me the time of day.”
It couldn’t be that simple. He couldn’t have wanted to help me simply because he “liked” me. I “liked” watching lobsters play in their tank at the restaurant, and I still “liked” to eat them. I didn’t trust that word. For two years, I practically went all googly-eyed at him every time he looked at me. Now he was saying he “liked” me?
“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but I’ve always given you the time of day.”
“Let me be clear, then, so you know what I mean,” he said, stepping forward again, a glutton for punishment. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while, but when your dad died I figured you needed some time. Then, just when I got the courage to ask you to Homecoming, well, the bottom of your world dropped out again.”
He knew that my dad had died. And he’d cared enough to give me time. I softened even more.
“So what about Taylor?” I asked, wondering why my brain had brought her up at a time like this. It was like my logical brain had a firewall and was trying to override the invading emotions.
“Taylor?” he asked back. His eyebrows creased together in confusion.
“You know, the girl you actually did take to Homecoming. The girl who’s always hanging all over you. The girl nobody turns down.” Shut up!
He reached out to take my hand, apparently unafraid of what other sudden movements I might make. And, inexplicably, I let him take it.
“I’m not going to say anything bad about Taylor,” he said, moving his head even closer to mine. “But I’m not going to say anything good about her, either.”
Wow. I couldn’t help but be impressed with his maturity and refusal to trash-talk.
“But you on the other hand,” he said, looking me in the eyes. “I think you’re amazing. And brave. And totally different.”
Firewall disabled, I let him pull me into his arms.
I let him put his body against mine.
I let my eyes close, appreciating the heat between our bodies. His heart beating against my ear drowned out all my wild, neurotic thoughts. I was giving in to him again. I was the glutton for punishment.
Until I felt a pinch on my neck. Like a bee sting, it burned. But surely there were no effin’ bees at the beach this time of night. I tried to pull away, but by the time I reached to get the bee’s stinger out of my skin, I realized I was dealing with something else entirely.
A syringe.
And I was losing consciousness.
CHAPTER 9
I heard the voices before I could identify where they were coming from. Swirling human forms floated around my mind. And pain. I felt that rising with my consciousness. In my head, mostly, but also on my wrists. They were bound behind my back.
I ordered my eyes to open, but they were as heavy as theater curtains. I needed pulleys or something.
When my eyelids eventually creaked open, I almost wished they hadn’t.
I lay on the cold floor of a large metal cage, like one used for lions at the circus. I had awoken in my very worst nightmare. I hated bars. Like, I really, deathly feared them. Dr. T said it was a “seminormal/common phobia,” and not to give it too much importance, but that was easy to say when she wasn’t the one with the recurring dreams of bars slowly closing in on her until she was crushed to death.
The men behind the echoing voices were nowhere in sight. Hyperventilation and claustrophobia drained me of my wits. I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing. I couldn’t lose my cool now. I had to fight. I had to look past the bars and pretend like they weren’t there in order to gather my survival instincts. The inanimate cage couldn’t beat me when the very animate men beyond them were far more likely to do so.
Forcing open my eyes, I saw a spacious warehouse filled with boxes and old machinery, not unlike the one at the harbor where I’d put a hole in Charlie LeMarq’s head. And I wasn’t alone. There were two equally drugged and bound bodies just
It couldn’t be that simple. He couldn’t have wanted to help me simply because he “liked” me. I “liked” watching lobsters play in their tank at the restaurant, and I still “liked” to eat them. I didn’t trust that word. For two years, I practically went all googly-eyed at him every time he looked at me. Now he was saying he “liked” me?
“I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean, but I’ve always given you the time of day.”
“Let me be clear, then, so you know what I mean,” he said, stepping forward again, a glutton for punishment. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while, but when your dad died I figured you needed some time. Then, just when I got the courage to ask you to Homecoming, well, the bottom of your world dropped out again.”
He knew that my dad had died. And he’d cared enough to give me time. I softened even more.
“So what about Taylor?” I asked, wondering why my brain had brought her up at a time like this. It was like my logical brain had a firewall and was trying to override the invading emotions.
“Taylor?” he asked back. His eyebrows creased together in confusion.
“You know, the girl you actually did take to Homecoming. The girl who’s always hanging all over you. The girl nobody turns down.” Shut up!
He reached out to take my hand, apparently unafraid of what other sudden movements I might make. And, inexplicably, I let him take it.
“I’m not going to say anything bad about Taylor,” he said, moving his head even closer to mine. “But I’m not going to say anything good about her, either.”
Wow. I couldn’t help but be impressed with his maturity and refusal to trash-talk.
“But you on the other hand,” he said, looking me in the eyes. “I think you’re amazing. And brave. And totally different.”
Firewall disabled, I let him pull me into his arms.
I let him put his body against mine.
I let my eyes close, appreciating the heat between our bodies. His heart beating against my ear drowned out all my wild, neurotic thoughts. I was giving in to him again. I was the glutton for punishment.
Until I felt a pinch on my neck. Like a bee sting, it burned. But surely there were no effin’ bees at the beach this time of night. I tried to pull away, but by the time I reached to get the bee’s stinger out of my skin, I realized I was dealing with something else entirely.
A syringe.
And I was losing consciousness.
CHAPTER 9
I heard the voices before I could identify where they were coming from. Swirling human forms floated around my mind. And pain. I felt that rising with my consciousness. In my head, mostly, but also on my wrists. They were bound behind my back.
I ordered my eyes to open, but they were as heavy as theater curtains. I needed pulleys or something.
When my eyelids eventually creaked open, I almost wished they hadn’t.
I lay on the cold floor of a large metal cage, like one used for lions at the circus. I had awoken in my very worst nightmare. I hated bars. Like, I really, deathly feared them. Dr. T said it was a “seminormal/common phobia,” and not to give it too much importance, but that was easy to say when she wasn’t the one with the recurring dreams of bars slowly closing in on her until she was crushed to death.
The men behind the echoing voices were nowhere in sight. Hyperventilation and claustrophobia drained me of my wits. I closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing. I couldn’t lose my cool now. I had to fight. I had to look past the bars and pretend like they weren’t there in order to gather my survival instincts. The inanimate cage couldn’t beat me when the very animate men beyond them were far more likely to do so.
Forcing open my eyes, I saw a spacious warehouse filled with boxes and old machinery, not unlike the one at the harbor where I’d put a hole in Charlie LeMarq’s head. And I wasn’t alone. There were two equally drugged and bound bodies just
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