Page 47 of Molt

“That was different.”

“You grabbed my hand.”

“That was necessary.”

“You had your arm around me upstairs.”

“Lenora.”

“And now you’re standing there acting like touching my hand is going to kill you.”

“It might.”

Silence.

Her eyes drop to my hand then she reaches for me.

I step back.

She stops and something flashes across her face.

Rejection.

It shouldn’t hurt me.

Instead, it fucking guts me.

“Don’t.”

Her hand lowers. “Fine.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You literally told me not to touch you.”

“Because I don’t know what happens when we do.”

“You said memories.”

“Before the tooth.”

Her eyes flick toward the floor. “Right.”

I should leave. I know that. Get out of this room. Out of this building. Out of this city. Put a thousand miles between us before morning.

I’ve done it before.

It never works.

But I should try.

Instead, I look at her hand. “Let me clean that.”

“I can clean my own hand.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”