Page 58 of Kiss Slay Replay

Of all the horrors I’ve endured lately—asleep or awake—this might be the most brutal. I’d take a knife between the eyes again over this.

How did I not see this coming? What a humiliating misjudgment.

“All right.” I nibble on the inside of my cheek, bite down hard and draw blood. A small violence to placate the feral rage.

I shouldn’t be mad at him—he didn’t lead me on, didn’t make me any promises. He never even brought up Tokyo. I did. Because I thought he did. Because in my head, we’d already trauma bonded. Because in my head—in my profound state of delusion—we were fated.

I shouldn’t be mad at him because the sex wasn’t mind-blowing, because our chemistry didn’t immediately translate horizontally. I shouldn’t be mad at him for being good-looking and charming and rich and reckless and not exactly who I need him to be.

But I am mad.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he says, standing. “Shit. Don’t be mad.”

And wouldn’t you know, now I’m even madder!

Because what if I didn’t want anything serious, either? He assumed. He wasn’t wrong, I wanted him to solve all my problems and liberate me of my breakup guilt and take me away to a new and better life. But still.

“I’m not mad.” I go into my suitcase for my pair of backup flats because who fucking cares. “I’m heartbroken beyond belief but I think I’ll make it.”

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding.”

“I admire your ego. The sheer size of it.” I put on my flats, scoop my bag off the floor, and open the door. “You coming? Just be careful. Not sure your head will fit through.”

“Okay, okay,” he says, laughing. “I get it. I’m an asshole.”

“You said it, not me.” I hold the door for him, and he follows me into the living room. “That was harsh. I’m sorry. It’s cool. It’s fine. We’re adults. I’d rather you be up-front.”

“Let me,” he says, reaching for the cabin door. He opens it, gestures for me to go through. What. A. Gentleman.

“Maybe up-front before we, you know…” I step out to find there are now two giant crows on the banister.

“You’re right. I should have said something sooner. I just thought it was a casual vibe. Wedding hookup.” He closes the door behind him, turns around, and sees the birds. “Whoa.”

There’s another one. A third. Down on the path. “All right. It’s not just me? This is ominous, yeah?”

“Ah, yeah. Spooky.” He laughs it off. “Did you know a group of crows is called a murder?”

“I’m not sure these are crows.” Seeing them up close, taking in the size of them, I’m pretty sure they’re ravens. “What’s a group of ravens called?”

“An unkindness.”

“Yeah, why not? Are all flocks of birds given such miserable names? What the fuck?”

“Nah. A group of flamingos is a flamboyance.”

“How do you know so much about birds?”

“I don’t,” he says. “I just have a great memory for useless facts.”

“Do you happen to know if ravens are hostile?” They’re staring at us with their beady black eyes, their dark feathers iridescent in the moonlight. Their beaks are long and broad and curve to a sharp tip. They’re majestic, intimidating creatures.

It’s the same gnawing feeling, the one I’ve had all day. That I had in my dream. Something isn’t right. It’s off. Like the first sniff of sour milk. I know.

“I would think only during nesting season. In the spring,” he says, taking my hand. “Walk behind me.”

I stay close to him as we head down the porch steps, walk on the grass parallel to the path, keeping a safe distance from the birds. Only…there are more birds. Ravens. They’re everywhere. Perched on the cabins. On the roofs, the banisters, the front porches, the steps.

“Um…”