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I shake my head. “Tomorrow, maybe.”
She shrugs, as if she cares about as much as I do. “Okay.”
Pierce and Bennet watch her go with very different expressions. Pierce is grinning, amused, while my cousin seems vaguely annoyed.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“Why? Were you expecting someone else?” Bennet asks mildly.
My cousin’s expression is a little too perceptive and I don’t like it. I narrow my eyes. “What? No! You couldn’t have waited five minutes?”
“Only five?” Pierce smirks.
“The bells are about to ring,” I say, defensively. “Wait, don’t you have Brit Lit right now?”
“There was a test, we finished early,” Pierce says, still grinning. “See, Roman? You’re not the only genius. I think I just did myself proud with a very respectable C-.”
I ignore him, instead watching the door at the top of the stairs. There’s only another minute until the end of the block. This stairwell is located perfectly between the library and the history hallway, and I happen to know that on Mondays and Wednesdays I’m not the only one with a free block, or the only one who might leave the library a few minutes before the bell to beat the crowd...
“She’s not coming.”
I glance at Bennet. “Who?”
Again, he raises his eyebrows. “She’s not here. She wasn’t in A block this morning. Her aunt and uncle died.”
My stomach lurches, my breath catching in the worst way, yet I force my face to remain impassive. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. Who’s aunt and uncle died?”
Bennet huffs in frustration and moves past me as the bell announces the end of class and a cacophony of voices fills the stairwell. Students pour through like a tidal wave, preventing Bennet’s words from reaching my ears if he even had bothered to answer.
ChapterFourteen
ROMAN
PRESENT
For the first time in longer than I care to remember, I wake up early.
It’s not the kind of “early” I’ve started to convince myself is good enough—9:00AM instead of 12:00PM, like it’s some grand achievement to defeat the afternoon. It’s not like when I wake up at 5:00AM, anxious and confused, before falling back asleep until 1:00PM, wondering if I was ever awake to begin with. No, today I’m up by 7:00AM, and the ever-present fog in my mind is lessened.
That is, until I realize I have no idea what to do with myself at this hour.
I don’t know what kind of person is awake at 7:00AM, but it’s not me. The time brings to mind old ladies gardening, good church-going citizens, early morning joggers, and parents with small children. While I am none of those things, renouncing them completely is also a bit much. I am one step away from claiming to be raised and molded by the darkness, and even to myself that sounds both over dramatic and absurd.
This afternoon, I’ll begin the first stage of the rest of my life. The first scene of my sequel, where Etta is my heroine, but the first page of that story starts at 3:00PM, when I’ll meet with Professor Abram after my lecture to ask about Order marriage ceremonies.
Yesterday afternoon, once Etta had come apart screaming against my tongue and we’d agreed on the broad strokes of the plan, she pulled her clothes back on and went back to business, explaining to me the details of how she wanted to move forward. In a way, I was wrong. She had thought a lot of it though—starting with how, if at all possible, we should avoid having Councilman Lawrence perform the ceremony.
I’m just completing my third lap back and forth between my room and the kitchen when the front door opens. I look up, unsurprised to see Bennet walking in, pulling earbuds from his ears. He is an early morning runner—it’s astounding we get along.
He sees me, and jumps, eyes going wide. “What the fuck.” It’s neither a question nor a true exclamation—just a kind of loud statement. Like he’s not quite able to process what he’s seeing. “What are you doing?”
I laugh. “Nothing?”
He seems more alarmed by my laugh even than my presence and I wonder if that’s indicative of my mood lately, or my mood this morning. Am I usually miserable, or especially happy today? Both?
“No, really.” He kicks off his muddy sneakers by the door and crosses the kitchen, pulling out a chair. “What are you doing?”
“Just thinking.” I cross to the fridge and pull it open. Inside there’s a stark contrast between my cousin’s food and mine. I’m subsisting on takeout and protein shakes, while Bennet actually cooks. There are heaps of ingredients in here I haven’t bothered to notice in months. I pull my head back out of the fridge. “Can I use your eggs?”
