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I hang up and throw my phone onto the bed. An old Chevy pickup comes flying down the road, kicking up a cloud of dust. Grantford Davis, town pothead, infamous brawl starter, and the guy who dropped me off at the bridge that God awful night eight months ago. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. A laugh even escapes my lips. But then the heat immediately returns when he places his hands on my shoulders, moves me away from the door, and then positions himself behind me, pressing his chest against my back and molding his hands around my waist.
Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited. No part of this book can be reproduced in any form or by electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without the permission in writing from the author.
The only exception is by a reviewer who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or names featured are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if we use one of these terms. For information: I peel my eyelids open and climb out of bed, padding over to the window where I peer out into the night. The yard is blanketed in darkness with the trees towering in the distance. Join me. You can be my queen.
Darkness purrs with laughter. I just do. Well, and the feeling that someone is standing beside my bed. I gasp, bolting upright and scooting across the bed as far away from the creature as I can get.
Its grey lips part, revealing a set of sharp fangs. Panicking, I clumsily dive off the bed, landing face-first on the hardwood floor. I promptly chuck the pain aside as the thudding of footsteps hammering against the floor fills the room.
It counters with a pleased grin. Oh, what a delight! But then its expression darkens, its fangs growing as its eyes light up with what I can only describe as hunger. Then, with a grin, it barrels toward me. I stumble backward, bumping into the wall.
Then I let out a string of curses, jump onto the bed, and leap to the other side. The crazy creature mimics my move, scrambling after me as I sprint for the door. As I reach the hallway, I scan all the shut doors. My skin is scalding hot, and I can almost smell a potential fire brewing as I reach the closed bathroom door. Crap, I need to get myself under control. So, by the time I wrap my hand around the doorknob, the metal melts against my skin and drips down to the floor.
Cursing my ability, I trip into the bathroom and slam the door closed.
Instead, an eerie stillness settles across the air that does nothing for my nerves. Short gasps flee past my lips as I strain to listen, trying to pick up any signs of what the creature is doing. All I can hear, though, is the sound of running water … Wait … I peer around the spacious bathroom, suddenly hyperaware of the steam in the air, the foggy mirrors, and the spray of the shower running. Oh, my God, someone is in the shower! When Emaline showed me the bathroom, she said it was mine and that no one else would use it, so why is someone in here?
The only positive thing about this situation is that the shower is located in the far back corner and tucked into the wall, out of view.
As the water is turned off, my embarrassment rises to my cheeks. I rack my brain for a solution to fix this soon-to-be very embarrassing moment, but the only options I can think of are to 1.
I clear my throat. Then again, I guess it could be worse. Not that I mind.
Why do I have the feeling this moment is going to come back to bite me in the ass? I silently beg my voice to come out evenly.
I release an exasperated sigh. I was a little hesitant to just run into a random bedroom, since you guys hide faeries and stuff in your house, so I ran in here because I knew what was in here. Another pause, and then he busts up laughing. Holy crap. Was it in the trunk when I was up there? Be naked in the same room as me? Never in a million years would I have thought the guy who treated me horribly the other day in the auto body shop parking lot could be so tentative and unsure.
My long auburn hair goes well with my pale complexion. I tape one of my old sketches over the mirror on the dorm wall.
I pull my hair into a messy bun and place my charcoaled pencils into a box on my bed, packing them with my other art supplies. Lila skips into the room with a cheery smile on her face and a drink in her hand.
Oh my God! Oh my god! Even if it does mean I have to go home. All this heat is making me sweat. Back in High School, I used to be a C student. Lila narrows her blue eyes at my mirror. None of them matter except one: I peel that one off, careful not to tear the corners.
Lila snatches the drawing from my hands, crinkling the edges a little. I place the drawing into the box and seal it with a strip of tape. It hurts, like a rock lodged in my throat. Is he like an old boyfriend or something? I told you we were just friends. Micha saw too much of me and it scared me too much to let him in all the way.
She twists her strawberry blonde hair into a ponytail and fans her face.
I think a name really says a lot about a person. She heaves an overly stuffed pink duffle bag over her shoulder. Especially Micha. He can see through me better than a mirror. My lips bend upward into a stiff smile as I stuff my panicked feeling in a box hidden deep inside my heart. I pat my empty pockets, realizing I forgot my phone. I think I forgot my phone. I pick up the bag and there is my phone with the screen lit up. I scoop it up and my heart stops.
You look like you just saw a ghost or something. We have a long trip ahead of us. When we reach the car, my phone beeps. His legs are kicked up on the desk as he lazily scrolls the internet. The secretary returns to the phone and gives me the answer I was expecting. I hang up and throw my phone onto the bed. All this whining is giving me a headache. I shake my pity party off, slip on a black hoodie, and a pair of black boots.
You staying or going? Are you going to that or are you still on strike? But you need to quit being a pussy and get over her. She has the same dark green eyes and long auburn hair as Ella. The Ella I knew never pretended. But it has to be her. I dial that number and walk out into the hall to get some privacy.
When it beeps, I take a deep breath and pour my heart out to the voicemail. My cell phone is in my pocket, heavy like it weighs a hundred pounds. The Honda lays on its horn and she turns in her seat to flip him the middle finger.
I love Lila to death, but sometimes she can be a little self-centered. My phone beeps again for the millionth time, letting me know I have a message waiting for me. Finally, I shut it off.