Page 52 of Ghosted

The basement door clicks shut behind him, and the quiet that follows is worse than his voice. Dust hangs in the dim light. Old books line the shelves around us, and somewhere overhead, normal people are probably studying for normal classes and worrying about normal shit. Down here, Alice stands beside the table with her camera strap wrapped around her fingers and her mouth pressed into a hard little line, like she’s already decided she’s not apologizing for whatever the fuck I walked in on.

Good.

I don’t want an apology.

I want to know where his hands were and what he said.

I want to know why the whole fucking room still feels like him even after he’s gone.

Johnny leaves traces on purpose. Smoke. Smiles. Little comments sharp enough to keep bleeding after he walks away. He doesn’t need to leave a note to make sure everyone knows he was here. He just has to stand too close, say the wrong thing in the right tone, and watch the damage start doing what he built it to do.

My jaw locks.

Alice notices, of course. She doesn’t miss much, and that might be the worst fucking part, because I’m starting to like that about her. She watches the shift in my face, the tightening of my hands, the way I don’t move even though everything in me wants to go upstairs, drag Johnny back down, and put his pretty fucking smile through a bookshelf.

“What did he want?” I ask.

Her eyes cut to mine, sharp and already annoyed. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” I say, keeping my voice low because if I don’t, it’s going to come out worse. “Seriously.”

“You don’t get to interrogate me just because your brother likes being creepy.”

“I do actually, because his sudden interest in you is because of me.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“It is.”

That makes her pause.

I’d rather be honest than stupid, and right now, lying feels like both.

Her camera sits on the table between us, glossy black and expensive, the strap curled near her hand like she’s ready to snatch it back if I even think about touching it. The anatomy book is still open beside it, ribs and shadows spread across yellowed pages, but all I can see is Johnny standing too close. Johnny looking at her mouth. Johnny enjoying the fact that I walked in and saw enough to hate him for it.

My gaze drops to her hand.

Her fingers tighten around the camera strap.

Pissed looks good on her.

Too fucking good.

“You’re quiet,” she says after a beat, her fingers tightening around the photo like she thinks I might still try to take it.

“Yeah.”

“That’s not exactly comforting.”

“It’s not supposed to be.”

Her mouth flattens, but she doesn’t look away. “Jagger.”

Fuck.

My name sounds different in her mouth down here. Softer. More dangerous. Like she knows exactly where to put it so it gets under my skin.

“What?”