My head spins, drowning out the world as I slide my cheek over Elias’s, pulling back to look at him. His eyes are heavy with desire, his skin pink and alive. I thread my fingers through the back of his hair, our lips about to crash together in the most wonderful way.
Elias knots his fist in the fabric of my shirt, like he can’t wait a minute longer. He leans in, but just before his lips touch mine, the phone rings from across the room. The sound is like an alarm bell, and instinctively Elias and I jump apart.
It rings a second time, longer and louder, and I have to cover my ears. Elias bolts up from the couch and crosses the room, his posture rigid. He grabs the receiver, shooting me an apologetic look. “What?” he asks into the phone. His skin pales, and he lowers his eyes. “Yes, I know.”
Outside the sun has risen, barely breaking over the trees. I was too busy nearly making out to even notice. The spell has been broken now, and it suddenly feels like six in the morning. The cinnamon has left a chalky aftertaste, and I want a glass of water.
“I have to go,” I whisper, pointing to the door. Elias shakes his head no, his mouth working like he’s about to ask me to stay, but I turn away before he can.
“Yes, I understand, Kenneth,” he snaps into the phone. “Yes,” he says again, sounding resolved. The door clicks when I close it behind me.
The hall is empty and quiet, and I know this is the walk of shame—wearing last night’s clothes as I slink back to my room. What I don’t expect to find is Catherine striding off the elevator in a glamorous dress, her hair wilting pin curls. She stops dead in her heels and stares at me. Her eyes flick to Elias’s door, then back to me. Her lips tighten, and for a moment I think she’s going to attack me.
I mentally review everything I was ever taught about self-defense. Thumbs in the eye sockets, knock out the knee. But who am I kidding? I’ve never been in a fight in my life. My threat to kick Catherine’s ass if she hurt my brother was complete bullshit.
“Have a nice night?” she asks instead.
I open my mouth, but I honestly don’t know how to answer. To my silence Catherine responds with a laugh and turns to walk back onto the elevator. You have got to be kidding me. I’m going to have to ride the elevator with her.
Elias’s room is only four doors down. I could go back there. Then again, I don’t want Catherine to think she can intimidate me—even if she does. And ew, she’s been sneaking around with my brother all night, I hardly think she’s in a position to judge.
I exhale and then walk into the elevator and press the button for the thirteenth floor. Catherine turns to me immediately, and my nerve evaporates. I could confront her—tell her to leave my brother alone. But that would make me sound kind of crazy. I’d rather my brother be the only one who sees me like that. I fake boredom to avoid talking to her, picking the clear polish off my fingernails.
“When do you leave again?” Catherine asks, sounding wistful.
“On Friday,” I say, and turn to her. Daniel was right, she does have skin like porcelain. I can’t help but think about her and Elias, wondering how I measure up. “We have somewhere to be,” I continue. “Daniel and I are going to live with our grandmother.” I want to take back the words the minute they’re out of my mouth. The vulnerability in them is painful.
Catherine gives her head a little shake. “No,” she says simply. “No, you’re not.”
A chill climbs up my arms, clutches my throat. Her statement is more scary than sincere, and when the elevator doors open, I can’t get out fast enough. The minute I’m in my hallway, I expect her to follow me, but she glances at the floor and then at me.
“Night, Audrey.” She smiles and takes a step backward in the elevator, disappearing behind the closing doors.
Chapter 9
I wake with a start, the night having bled into morning, into afternoon. I see the bottle of muscle relaxers on my nightstand, and I rustle the comforter sliding over to grab it. I glance at the label again and then shake my head before dropping the bottle into the trash can with a thunk. I’m an idiot. My cell phone is nearby, and I pick it up and pull it back into bed with me. The screen says I have no service, not even to check the time, but at least it’s turning on now. Weird because I haven’t even charged it.
I fall back into the pillow, and a haunting sense of loss comes over me. My fingers shake as I tap the photos icon and find the album titled “No.”
To deal with my grief I took all of the photos of my mother, or ones that reminded me of her, and put them in a separate album. I couldn’t bear to delete them. Instead I labeled them “No” so that I’d be able to stop myself from staring at them. From dripping tears on my screen. From breaking down in math class because I’d accidentally seen her smile—wide and genuine.