Page 28 of Molt

I stare at the message. Then at my bathroom door. My apartment is locked. Chain on. Deadbolted.

Good.

I need five fucking minutes where August isn’t standing in front of me saying cryptic shit and looking at me like he’s already attended my funeral.

My phone vibrates again.

August:

Please.

That word bothers me.

Everything about August is hard and controlled. Even when he bleeds, he acts inconvenienced by it.

But “please” keeps appearing like there’s something underneath all that control clawing to get out and I hate that I want to know what it is. I hate that I want to know him.

Which is insane. I just met him today.

Except apparently I didn’t.

I set the phone down and the tooth rolls slightly when I bump the counter.

My stomach twists.

I grab a hand towel and pick it up without touching it again.

I should throw it away.

Instead, I put it in the medicine cabinet because apparently I’m keeping body parts now.

Maybe August is contagious.

I close the cabinet and my reflection waits for me.

I look different. Not enough that anyone else would notice but I do.

My jaw looks sharper. My cheeks are slightly more hollow.

I turn my face.

Maybe I’m imagining it.

I haven’t eaten. I’m exhausted and terrified.

All perfectly reasonable explanations for why I look like shit.

Except I don’t look like shit.

That’s the problem.

I look...beautiful. Not makeup beautiful. Not good-lighting beautiful.

Unnaturally fucking perfect.

My pores are almost invisible. The tiny scar beneath my eyebrow is gone. The faint line between my brows has disappeared. Even the dark circles beneath my eyes are lighter.

I look younger.