Page 18 of Those Eyes, That Mouth

Carefully, I worked them off my teeth and set them on the dresser beside the stereo.

I grabbed a jar of cold cream and smeared a handful across my cheeks and forehead and down the sides of my nose. I scrubbed it all off with the washcloth from my shower caddy, rubbing until my skin felt raw.

Underneath it all was just my face. Nothing special.

I was fucking pissed. And embarrassed.

And I wasn’t going to stay here and watch him make more special moments with Kelly. Or worse—bring a parade of Kellys back to our room for the next eight months.

I needed to get out of there.

I didn’t know where I’d go. Surely Student Housing had some way of dealing with this kind of thing mid-semester. But if all else failed… maybe the commune? At least for the rest of the weekend?

God.

I’d figure it out.

I yanked on an old T-shirt—faded and soft, the logo for my dad's construction company barely legible across the chest—and pulled on some sweatpants.

I started packing.

I cleared a bunch of crap off my steamer trunk—the overflowing ashtray, a couple of empty Coke cans, three weeks’ worth of Nathan’s mail—and shoved it all onto the desk in a messy pile. I opened the lid and lined the bottom with my shoes, then started pulling folded clothes from my drawers and stacking them inside.

I found a crumpled pack of Camel Lights with a few cigarettes left in it—the backup pack I’d kept around before I’d fully committed to hand-rolling. I sniffed one to see how old it was.

My throat hurt. The last thing I needed was another smoke, but I lit it anyway.

It tasted terrible. Stale and chemical, like smoking my high school self. I leaned against the sill, blowing smoke through the crack in the window.

My ears were still ringing from the concert. The silence was heavy. I didn’t bother with the stereo. Nothing could follow Grey’s performance, and anything coming through Nathan’s speakers would just sound tinny and small by comparison.

My buzz had worn off, leaving the dull throb of a headache. My eyes were tired.

I smoked and stared at the tombstones beyond the glass. Every time I heard footsteps in the hallway, I held my breath. But the sounds kept moving on.

Until one set of footsteps didn't pass.

The knob turned.

The door flew open.

And Nathan stormed in.

He stopped just inside the room and stared at me.

He was still mostly in costume—the white shirt unbuttoned halfway down, his face still pale with makeup. He was carrying my velvet jacket. He hadn't put it back on.

For a second, I saw relief on his face. He took a heavy breath, like he'd been running and thinking I wouldn't be there when he got back. Then his expression sharpened.

"Why the fuck did you leave like that?"

His voice was low. I'd never heard him sound like that—not polite, not careful. Just pissed.

I went still. A cold flash ran right through me.

"I didn't feel like watching Kelly mark her territory," I muttered. "And watching you let her ruin my clothes in the process."

He frowned down at the jacket. "What was I supposed to do?" Hearing the lisp, he scowled. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, popped the fangs off, and slung them toward the trash can. One went in with a ping and a rattle, the other ricocheted off the wall. "She was freezing. She was wearing lingerie with no coat." He shoved the jacket at me. "It’s fine."