not wanted. She’l move on,” he said, shoving my logic back at me.
The logic I hoped would work on Sarah. It hit me in the chest, a strike to my heart that left me gasping.
“I’m not—you don’t—oh. God .” My hands covered my ears, but it didn’t matter. His words spun in my head, mixing with my racing pulse. Like Rio’s hoofbeats thudding at ful gal op.
“ Eezvehneetyeh . I’m sorry, Jess. It’s for the best.”
“God! How can you just”—I fought for breath, for words, for hope—“how can you hurt me like this?”
Red seeped from his pupils to stain the edges of his irises purple. He grated the next words out, saying, “Things. Change.”
“I know that, Pietr. Things change, life goes on, it’s not you it’s me, al ’s fair in love and war … boys become men—or more … or is it less , Pietr?”
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us for a heartbeat before he closed his glowing eyes, clenched his jaw, and stepped back.
“Pietr. I know you’ve changed. But what I saw then wasn’t half as horrible as what I’m seeing now.”
Opening his eyes once more, he avoided looking into mine.
“You want to know what makes a man a monster? This .” I waved a hand at the thin space between us.
Stoic, he took it. Where had his fire, his fight , gone? I’d seen it the night of his seventeenth birthday. I’d been both mesmerized and terrified by it. Now al I wanted was some glimmer of that strength, some hint of that passion pointed in my direction.
I dropped my backpack. “Don’t you feel anything for me, Pietr?” I lunged and hooked my hands over his shoulders, stretching to cover his mouth with mine, wil ing my lips to do what words would not.
He pushed me away. Voice strangling, he replied, “ Eezvehneetyeh . I’m sorry, Jess. Take care of yourself.” He stormed away, red eyes flashing.
I didn’t have the heart to watch him go—couldn’t bear that he wouldn’t look back.
I wound up late to biology, struggling to cool my heart. I was fine until I noticed the dissection trays and pins.
Amy was at our station, carving up the detached head of a pig. My world wobbled and I was back at that night, in the old park as Nickolai’s head was torn free of his body.
* * *
I tugged back my hair, barely knotting it at the nape of my neck before my throat tightened and I latched my hands onto the cool toilet seat. And threw up.
Again.
I fumbled with the toilet paper dispenser and tore free a wad of the rough stuff to wipe my mouth, tossing it into the bowl before I closed my eyes and flushed.
The door to the bathroom squeaked open and I tried to regain control of my swirling stomach. No good.
I lurched forward and heaved more of my guts into the waiting water.
“Jessie?” Amy’s voice froze me, though my insides quivered mutinously. I flushed and rustled through the contents of my purse for mints.
“Jessie!” She pounded on the stal door. “What’s wrong?”
That was Amy: straight to the heart of a matter—no How are you doing? when she could guess by the sound and the smel that I was far from okay. Hoping the mints worked, I stepped out, purse dragging behind.
“Ohhh.” She wrinkled her nose and looked me over. “You smel almost as bad as you look.”
I reached into my pocket, digging for my worry stone. Its touch did little to combat my twisting stomach.
“I’m fine.”
“Liar.”
I shrugged and headed to the sink.
“Are you pregnant?”
My head snapped up and I glimpsed myself in the mirror. Not good. “Not unless I’ve been chosen for immaculate conception.”
It took her a moment, but she got it. “So.” She grabbed a paper towel, wet it, and rubbed at the ends of my makeshift ponytail. “Why are you puking your guts out during bio?”
“I just…” How could I explain without giving everything away? Or making her think I’d lost it? “Something must not be sitting right with me.”
“Bul . Is it the dissection? You got a soft
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