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I inhale.

“Okay.”

My phone immediately rings again.

MOM.

“Nope.”

Decline.

It rings again.

“No.”

Decline.

A text arrives. I don’t read it. Then another. Then three more, and I flip the phone face down on the dresser.

I should feel triumphant.

I don't.

I feel sick. Because standing up for yourself sounds empowering until you actually do it. Then sometimes it just feels like disappointing the people you've spent your entire life trying not to disappoint.

A tear escapes.

“Dammit.”

I wipe it away angrily.

I'm not crying.

I refuse—ROOOOOAAAAAR!

I jump nearly out of my skin.

“What the fuck?”

The sound comes from next door.

No. Not next door.

Kind of above me. Or well, right outside my window.

A massive shadow passes across my bedroom. My mouth drops open.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Two enormous black wings fill the window.

Then Damian fucking Leeds lands on the little second-floor balcony outside my bedroom like some kind of furious demonic gargoyle.

He doesn't knock.

Of course he doesn't knock.

The doors fly open.