questions.”

I did. I just didn’t realize she’d been paying attention.

“You asked too many questions.”

“I was trapped with a terrifying man who barely spoke. Of course I asked questions.”

I exhale sharply. “That’s what you remember about Russia?”

“Not the only thing.” Her hair falls over her eyes, and my fingers twitch with the urge to push it back. “I remember the way you smelled.”

I frown. “I smelled like shit most of the time.”