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Wolfsbane.
Clara’s favorite plant.
She brought him the mug that killed him.
She… She… What if she did more than she ever knew she could’ve done… and then made herself forget?
“Demyen, please…” Her voice cracks with fresh tears. She reaches for me, but I quickly step away.
I can’t. I can’t let her touch me. Not right now. Not while I’m struggling to put the pieces together and the picture that keeps coming up is her feeding Michael Little a cup of poison.
Poison that she knew all about, thanks to her strange love for exotic plants and that book that Little himself gave her.
Did he know he was giving her a How To for his own murder?
That boulder is back on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Hard to see. Hard to stand her presence in my room.
“Go to your room.” I mumble the words between numb lips. I’m amazed I have enough air in my lungs to utter them.
Clara hiccups a sob. “What?”
“You fucking heard me.” I glare at her. Or what looks like her silhouette in the dark. “Get the fuck out.”
“But, Dem?—”
I’ve had enough fucking around. I’m done. I’m done falling head over heels for someone I should have kept far the fuck away from since the beginning.
So I grab her, throw her over my shoulder, and storm out of my bedroom into hers.
She’s lucky I feel a little mercy, at least enough to throw her on the bed instead of the floor where she belongs.
“Get your shit together. I don’t want to see you or hear you until we leave. Understood?”
Her sobbing is her only vocal reply, but I see her manage a nod. I shouldn’t care either way. I tell myself I don’t, and I say that again and again until I believe it.
I don’t care.
I don’t care.
I don’t fucking care.
I shut the door behind me and storm back into my own room, making sure to lock it before I go back to bed.
Except now I can’t sleep. Her scent is all over my sheets, and it only makes the pain in my chest hurt even more.
20
DEMYEN
I didn’t sleep at all last night.
I sure as shit won’t be getting any sleep on the plane ride home.
I successfully avoided breakfast with Clara and Willow, plus all the packing and loading at the dock that would have put us within speaking distance. I actually had them go ahead before me, taking a different boat while I stayed behind under the pretense of having work shit to wrap up.
I just can’t stomach looking at her.
When I do finally board the jet, it’s deathly quiet in there. Clara is reading a novel and Willow is coloring in her activity book. When she looks up and smiles at me, I turn away.
