Finding Eden by Mia Sheridan Page A

reading came over her face. "Thinking back, it doesn't seem real," she said. And then she told me everything that she'd gone through that night, floating in the pitch blackness as the screams and calls for help ceased in gurgles and death on the other side of the wall right next to her. My heart bled and a lump rose up in my throat so large I thought it might choke me. I felt horrified, sick—my gut was wrenched—and yet, beyond that was pride . I was so proud of her. And not only had she survived, but she had done so using the knowledge I gave her. Somehow, a part of me had been there in that room with her. The thought soothed me, bringing me some small measure of peace.
    She told me how she'd come here, about Felix and Marissa, about teaching piano, finding out about her mom, going to her door, and I listened to it all, incredulous and in awe of her strength, in awe of her resilience. Yet, she looked so sad. I could see that she'd still felt alone.
    As she finished her story, she tilted her head and studied me for a minute. I must have looked shell-shocked.
    "I thought you were strong," I said. "But I didn't know the half of it."
    She smiled and then looked around my apartment. "Xander said you two have been doing construction work. Is that where you learned to do what you've done around here?" She waved her arm, indicating the room around us.
    I cleared my throat, taking note that she was changing the subject. Maybe we both needed it. It was a lot to process. It might take a lifetime to process. "Yeah. I do more roofing now actually."
    A worried expression crossed her face. "Yeah, Xander mentioned that, too." She paused for a minute. "But now your art—"
    "I haven't made a dime off my art yet."
    "But you will," she said, her voice full of conviction.
    We stared at each other again for a minute. 
    My cell phone, sitting on the floor next to us buzzed and lit up and I glanced at it and saw Madison's name come up and the message: I'm worried. Come home , on the screen. I reached over quickly and turned it off, but when I looked back at Eden, her eyes were on the phone and I could tell she had seen it. Her eyes moved slowly to mine, full of hurt and I wanted to throw the damn phone through one of my windows.
    "Eden . . ."
    "Home? You've been living with her?" she asked quietly.
    I shook my head. "No. I mean," I shook my head again, "shit. I was staying with her while I was finishing up this place—just temporarily. As you can see," I waved my hand around the dim apartment, "it's not exactly habitable."
    Eden bit her lip, her eyes large pools of sorrow. "Do you love her?" she asked so quietly I almost couldn't make out her words.
    "No. I don't. I . . ." Gods, God , this was awful, horrible in every way possible. I wanted to scream and smash something. I took a deep breath. "I love you. I'll never love anyone except you."
    "But you're with her," she said. It wasn't a question, just a statement, and she said it matter-of-factly. She looked behind me for a minute and then back at my face. "You thought I was dead, Calder. I understand."
    "No! I don't want you to understand. It's not understandable. I don't even understand it."
    Eden sighed and started to stand up, stretching her legs once she did. I leapt up, too. Eden came toward me and put her hand on my cheek. "We have so much more to talk about." She smiled sadly. "We could talk for days and still not have told each other every bit of what we've gone through." She chewed on her lip for a minute. "But, Calder, right now, we both need to get some sleep." She walked over to her purse and took a phone out and texted someone, the girl who'd been with her at the gallery, I assumed.
    "Sleep here," I blurted out, moving toward her and gripping her arms as she turned around. There was no way I could watch her walk out my door. The thought of it alone filled me with terror, just as it had earlier at the gallery. "Stay with me. Don't leave."
    She shook her head, looking around. "I'm