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I narrowed my eyes. “Why does that mean it has to be mine?”
He rolled his eyes. “You spend half your time sitting on that rock by the lake, and the rest of the time gazing out any window that faces it. Of course you chose this room.”
My heart stuttered at how observant he was, and I suddenly wondered if his room faced the lake as well.
“Now be quiet,” he said. “We don’t want them to know I’m in here.” He crossed the room and sat on the edge of my bed, leaning back and propping his weight on his hands. My brain short-circuited even farther at the sight of him there.
I couldn’t keep my eyes from running over him, his faded jeans, his tight gray t-shirt. He looked so different from the way he did in class during the week. His black hair was unruly, a lock caught on the rim of his glasses, and I longed to pull it free. My gaze caught on his exposed arms, drinking in the sight of the bold lines of ink.
Both arms were filled with geometric patterns—crisp, clean lines forming complicated repeating designs—and the whole thing was interspersed with colorful blooming flowers. Buds and leaves climbed in and around the thick black lines, tying everything together seamlessly. The contrast was bold and beautiful.
His eyebrow raised and a teasing grin spread across his face as he caught me looking. “You okay there, Camilla?”
I blinked my gaze back up to his, not even upset to be caught staring. “Just looking at your tattoos. They’re…very good. I had no idea you had any.”
He smiled. “Not exactly something they approve of here. It’s not specifically written in the dress code, but I tend to keep them covered.” He tilted his head, watching me curiously where I leaned against the wall by the window. “Do you have any?”
“My…” The lump had returned to my throat, but I tried again, forcing the words past it. I’d have to get used to talking about it at some point. “My mom was a tattoo artist. We made a deal that if I didn’t get any before I turned eighteen, she’d let me start with a sleeve.”
From the way his eyelids lowered briefly, I could tell my use of the past tense hadn’t escaped his notice, but again, he didn’t push it, just asked, “And when do you turn eighteen?”
“Two weeks,” I said. And then I’ll be out of here on the first plane, I didn’t say. I think.
His dark eyes glittered. “That’s coming right up. What’s the sleeve going to be?”
I didn’t answer. It was going to be nothing. Because if Mom wasn’t alive to do the artwork, what was the point?
I was saved from the question in his gaze by voices in the living room. I’d thought Nora and Frank had gone to bed, but their voices were back, muffled by the thin walls, but louder than before.
“What the hell happened here?” It was Nora, but Frank’s voice came right on her heels.
“Oh my God, is that blood? Jesus, is that from Camilla?”
“Shit,” I muttered, sharing an alarmed glance with Micah before unlocking my bedroom door and slipping through.
I found my roommates in the bathroom, leaning over the trash can, which was filled with blood-soaked tissue.
They rounded on me.
“Are you okay? What happened?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I assured them. “I…I cut myself on a nail. I tore your shirt, too,” I said to Frank, showing her the ripped sleeve. “I’m so sorry. I don’t think it’s fixable, but I can replace it.”
“I don’t care about the fucking shirt,” she exclaimed, checking me over. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, I swear. It wasn’t bad, just a cut.”
“That’s a lot of blood for a cut,” Nora grumbled. “You sure you don’t need to go to the infirmary?”
I shook my head. “Seriously, I’m fine. It’s already bandaged.” I was touched by how much they seemed to care.
“Who’d you get a ride home with, anyway?” Nora asked, following me as I left the bathroom.
“Uh…Micah Hartsough,” I said, unsure if I should have lied about that too. At least I didn’t mention that it had actually been all three of them. “I couldn’t find you and I didn’t really want to stay any longer.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “Oh shit, you should have found me. I would have driven you home so you didn’t have to go with him. You sure you’re okay?” Her eyes grew even rounder. “Oh my God, that cut isn’t from him is it?”
“What? No! I told you, I got caught on a nail. Why would you think Micah cut me?”
