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I silence that voice in my head and take several deep, steadying breaths.
It’s not until I feel a semblance of calm that I go back out into the hall. Simon is there, holding a bottle of water. His concern is genuine.
“You okay? Do you want to leave?”
I inspect the water bottle, pretending to contemplate the brand. When I’m confident it hasn’t been tampered with, I open it and take a swig.
If he notices how paranoid I act, he doesn’t say anything. All of this has me on edge. I’m grateful he doesn’t point out the biggest source of my insecurities. It’s sweet that he pretends they don’t exist.
“I’m okay.” The lie doesn’t even taste bitter. If I keep saying, someday it’ll be true, right?
“You sure? I can walk you home if you’d like.”
I appreciate that more than he knows. But I need to get over this feeling that’s sliding down my spine. Maybe I’m not being watched at all. Can I even rely on my own senses and instincts at this point? I need to get over it and enjoy the party I forced myself to go to.
“I’m good,” I say with a touch more firmness than before.
I’m fucking great.
He still looks unsure, but just nods. When he doesn’t reach for my hand this time, I wonder if what I feel in my chest is disappointment. He was holding my hand before. Am I really so odd that I’ve already alienated the only guy that’s shown interest in me in a long time?
I mean sure, maybe I’m a girl who spends more time with dead people than I do living people, and maybe Anna and I are the weirdos who watch too many murder documentaries and practice wiggling out of and breaking zip ties in our downtime, but I’m not unlikable...right?
I breathe in through my nose. Maybe I need to be the one to take initiative here. I mean, it’s not like Simon is a total troll. I like him. I do. He’s perfectly nice. Perfectly normal. Maybe I need to be the one to reach out this time. Maybe I’ve been off-putting. Maybe he thinks I’m not into him.
Am I into him?
God, I’m such a mess. But I won’t know unless I try, right?
He walks ahead of me, and my gaze zeroes in on his hands at his sides.
Just woman up and take it, I tell myself. Just fucking do it.
I reach my hand out, grasping at his fingertips. I clasp our fingers together tightly, and Simon throws a glance over his shoulder, smiling and responding with pure kindness. He slows his steps then with a casual smile that touches his eyes. He pauses entirely, and then his other hand is warm against my cheek as he leans into me with that soft smile. His head tilts toward mine, and I instinctively lift my chin to meet him halfway.
My heart stumbles. He’s going to kiss me.
But it’s in that moment, in that shift of his body, someone shoves into Simon’s back. He stumbles forward, and I catch sight of deep blue eyes. His big body brushes along my arm as he passes, his gaze locked hard on mine. A deep pink line slashes down his stare. It’s only a single second of time, but my body is so intently aware of every inch of his skin against mine. A buzz of electricity alights within me.
And just like that, the sensation is back. The itchiness on the back of my neck, the nerves flowing through my system, putting a pressure against my chest and my throat. A tingle of awareness zaps through me. It feels like I’ve been struck by lightning.
Our gazes hold. His dark, daring. Familiar.
A flash of piercing blue eyes glaring at me from beneath a slasher mask. Blood. Pain. Arms cradling me gently. It’s like in another universe, we’ve spent a secret lifetime together. I know him and yet... I don’t.
I pull back from Simon, and his confusion creases a hard line between his brows. I reel back in recognition as the memories assault me.
I knew I hadn’t imagined it! I knew someone had been there that night.
And as I stare at this perfect stranger slipping through the crowd, I know I need more answers.
Eleven
Rowan
I memorize every spot he touches. I memorize every caress, every smile, and in my head, I’ve already peeled the skin from his hands and chopped off every fucking finger for daring to touch her skin.
His only saving grace is that he hasn’t made a move. He hasn’t kissed her. Hasn’t groped her.
