Book of Love by Abra Ebner Page B

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she’d slept about as well as I had. She moved and sat on her bed,
staring into her hands. I watched as her chest rose and fell,
breathing steadily. I groaned with pain as another wave of soreness
pulsed through my muscles. I rubbed my arm, massaging the bruised
tissue beneath.
    I looked down at a particularly tender spot
near my elbow, seeing the mauve of the bruise peaking through the
skin. Whatever was happening to me was getting worse. My foster
mother thought I was just growing, but at this point, I began to
wonder if it wasn’t something chronic, something I’d gotten from my
parents that I wouldn’t know about. I was due to see the doctor
next week, but I was beginning to question if I’d even make it that
long.
    I saw Jane once again move from the corner
of my eye. I diverted my attention back to her, squinting through
the blinds. She grabbed something off the floor and brought it into
her lap. It was her drawing book. She had books and books of
drawings that she hid under her bed. Only I knew because I watched
her. She pushed herself against the headboard and began to sketch.
Her brows were fraught, her energy seeping through her hands and
onto the page.
    I wanted to know what it
was that she drew, and what it was she saw. Though we were best friends, it
was something she’d never shared with me. It hurt to know that, but
I respected her privacy.
    At least sometimes.

    Jane:

    The nightmare—I had to get it out. I sat up
in bed and turned on the light. I looked out my window and across
the alley toward Wes’s room. The blinds were shut. I slid from
under the covers, my feet touching the cold wood floor. I inspected
my skin out of habit. The blood I’d seen coating my face in the
dream was now gone. I relished the breath in my lungs, my heart
racing to force oxygen to my limbs.
    I was alive.
    It was just a dream.
    I leaned my weight onto my feet and stood as
my sleep shirt fell around me. I walked to the mirror, inspecting
my hollow reflection. Max had been in the dream tonight. I’d never
seen him there before, but for some reason, having him there made
the horror of the whole scene easier to digest. I attributed his
presence to the fact that my mind was still buzzing from earlier,
his blue eyes like a beacon guiding me home.
    I looked in the mirror and back at Wes’s
window. Sometimes at night he would notice my light on and we’d
pass notes for a while until I could fall asleep. But we hadn’t
done that in a long time. I wanted desperately to talk to someone,
but perhaps Wes wasn’t the right person anymore. I shut my eyes,
regretting the choices I’d made. I had no one. All that could
console me now was my drawing.
    I went back to my bed and sat down, staring
for a moment before reaching for my drawing book and pencil. I
pulled it out from under the bed and sat back, pulling my legs to
my chest. I drew Max’s face as it remained in my mind like a
shadow, every feature clear as day, and every silver fleck of his
eyes as sharp as they were when we were sitting on the curb.
    I drew the death around
us, the bodies and the blood. The only thing that brought me any
comfort within that world was his face—his undead face.
    These were things I should not see, but for
whatever reason, I did.

    Max:

    I saw Jane through the trees in the forest
of her dream. She wore a blue spring dress that contrasted sharply
with the blood on her hands. My gaze fell to the nape of her neck,
following the gentle arch of her back and down the long luxurious
locks of her perfectly tousled brown hair. I felt a tightening in
my chest at the sight, every inch of my being aching to be near
her.
    Though I’d always remained in the shadows, I
wanted her to see me. I wanted her to know who I was. She needed to
understand that she wasn’t alone—that she never had been. I walked
into the clearing, exposing myself for the first time. I placed one
foot before the other, my hands clasped behind my back and my wings
hidden. She