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In my house. In my life.
“Fuck this.” I exit onto the steps. Hannah has just reached the bottom. “Hannah,” I say, and then jog up to her. “Princess.”
Hannah looks up at me, those blue eyes shimmering with tears.
I jog down the stairs to her. I don’t take her in my arms, but I itch to do it. I’m never going to come back from touching her.
“Princess,” I say, moving toward her again, then stopping myself. Space.
“Why do you call me that?” she asks. “What’s the reason? Is it because you think I’m spoiled? Because I’m some cloistered, cared for little princess who needs everyone to look out for her? Is that why?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
I scratch the back of my neck.
“Carter.”
I take in a breath. “A couple of years ago, the Heatstroke Public Library hosted a reading of the Princess and the Pea,” I say. “You remember that?”
She nods, sucking the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth.
“I attended.”
“You attended a reading of a children’s book?” she asks. “I don’t remember seeing you there.”
“That’s because I hung back between the bookcases in the sci-fi fantasy section. I caught glimpses of you, reading to the kids about the princess, the pea, her fucked up family who sold her off to some random lonely prince,” I say.
“And what, you thought I was like this princess who has to sleep on a million mattresses to be comfortable?”
“No,” I say. “You were wearing a crown, Hannah. And you looked so goddamn beautiful. So fucking perfect. It looked like you were born to wear a crown, and it stuck in my head. You as a princess. Not a spoiled princess, not someone who has to be cared for or pandered to, but a regal, beautiful woman who deserves to be worshiped.”
Hannah stares at me, wide-eyed.
“And anyway, none of this makes up for the fact that I went behind your back and installed that camera, but fuck it, Hannah, I’ve been obsessed with you for years, and the thought of you in danger….” I clench my fists.
“What?”
“It makes me want to burn the world down for you. It makes me want to find whoever upsets you and make them pay for it with fucking blood.”
She trembles. “You can’t be serious.”
“And I would expect nothing less from you. I expect you to punch anyone who fucks with you in the nose, then tell me about it so I can finish what you started,” I say.
Hannah takes a step toward me.
In the street, cars pass by, but we’re further back from the mouth of the alleyway. They can’t see us, and even though this is the least romantic place ever, I want to tell Hannah how I feel. I hold back, because when I do that, it’s going to be perfect. I’m going to show her exactly what she means to me, so there’s no doubt left.
And then you are going to let her go.
My throat tightens at the thought, and I shove my hand into my pocket, touching my fingers to the bracelet.
“Carter, I?—”
“You want space, and it’s going to take time for you to get over this.”
“I’d like a heads up next time.”
