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My gaze falls back to her and she’s breathing too hard, her chest rising and falling over the top of her glittering ball gown.
“Because,” she gives a tiny miserable laugh, and when she speaks her tone is sarcastic and self deprecating—like the words aren’t really meant for me. “I’m the good girl, remember? I always do what I’m told.”
I inhale deeply on my clove, and then, instead of exhaling, lean in toward her. I keep my eyes open to watch her as she watches me, like she’s frozen to the spot.
Her lips part, almost like she didn’t mean to, and I sear my lips to hers, blowing the smoke into her mouth.
She steps back, coughing slightly, and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Her eyes are huge and glassy as she stares up at me, confusion mingling with a hint of intrigue.
I smirk. “Well, there you go, good girl. Now you’re tainted.”
ChapterFive
ETTA
“Ineed to go.”
I stumble backwards, pressing my hand to my mouth, and flee from the room. I can’t breathe, and it has nothing to do with the rush of adrenaline swirling in my head. I can’t go back downstairs. I just need to get out of here rightnow.
I rush into my bedroom and slam the door, leaning against it as if someone is chasing me. My breath heaves, my chest straining against the bodice of my gown as I slide to the floor, the fussy silk of the skirt pooling around my waist. What the hell is happening?
I feel like I’m under attack. Like at any moment, the door might burst open, and I have no idea why. It’s a strange combination of adrenaline and vulnerability that I can’t explain. That I don’t want to explain, because then I would have to analyze it.
It’s been years since I’ve felt this way. Like my whole world is tipped on its axis and I’m just clinging to the edge by my fingertips, waiting for someone to come step on my hands until I let go and fall into the abyss.
I don’t know how I’ve allowed myself to be alone with Roman twice in the span of forty-eight hours. I know better. Know nothing good can come from it, and worse, there’s a whole laundry list of trauma that can come from a single conversation with my dark shadow—my long-time enemy.
Perhaps I can blame it on self-loathing, self-destructive tendencies. I’m upset, so I allow Roman into my life knowing he can only make things worse.
That doesn’t sound right, even in my own head, but it’s the only explanation I have.
I can’t go back downstairs. Not like this.
Maybe I knew when I came up here in the first place I was running away—that I wasn’t going back down there. That I wasn’t going to go stand beside my parents and Harrison and nearly the entire Order and co-sign a future I don’t want.
I take a deep breath through my nose, and will myself to calm down. I need to take this dress off. I can’t breathe in this damned thing. My mother, for all her talk of “helping” still managed to buy me something just slightly too small, and it’s squeezing hard enough to cut off my air.
That has to be part of my problem. That makes sense.
I stay seated on the floor, but lean forward, tugging frantically at the laces on the back of the dress. When I can’t reach those, I give up, and just force it down, over my breasts, to release my ribcage.
“Ahhh.” I let out an audible sigh of relief as my chest expands with the first real breath I’ve been able to take in hours, not even caring that I no doubt look absurd topless, on the floor, in a ballgown skirt.
I stare, unseeing, across the room for what feels like several full minutes, trying to force my pulse to slow down; my breathing to return to normal. Finally, as my panic subsides, goosebumps erupt on my arms and chest, as the air hits my bare skin. My nipples pebble, and I become more aware that I’m sitting topless in front of several windows, none of the curtains drawn.
I yelp, and cross my arms over my chest, unsure what to do. It’s dark outside, and brightly lit in here, leaving no way to know if anyone saw me, or can see me now. My bedroom has three large windows, and two glass French doors, which lead out onto a balcony overlooking the garden. It’s unlikely for anyone to be in the garden, however if you were standing in just the right spot, you could see right into my room from the driveway.
I try to stretch up to the light switch on the wall, while covering my chest with my arm, and finally succeed in plunging the room into darkness. Relief floods me, and I dash over to my bed, feeling around for the bathrobe I often toss on the bench at the foot of the bed, rather than hanging it up where it goes. I cast a glance at the dark yard through the huge balcony doors as I shrug one arm into my robe, and tiptoe a few steps toward the doors.
All seems quiet down below, thank gods. All I need in addition to humiliating my parents by leaving the party is some blurry iPhone picture of my boobs taken from the driveway.
An image of someone standing down there, watching me, appears unbidden in my mind and a shiver travels down my spine.
I should be revolted by the idea.Should be.
It’s dark in my room now. So dark that even if there were anyone down there, they wouldn’t be able to see me anymore.
I take a tentative step toward the doors and open them. The cool night air whooshes in too fast, tugging at my hair and my robe, blowing the silk of my dress which still hangs around my waist like a skirt. I close my eyes, and breathe in, and I can smell leaves and grass and the coming winter, and whether I’m imagining it or not, I could swear I smell a hint of licorice.
