Before we even reach the bodies, lines of ink slip through the car, scanning the surrounding area in a series of pulsing waves. This close, I can see that the abandoned van is one of the community shuttles, the Mercywing insignia painted on the side of one flung-open door.
"No heartbeats," says Gideon, but slows down anyway, probably to figure out a way around the bodies.
"Was it a wreck?" I say, already knowing the answer bone-deep.
Another flicker of ink, and then he quietly says, "No. The bodies were torn apart in different ways."
Christ, please let them have died before being ripped to pieces like that. I can't even tell how many of them there were. When my stomach starts churning, my gaze darts back to the sky. The sun is long gone behind the horizon, leaving only reflected light on some low-hanging clouds, brilliant orange against the looming blue-black of night.
As if sensing my thoughts, Gideon says, "We shouldn't stop. These bodies are..." He reads a few lines of code from the ink, and new tension enters his voice. "Minutes old. And the position of the vehicle suggests the driver was traveling in the same direction we are."
"You think he's waiting for us?" I glance at the sky again, taking in the sight of clouds already gone dark, and then nod reluctantly. I hate that we can't stop. I wouldn't want my body lying there for the vultures to pick at.
As Gideon guides the car around, a flash of white catches my eye, and despite myself, I glance toward it. It's a sports jersey, the letters clear despite the blood splattered across them.
The Dinas Devils, #52.
My words come out as a croak. "I know her."
"Phoenix?" Gideon's voice turns sharp as I lunge halfway through the open window, twisting to look back as something seethes up through my veins, pooling against the silver necklace ineffectually.
"That's Pilar! I recognize her shirt. Oh my god, that fuck." Still staring, I notice a flicker of movement in the pulled-over shuttle. The door to the baggage space between the front and back wheels pops open, but Gideon drives so fast that darkness swallows up the entire shuttle before I can see who gets out. "Wait, someone's still alive back there; I saw them crawling out of the baggage area."
"Alive without a heartbeat?"
There's a moment of silence, and then without a word I duck back inside as Gideon speeds up. I watch the side mirror, heart racing as headlights appear. "They're following us."
It doesn't take long for the headlights to grow closer. The shuttle is the type of heavily-built vehicle made to last; I don't want to think about the type of damage it could do to a smaller car like this.
"Gideon, I don't doubt your manhood or anything, but um, how good is your car?"
"It's not mine; it's stolen property. I didn't dare raise early suspicion from INKtech by taking one of their vehicles on an unauthorized trip again." His fingers tap the steering wheel as he glances in the rearview mirror.
"Okay, not really my point." The headlights are so close the beams now shine into our car.
I slam back into the seat as we suddenly lurch ahead, the engine grinding in response to Gideon flooring the gas pedal. It's making a lot more noise now, but the headlights grow even closer. "Not as good as I'd hoped," he admits.
Before I can respond, the shuttle rams us in a shriek of metal. The take-out box of food goes spilling by my feet as Gideon steers us straight. The second jolt almost drives us off the road, and Gideon snarls something, ink flaring. The road is a dark strip ahead of us, and as our headlights bob, I can see outcroppings of rock that flank us here and there. We're in real danger just from crashing. The next time the shuttle rams us, I yelp, remembering how Melanie was found in her crushed car. "This isn't working!"
Gideon doesn't say anything, but lines whip out from the ink, darting ahead as fast as lightning. The shuttle has the chance to ram us again before more ink spreads across the windshield to outline everything ahead of us. The road gleams with orange lines, and the land on either side is in various degrees of blue. It's as clear as night vision, revealing the rock outcroppings, the trees, even dips in the road.
"See the darker blue patches on the ground? Loose earth. A vehicle as heavy as that shuttle will sink in as if it's driven into a gravel pit."
"What about us?"
His fingers tap the wheel again. "This car probably has a good enough turning radius to get around them."
"Probably?"
"Well, I'd have to make several calculations to be sure."
In a roar of engine sprites, the shuttle pulls alongside us. The driver shouts something, and even though I can't make out the words, I stare. I know that voice. "Fuck me, it's Frankie."
The shuttle veers into our lane. Gideon manages to speed up the car enough to avoid being side-swiped. "He's still as friendly as I remember."
"He's turning everyone I know," I say, stunned. "Christ, that means he's going to go after Elliot."
Then we're rammed from the back again, this time so hard my teeth bite into my tongue. I spit out a curse and maybe some blood. "Fuck it, let's try the trap thing!"
I hang on as he veers off the road, sending us on a ragged, winding path around rocks and trees, pebbles and sand grinding under the wheels. The shuttle's headlights remain behind us, throwing up clouds of dust and sand.
When I hear its engine sputter, I twist around to see how far it fell behind. Then I let out another yelp. "It's stuck!"
Our own car doesn't sound good, though, and the shuttle's headlights aren't out of sight for more than a few minutes before it shakes and slows, unable to lurch back onto the road. I hear Gideon hiss out a breath between his teeth, and that's all I need to know. "This piece of shit isn't going to make it to the motel, is it?"
"No." His ink gleams sharply as he coaxes it around a tree. "If I had a bit more time, I could simply build a damned vehicle to run off my power."
The car now makes a whining noise. "Won't you burn yourself out?"
"No. I can tap into the city reservoirs of architectonic thaumaturgy for the raw materials. Power is no issue, either. While going through system recovery, I took the opportunity to break some of the restrictions set on me." When he glances in the rearview mirror instead of at me, I know he doesn't want to go into detail.
I look, too. Still no headlights. "How much more time are we talking about?"
"Even with our head start, he would be on us before I finished. And I'll be completely locked in once I begin building it. I haven't yet found a way to keep this body alert while performing in-depth thaumaturgy." He runs a hand through his hair.
So, he'd be helpless against an attack. Even though my hands shook before, every muscle in me suddenly goes calm. Bone-deep, I know what I can do, and that's enough to make me decide. "Build it. I'll hold him off."
When he looks at me, eyes already saying absolutely not, I add, "You saw what I can do. How easily I can kill. This isn't a bullshit move on my part."
"No." His voice turns sharp.
Mine rises. "It isn't."
"I know what you're capable of; that's not the issue. My no is for the idea itself."
"Why?"
"I can't leave you to fight alone when I'm capable of joining in. It'sâit would be unbecoming conduct." He says it with a degree of finality that suggests no one could argue against that.
Despite the fucked-up situation, I bite back a laugh. Unbecoming. Christ, the moments he picks to turn into a Kingsman. "You can; you just don't want to. And it's not unbecoming, it's practical. C'mon, what other choice is there? Can't call a tow truck for this piece of shit; even if Frankie didn't rip off our heads while we waited, we'd be arrested for driving a stolen car. And we can't fight him off and walk the rest of the way. What if Frankie isn't the only one who's coming? We don't know how many people Valentine turned; maybe there's a whole army after us. So, you've got to build something to get us the fuck out of here, and I have to stand ready while you do."
But he's as stubborn as I am, and he really doesn't like the idea. "If I keep all of my attention external, I can shield us. I'm not shut up in an underground room with three different control systems locking down my abilities; I have enough power to last the night."
"It's fifteen more miles to Slocata! What if a cop finds us? Finds you? Slake's probably alerted every authority around, telling them to stuff you into a cell until he gets there. It would be pure bullshit to make it through the night and then get caught afterward." My voice has a snarl to it. The thought of him being taken back to people who'd erase him as a bad experiment makes me want to shred something.
His mouth tightens. "Don't worry about me."
"Don't tell me what to think about you," I snap back.
The car makes a new sputtering noise, interrupting our mutual glares. When it slows to a crawl despite his best efforts, I raise an eyebrow.
"Damn it," he says, finally, and scans the area for a good space to pull over. "I won't agree to this unless we compromise."
"I'm listening."
"Let me track your heartbeat. At the first indication of hemorrhagic shock, I'll snap myself back into our surroundings, whether the vehicle is finished or not. I don't want to come back to my senses only to find your dead body." His glance jumps from the scar on my arm to my face.
Fair enough. If I can't do my job, then he can't do his, either. "Okay."
He sighs and lets the car falter to a stop. "This is as good a place as any."
Glancing back at the road behind us, I feel a shiver go through my bones, and know if it wasn't for the silver on me, I'd already be changing over. As we get out, light streams from Gideon's ink, separating into glowing spheres that bob around us in a wide circle.
He looks at me. "If anything approaches within a meter, the closest sphere will flare up in warning. It's the best I can offer while in the middle of a massive working."
His words sound only brisk, but I can tell by his expression that he hopes I'll back out at the last second. No way.
I give him a cool nod, trying to ignore the way my heart races. "Fine; that'll be enough light to fight with." Then I fumble with the silver necklace. "Here. Better hold onto this or it'll get lost in all the sand."
He only looks at me, eyes dark and worried. I try my best at a confident smile. "Trust me. I won't let them get you."
"That isn't what concerns me," he says, but takes the silver from my hand. Despite how we snarled at each other earlier, his touch is gentle. And he doesn't just stuff the necklace into the pocket of his jeans in a tangled mess, he wraps it up in a handkerchief before carefully tucking it away. For some reason, that chokes me up in a way his gentleman posturing didn't. I'm still quiet when he reaches for my hand again, the ink scrawling along his skin until it pools at his fingertips.
He only holds my wrist, but heat shoots up the big vein on the inside of my arm. For a few breaths, it feels constant, then fades to warmth that moves in waves, matching my pulse. After another second, I don't feel anything at all except for Gideon's touch. Still, I rub my arm, feeling like all the heat shot up to my cheeks as his thumb brushes my wrist. And he's giving me that one intent look again, like he'll never get tired of seeing my face.
Somehow, I keep my voice steady. "We got this."
He doesn't say anything, but his hand tightens against mine before letting go. I watch him move a few yards away before kneeling on the ground, back straight like he's going to meditate. The ink pulses brightly, and after his eyes close, it starts flickering in a specific pattern, throwing out light in the area of sand in front of him. Lines multiply and merge, slipping through the air like spider silk as a vague form takes shape.
After that, I keep my focus on the road, scanning the direction we came from. I don't know how much time passes while I stare into the darkness, ready for any sign of movement. Behind me, Gideon is completely silent, but occasionally light ripples past me, hot and filled with enough power to move my hair like a breeze. Ever-present fear knots my stomach, but there's more, too. Impatience, and anger, and agitation, all chafing at this waiting game.
I don't know what alerts me; maybe a flicker of movement in the direction of the road. Maybe a trace of a metallic smell. My claws grow out even before one of the spheres of light flares. There's no sound of footsteps, just the sudden appearance of Frankie, blood staining his mouth and the front of the same faded shirt and ripped-up jeans he always wears. I stare at his teeth while flashing him mine. "You got one chance to turn around and get the fuck out of here. If we fight, I won't hold back. Frankie, for once in your life, just listen to me."
"You're so stupid, Nina." He finally moves closer, the same old sneer on his face. "I hope your fuck buddy there is praying final rites to whatever god he believes in, because I'm going to rip off his head and piss on it. After he sees what I did to you."
Then he runs for me, opening his mouth to reveal even more bristling fangs. It feels like I'm standing in the way of a train moving too fast to avoid. But while my mind freezes, my instincts kick in, and when I see the punch coming, I lunge to one side. When he stumbles from overextending himself, I go in with my claws. They miss his eyes and gouge his cheek and nose instead, but he still screams and swears, breaking away to cover his bleeding face.
Sickly vampire blood slides down my claws while I take the chance to gulp in breath, sweat running down my back. When he finally straightens up, I see murder in his eyes.
Then he slams into me, trying to use a wrestling move to pin me to the ground. This close, he smells awful, like old blood. His weight drives away most of my breath, but even as my legs buckle, my bones shudder with strength. As soon as he leans in, I grab him by the throat, feeling my claws dig in and get a good hold. His eyes widen in shock when I manage to lock my arm straight, keeping him away even as he strains forward. And when I punch him in the kidneys, he feels it enough to grunt and flinch back, giving me enough space to breathe against the bulk of his body.
"Fucking told you," I mutter thickly, the words hard to get out around my teeth.
He just growls and shoots out his hand. My nose explodes with pain, but when he tries hitting me again, I give him another punch to the kidneys.
I don't know how long we roll around in the sand, growling and scuffling awkwardly. I try to breathe through my broken nose and all the blood going down my throat, and he tries to break the iron grip I have on his neck that keeps those teeth from my face.
Eventually, we slam against the side of the car, the impact shattering the driver's window and jerking us apart. I scrabble backward over broken glass, feeling my skin sting with fresh cuts as Frankie lunges for me again. This time, I kick out until the heel of one sneaker catches him on the jaw. I hear bone crack, and it seems to stun him, but before I can get to my feet, he's on me again. My lungs are starting to hitch, and he's gasping, too, as we keep fighting in a tangle of arms, growing desperate and clumsy.
My muscles feel like they're lined with lead, but my claws manage to dig back into his neck just as his hand locks around my throat. I grab his wrist with my other hand, trying to keep him from choking me.
"Always hated you, Nina," he grits out, tightening his grip when I struggle. "But once I got over the idea of losing that wrestling scholarship I broke three fingers for, turning into a vampire wasn't so bad. Know why?"
He gets angrier, remembering whatever he's about to say, and it makes him stronger. My arm starts shaking as the muscles in his neck bulge. I' don't know how much longer this stalemate will last. Then he lashes out, catching me in the jaw. Shit. It won't last long at all.
"Because even though I was turned for knowing you..." Another punch, this one right in the mouth. My teeth make it through, but now I'm coughing back blood from my nose and my lip. Desperately, I hold on, legs thrashing as I fight for full breaths.
"You, a half-breed bitch who tears my friend's heart to pieces while wearing that smug fucking smile..." This time his fist snaps my head back against the ground, and suddenly I have trouble figuring out which way is up and which way is down.
"It's still worth it. Because knowing you also means I'm part of the reason why you'll end up crawling on all fours with Valentine holding your leash. I'm going to take fucking photos the first time he makes you give him a blow job."
I snarl, muscles shaking in a way I never felt before, my grip tightening around his neck as every drop of blood in my body boils. My nose makes a popping sound as the bones in my face shift under my skin.
Frankie's eyes go wide. "What the fuck..."
But I'm already surging up, senses spinning until everything I take in is a fresh shock. The reek of blood clotting on Frankie's shirt, thin and somehow distinctly human; the pinpricks of stars far above us, sharp and cold; my ankles scraping against rock as I lunge, shoving him back with pure force. And finally, the squelch of his heart sliding against his lungs, sickening to hear even with him staggering back, leaving air between us as we sway on our feet.
Then, my guts churn in that now-familiar way, and I find myself sinking back to the ground as quickly as I got up. Oh, God. Without silver, this change is going all the way through me.
The chance for Frankie to attack again is clear, but he doesn't take it, instead staring like I'm splitting apart. Fuck, at this point it feels like I am.
And that's when light explodes over us, bright as if a star flared into life. All I can do is close my eyes, still shuddering, still unable to move as my body snaps and rejoins itself. But I can hear, and Frankie's screaming sounds just like Laci's after she burned herself on Gideon's ink. When I open my eyes again, I see Frankie writhing on the ground, miniature lightning bolts running over his body. One of his arms turned into a smear of ash on the sand next to him, and the right side of his chest burned away to reveal ribs as black and brittle as charcoal. A figure stands nearby, ignoring the sparks that fly from Frankie's squirming body. It's Gideon, ink burning white-hot as it draws up more power for another blow.
"Gideon." My voice sounds all wrong, deep and rough like a growl.
He starts and looks in my direction, the rage in his face fading. "Phoenix?"
He's only distracted for a moment, but that's long enough for Frankie to claw at him, surging up despite half his body collapsing into ash. The thought of him even touching Gideon sends me lunging forward, ache in my belly fading, muscles pulling me into a wolf's long stride that brings me to Frankie in two leaps. Sparks burn my fur as I drive him into the ground, a snarl shaking my entire chest.
Then my hand shoots out, ribs cracking like pencils against my claws. Frankie screams an insult at me, but I'm not listening, not even at a point where I can understand words because I smell burning vampire blood, and the sickly stench of a vampire heart, and there it is in my claws.
Frankie's body lurches against mine, but my legs and tail keep my balance steady as I rip something from his chest. His heart. The fur on my arm is slick with the disintegrating mess that Frankie's turning into, his body already collapsing as I roar at the blob of muscle twitching in my hand. When it dissolves into slime, I stagger up, feeling blood slide down my fur, speckle the length of my muzzle. I find myself looking at Gideon, looking down at him, and he's staring back. His expression is exactly what you'd see on a swimmer watching a shark fin glide by. He's terrified of me.
A low whine leaves my throat, but before I can take more than a step back, the change hits me like a punch to the face. I collapse onto the mess of slime and blood covering the ground, trying to breathe while my body twists back into human shape.
Eventually, my shaking stops. I cough while my stomach debates throwing up all the blood my nose dumped into it. Absently realizing my face feels better than it should, considering the amount of punches it took, I lick my lips against the lingering nausea and wonder if Gideon is even still here. Feeling stable enough to look up, I find him crouched a foot or two away, one hand half-stretched out, like he's not sure whether to risk touching me. I can't tell what he thinks.
When he doesn't say anything, doesn't even make a move to hurry me along, I clear my throat. "Told you I wouldn't let him get you."
His head turns toward the direction of Frankie's remains, but his gaze returns to me right away. "Yes."
I try again. "Did you make the, um..."
"Yes," he repeats, and stands, moving back a little so I can see. It's a motorcycle. A sleek, alien motorcycle glowing the same blue as Gideon's ink in the cracks between pieces of its black chassis, waiting with his travel bag already strapped in place. I don't have enough energy left to groan. Or to care about my shirt flying up. While pushing myself to my feet, I realize my clothing is in shreds, anyway. Seams split, elastic frayed. I don't even know what happened to my shoes. At least I don't have enough energy left to feel embarrassed about being a fucking mess, either.
So, I just get on behind him with a wince, realizing I'm going to stain his white shirt with all the gore on me.
"It's better if you keep close," he says, as the motorcycle starts up with a brief hum. "For balance reasons."
"Um..." I flex my bloodstained fingers at him and grimace.
"It's all right," he says, evenly.
"Really?"
This time, he twists around to look at me, realizing I mean more than just his shirt. "Really." Then his hand takes one of mine, not even hesitating at the stickiness of drying blood, and brings it around to his stomach. The hard muscles there are tense, and so is his shoulder when I rest my cheek against it, exhaustion slamming into me as we take off. But as the road slips under us for mile after mile, occasionally one of his hands moves to brush against mine, thumb stroking over my knuckles before it returns to the handlebar.
#
At the motel, I dazedly go through the motions of checking in. The manager oozes a don't-give-a-fuck attitude, but even he eyes me doubtfully while handing over the key. I don't blame him. On the way here, we stopped at a self-serve gas station so I could use the empty bathroom to wash off the blood, but I still look like total shit.
The shower curtain is covered with mold, and the soap dish has only a sliver and a lot of scum left to use, but at this point, I don't care. I take a shower to get every last bit of mess off me, and then fill up the tub with water so hot my skin prickles as I sink into it.
For a while, I stare at the water-stained ceiling and wait for tears to come. They don't. When I think back to Frankie's words about Valentine, though, my hands start shaking, and I have to duck my head underwater to dull the panic. After the water cools off, I get out. The one towel hanging on the towel rack looks moldy, too, so I ignore it, instead getting to work on cleaning my clothes. My bones feel hot, achey, some even clicking and twitching from the repetitive washing motions, like they're still settling back into place. Otherwise, it's silent in here, the only sound being Gideon's occasional footsteps, a reminder of minutes passing by.
My hair is mostly dry by the time I finish. I scrubbed my bra and panties until the bloodstains are as faint as possible, but my shirt and shorts are trashed. And even in this heat, my underwear will take hours to dry. I can't sit in here and wait. "Hey, Gideon?"
"Yes?"
His voice sounds only alert, but I still wince. I'm about to ask him to do yet another thing I should've considered. "Do you have a spare shirt I could wear? My clothes are more like rags at this point."
After a few moments of silence, his voice drifts through. "Do you want it left outside the door?"
"Um..." Uncertainty runs through me. It's not that I'm scared he'll try something while I'm too exhausted and vulnerable to fight back. With him, I don't feel the usual slick of wariness that coats whatever I do around guys. But I'm placing a lot of trust in him, doing this. There's a door between us, but just a door. And right now, it's the only thing between him and my skin. It feels very intimate, somehow more so than if we were both naked and rolling together under sheets.
I take a deep breath. "I'm just going to open the door wide enough to grab it."
There's a pause. "All right."
I make sure to angle my body so everything is hidden behind the door. Then I crack it open and shove my hand through, blindly groping. My fingers jerk when they find Gideon's, the warmth of ink tingling up my arm. As soon as I feel fabric, I snatch it and mumble thanks, quickly shutting the door again.
It's a long-sleeve shirt, navy blue and made of high-quality cotton. When I pull it on, it falls to my thighs. I'm showing less leg now than when I wore my shorts, but again that sense of intimacy slides through me. I never wear any of Elliot's clothing, not even for mornings after, though friends have told me doing that gets guys really hot.
I look in the mirror, trying to figure out why I feel more guilty about what I don't do around my boyfriend than about ripping out his best friend's heart. But it's true. I don't feel bad for killing Frankie. Instead, I look at my split lip in the mirror as the smell of blood hangs in my nose, mixing with the lingering ache in my cheek where a bruise is already visible. He beat the shit out of me so bad, even changing to wolf and back didn't heal my body all the way. If I was just a human girl, I'd be dead. Like Pilar.
When my eyes fuzz over from staring at myself, I bundle my clothes out of the way and leave the bathroom. Suddenly, it's hard not to pull at the hem of the shirt I'm wearing.
Gideon brought the motorcycle into the room. The lines of his body are tense as he looks it over, and I have a feeling he deliberately turned away as soon as I stepped out. It's a nice gesture, but avoiding each other will make the rest of the night awkward as fuck. So, I take a final tug at my hem and move up beside him. "I'm kind of pissed about what happened to my clothes, but looking at this, I guess it's worth it."
When he only nods, I try again. "Really. It's very pretty."
That gets him to look over. "Pretty?" he repeats, his expression drifting between disbelief and wryness.
"Well." I wave a hand at it. "I know even less about cars and bikes than I do about biology."
We both stare at the motorcycle for a beat or two before he faces me, shoulders relaxing. "And I know next to nothing about wolves, apparently. I've never seen anything like what you turned into."
Resisting the urge to pull at my hem again, I quietly say, "Are you afraid of me?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Well, you haven't yet reached the level of my aunt."
My lungs hurt along with the rest of my body, but he still gets a laugh out of me. Before I can reply, he adds, "Are you afraid of what you can do?"
I think about it, a knot of emotions twisting in my chest. "I don't know what I feel. Not tonight. That fight was more brutal than I figured."
I absently turn toward the motorcycle again, but when Gideon's fingers brush my chin, I look up at him. He moves closer, thumb not quite touching the corner of my mouth as he studies my face. "When I came back to my surroundings, I knew you were alive. That was all I knew. And then I saw you. Your face was covered with blood and you looked unable to stand. I was ready to kill him."
"Too bad I got there, first." Despite my bone-tired state, something flutters in my belly. This is the first time he's touched me without asking. Another point we shot past together.
He smiles a little at my joke, but his expression falls serious again. "Firebird."
It's only a word, but he says it as if filling it with everything he felt there in the desert, seeing me bleed into the sand and then get back up again.
I'm at a crossroads, tired and beat to shit yet again, but also feeling something that can't be ignored, not this time. Sparks go off behind my ribs as I angle my head closer to his, breath already gone as he meets me the rest of the way.
There's the sting of pain from the cut on my lip, and then it's gone, overwhelmed by the heat of his mouth on mine. The rasp of a day's worth of stubble on his chin mixed with the gentleness of his lips turns the sparks in my chest into a full-out bonfire, and I gasp for more. He's careful, aware of my injuries as he tilts my head back for a better angle. I just tug at his shirt, pulling him closer. I forget about my bruises. I forget about being tired and having no clothes. I even forget about all the fear and panic that lives in me like a second heart. There's just him, fingers tangling in my hair and ink humming against the sensitive skin on my neck.
But when I feel the first hint of a tongue against mine, suddenly it's not just Gideon, it's Elliot, too, pressing me down into the grass until I let him in, that day and ever since.
I break off, panting, heart pounding at the idea of being on the edge of another situation that'll take me from heaven to hell before I can blink. Dimly, I'm aware of Gideon saying my name.
When I don't reply, he repeats it, voice still uneven. "Phoenix?"
His hand moves away from my neck, ready to give me space if I ask for it. But that's not what I want, either. When I cling to him in a hug, my breathing doesn't slow until his arms settle around me.
"I won't ask for anything you're not sure of giving," he says, finally.
Closing my eyes against the sudden burning of tears, I drop my head against his chest, feeling the soft material of his shirt rub against my cheek. "I'm not sure what that'd even be. Fuck, Gideon, do you know how long I thought sex and romance were just chores to get through? Since I slept with Kenny Culpepper to get friends off my back for being fourteen and still a virgin. Shave your legs, get measured for a bra, sleep with the boys who know how to take it off. Pretend you care about their stupid fucking flowers. Bonus points if they don't have much acne on their faces."
He doesn't say anything, but one of his hands shifts enough to stroke hair back from my face.
More words burn on my tongue, and I keep talking to get their taste out of my mouth. "And then you show up, and suddenly it feels like my heart might burst if you even look at me too long. I just don't get why you're so different. And I don't know how long it'll take me to figure out what to do."
"I can wait." I feel as much as hear his voice, the words easy and sure.
And the funny thing is, I completely believe him.