Page 17 of Those Eyes, That Mouth

The flash went off.

He took the Polaroid and handed it to Nathan, who immediately gave it to Kelly. She flapped it in the air—which was stupid, it didn’t affect the development, why did people do that?—and gushed over it.

"Oh my God, we look so hot. Look at your eyes! You look demonic."

She rushed over to show it to Alex, then to me.

Nathan’s eyes had caught the light—red in the photo, his face ghostly pale from the makeup. Kelly was laughing, her mouth open, hanging on Nathan with one leg hiked up. She'd lost the fangs somewhere. Her pose was less vampire, more girl at a party.

And there I was in the dim background, Kelly’s shadow from the flash falling stark across me. My expression was sullen.

They looked like a couple, and I looked erased.

Outside, the cold air hit like a slap.

Kelly hugged herself and shivered dramatically. "It’s freezing."

Nathan didn't hesitate. He shrugged off the velvet jacket—my jacket—and helped her into it like a boyfriend would.

And that was it.

I’d fucking had it.

I forced out a short, disgusted huff and stalked away.

"Huck!” Alex called after me. "Where are you going? Are you seriously leaving?"

I could feel them all watching, but I refused to look back.

I walked fast, my breath clouding in the cold air, my hands shoved deep in my pockets.

If I’d stayed there one more second, I would've said something really ugly. And Kelly didn't deserve it. She was a nice person. She had a crush on Nathan. Who could blame her? He was cute and patient and sweet. He didn't talk over people or brag or act like an asshole. He let Kelly lean into him because he was too polite to push her away. He gave her his jacket because he was thoughtful.

Any girl would want to be with him.

I’d been kidding myself. I wanted someone cool. Someone I didn't have to wait on to come out of the closet. But I just... kept fucking waiting.

He'd let her take away the moment. He'd given her my jacket. And I was just the gay roommate, pining like an idiot.

I stopped on a side street and tried to roll a cigarette, but my hands were shaking too much. The paper tore. Tobacco spilled everywhere. It was pathetic.

Somebody walked by, smoking, and I called out. "Hey—can I bum a cigarette?"

He paused long enough to hand me a Marlboro Red without a word and kept moving.

I threw my fucked-up hand-rolled into the bushes, lit the Red, and walked home alone.

SIX

I ditched my costume the second I got back to the room—jacket, shirt, jeans—all in a pile on the chair.

I stood there in my boxers, staring at myself in the mirror.

The pale foundation was smeared, my eyeliner was running, and the dark lipstick had bled into the cracks around my mouth.

I was still wearing fangs.

I looked like a fool.