next to my night torturer the entire history class. Well, maybe, and I have a boyfriend. Still, I have eyes and those eyes choose in that moment to stare the heck out of Lucien NoLastNameGiven.
I think he blushed.
"I appreciate it." I force myself to move back so his hands will release my shoulders. I don't want them too, though, because just like yesterday, he's warm. I like warm.
"No problem. Anytime."
I'm sure I give him some sort of awkward smile, and since I can't think of anything else to say, I take a few steps down toward the exit. I suppose I could've gone up, but that would have required going past Lucien, and I wasn't sure I wanted to do that. I mean I wanted to do that, but yeah… probably a bad idea.
"Hey!" he calls, and I spin so fast the world turns just a bit. Sleep deprivation plus pills plus stress plus hurriedness lead to the world spinning apparently.
"Yeah?"
"You okay?"
He seems so concerned, and I'm not sure why. It isn't like he knows me. Is it that obvious that I'm falling apart? I used to be better at hiding it.
"Not really."
I actually tell someone the truth or the partial truth. The world didn't end, but the week ain't over yet. "But I'll be fine."
"You sure? That guy bothering you during class?"
Yes, he was, only in not the same way I thought. Gabriel… REALLY? "Not really. Just needed a pencil."
"Do you know him?"
Lucien sure did like to give me the fifth degree.
Yeah, I know him every night. I have since I was little. "No." I say a bit too quickly.
I should ask him about yesterday—the swooning, the office, the hand, and how in the world I don't have a cut or a scratch or at the very least blood on my clothes. I should ask him how Danika had the exact same cut on her hand, but I don't.
Chicken.
Before Lucien can say anything, I run out of the room before he can stop me. I run right past Marcy and Professor Mitchell.
Once I get outside the doors, I lean my back against the wall and pinch the fire out of my hand.
I need to wake up now.
Chapter Eight
I STUMBLE INTO THE APARTMENT AND throw the keys down on the table next to the door. I'm done for the day. Done. Absolutely done. I still have classes and, yeah, I do need to go to them, but I'm not. I'm sitting right here. I don't want to be around people or things or Gabriels. If I'm going to see things that aren't there, or imagine real people as demons, I'd rather just do that at home, thank you very much.
When was the last time I'd stayed in and not gone to class? Answer: Never. I'd never played hooky. My mom didn't believe in it. My Aunt Willow condoned it, but I was always too chicken to actually do it.
My mom believed in me keeping busy so I wouldn't have time to think about the nightmares and stuff going on in my head. I think she did that to make herself feel better. Like if she thought I was okay, she'd be okay. Like any of this was her fault. I don't know whose fault it is. It's God's for all I know, for screwing up my brain. Scrambling the signal. I don't know. It doesn't matter.
Aunt Willow, well before she went crazy, she was all for me talking about Hart. At the time, I was just happy to talk to anyone. Thinking back on it, maybe she just liked listening to my own version of crazy, happy to not be alone.
I head into the kitchen and grab my nightmare pill bottle. Now, technically, I'm not supposed to take it yet. But I didn't get to take it last night, and I'm going to try to go to sleep, so I need it. One extra pill won't kill me, just like one less pill didn't bother me today. Unless that's why I saw Hart, er Gabriel, in the classroom.
I push down the bit of guilt I have for taking this particular pill so early and toss it into my mouth. I wash it down with a swig of red wine. It's either that or one of Sam's beers. Or, water, I guess, if I wanted to. Truth be told, wine sounds more appealing that water at the moment. Smart? No. Then again, I've never been accused of that.
Drinking and taking these pills
I think he blushed.
"I appreciate it." I force myself to move back so his hands will release my shoulders. I don't want them too, though, because just like yesterday, he's warm. I like warm.
"No problem. Anytime."
I'm sure I give him some sort of awkward smile, and since I can't think of anything else to say, I take a few steps down toward the exit. I suppose I could've gone up, but that would have required going past Lucien, and I wasn't sure I wanted to do that. I mean I wanted to do that, but yeah… probably a bad idea.
"Hey!" he calls, and I spin so fast the world turns just a bit. Sleep deprivation plus pills plus stress plus hurriedness lead to the world spinning apparently.
"Yeah?"
"You okay?"
He seems so concerned, and I'm not sure why. It isn't like he knows me. Is it that obvious that I'm falling apart? I used to be better at hiding it.
"Not really."
I actually tell someone the truth or the partial truth. The world didn't end, but the week ain't over yet. "But I'll be fine."
"You sure? That guy bothering you during class?"
Yes, he was, only in not the same way I thought. Gabriel… REALLY? "Not really. Just needed a pencil."
"Do you know him?"
Lucien sure did like to give me the fifth degree.
Yeah, I know him every night. I have since I was little. "No." I say a bit too quickly.
I should ask him about yesterday—the swooning, the office, the hand, and how in the world I don't have a cut or a scratch or at the very least blood on my clothes. I should ask him how Danika had the exact same cut on her hand, but I don't.
Chicken.
Before Lucien can say anything, I run out of the room before he can stop me. I run right past Marcy and Professor Mitchell.
Once I get outside the doors, I lean my back against the wall and pinch the fire out of my hand.
I need to wake up now.
Chapter Eight
I STUMBLE INTO THE APARTMENT AND throw the keys down on the table next to the door. I'm done for the day. Done. Absolutely done. I still have classes and, yeah, I do need to go to them, but I'm not. I'm sitting right here. I don't want to be around people or things or Gabriels. If I'm going to see things that aren't there, or imagine real people as demons, I'd rather just do that at home, thank you very much.
When was the last time I'd stayed in and not gone to class? Answer: Never. I'd never played hooky. My mom didn't believe in it. My Aunt Willow condoned it, but I was always too chicken to actually do it.
My mom believed in me keeping busy so I wouldn't have time to think about the nightmares and stuff going on in my head. I think she did that to make herself feel better. Like if she thought I was okay, she'd be okay. Like any of this was her fault. I don't know whose fault it is. It's God's for all I know, for screwing up my brain. Scrambling the signal. I don't know. It doesn't matter.
Aunt Willow, well before she went crazy, she was all for me talking about Hart. At the time, I was just happy to talk to anyone. Thinking back on it, maybe she just liked listening to my own version of crazy, happy to not be alone.
I head into the kitchen and grab my nightmare pill bottle. Now, technically, I'm not supposed to take it yet. But I didn't get to take it last night, and I'm going to try to go to sleep, so I need it. One extra pill won't kill me, just like one less pill didn't bother me today. Unless that's why I saw Hart, er Gabriel, in the classroom.
I push down the bit of guilt I have for taking this particular pill so early and toss it into my mouth. I wash it down with a swig of red wine. It's either that or one of Sam's beers. Or, water, I guess, if I wanted to. Truth be told, wine sounds more appealing that water at the moment. Smart? No. Then again, I've never been accused of that.
Drinking and taking these pills
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