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I’m such an asshole.
“Your girlfriend?” Chuck asks me, wandering close again and giving me a knowing, thoughtful look. “Good choice. Girl’s got a great rack.”
Right…
Doesn’t the guy have any work to do?
I’m about to say no, Sophie’s not my girlfriend, and it’s none of Chuck’s business anyway, then think better of it. Like, if the rumor spreads enough to keep women like Molly and Lani what’s-her-name at bay, then why not?
“Yeah,” I mutter. “That’s her.”
I’m not talking to Kash about panic attacks. And that’s final.
Sydney’s words keep ringing inside my head, though, as I work at the movie theater. Sophie hasn’t come over to talk to me in days, leaving me lots of time to think. Think and remember and drive myself insane.
What if he can help me? Help fix me?
In fact, before Sydney said it, I never considered that the way I got sometimes had a name. A specific name you can Google and find information on. I’ve done it, even though what I found is fucking scary.
But Kash lives with it, right? That’s what Syd implied. So he found a solution. He must’ve. A ticket out of it.
If there’s a way to escape from this new prison, this new hell… I’d take it.
Doing that, though, means I’ll have to talk to Kash, and we’ve already established I’m not doing that.
No way.
So it makes no sense that I find myself waiting for Kash to come back home anyway, my palms clammy and a headache beating at the back of my eyes. I’ve managed to avoid him for so long, and now I’m cursing because he’s late. It’s midnight, and I’m tired, but also too wired to sit in one place.
I’m pacing the living room like a caged animal when he finally arrives. The lock clicks, and he steps inside, blond hair falling in his face, hiding his eyes, the silver hoop in his nose glinting over his full lips.
Hurriedly I drop my gaze to his holey cargo pants and gray Converse, unsettling warmth seeping down my spine. I’m not supposed to be checking out my roommate, much less a guy. I have noticed guys before, I’m not denying it. They just don’t do it for me like chicks do, that’s all.
Kash, though… He’s exotic, with his pale gray eyes and sharp cheekbones, the piercings and tattoos.
Plus, he’s my savior.
But he stumbles inside barely noticing me, tosses his keys to the bowl, and misses. “Fucking shit.”
I grab the keys for him, put them in the bowl and shove my hands into my pockets. “Hey.”
He nods absently. “Where’s Syd?”
“She’s asleep. I checked.”
“Okay.” He stares at me, eyes heavy-lidded. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.” I chew on the inside of my cheek, about to lose my nerve and trying to think of a way to broach the topic.
But he lifts a hand and shoves his long blond fringe back, revealing the silver hoops piercing his lobe and the shell of his ear. He tucks the strands behind it, but some slip out instantly, falling back on his forehead.
Like silk, I think. Silver threads of silk.
“Kay, look, mudak, I’m just not used to a welcome committee.” He stares at me. “Did you want something?”
“Sorry,” I mumble, and that word he sometimes uses, that Russian word, almost makes me smile. It happens when he’s tired, or excited. Makes me wonder about his past. And I feel bad, because he’s done so much for us. For me. And in return I’ve mostly ignored him, tried to hate him for getting Syd’s attention.
Guilt is such a bitch.
