Page 98 of Unloved

“Yeah?”

“Have fun tonight.” Sadie’s gaze is piercing, like her words are more threat than suggestion. “Or else.”

“Anything else, my ice queen?” I mockingly bow.

“Yeah.” She smiles. “You should use my lipstick. It’s on the bathroom counter.”

RO

I’m here!

I text Freddy as I walk up through the open door. The party is in full swing by the time I get there, stepping into the overcrowded thumping living room space, dancers plastered to each other and the walls on all sides.

It’s overwhelming for a second, and when I don’t see Freddy or get a text back, I start for the bathrooms, needing a quick breather.

The door is locked, marked with a sheet of paper that says “Chicks.” I lean against the wall where it’s a little quieter, looking out to the patio and bonfire going in the distance, a group of guys and girls laughing and chatting.

The sliding door opens a little roughly before two bodies stumble through. The girl is dressed as Poison Ivy with green tights and a green corset, vibrant red hair, and—

Paloma Blake.

Paloma Blake with red hair and reddened eyes storming into the house with someone massive on her heels. She enters the vacant bathroom with a crude sign that says “Dicks” and slams the door shut.

The other newcomer in my quiet hallway space doesn’t say anything, only leans against the opposite wall. I can’t tell if he’s looking at me because he’s wearing a Ghostface mask, a lazy choice, as shown by the simple jeans and half-buttoned nearly translucent button-down that’s soaking wet and sticking to his skin.

He undoes the remaining buttons and pulls it from his tan skin, and I almost swallow my tongue. Muscles on muscles, amber in the light from the single standing lamp thatscreams“boy dorm decor.”

The mask comes off next, and I realize it’s the guy who hit Tyler—Toren Kane.

After our run-in and hearing him announced at the home game, I looked him up. He’s as terrifying as I thought, somehow worse in person. And the Ghostface costume doesn’t help that image.

He’s covered in tattoos, and I can’t stop my eyes from scanning them slowly, realizing that I recognize quite a few.

Starry Nightwrapped half around his torso.Bedroom in Arleson one bicep. A unique design that seems to mix Van Gogh’s famous self-portrait with the sunflower vase on one arm.Almond Blossomtwining down the other, nearly reaching his fingertips. He’s covered in Van Gogh’s work.

And not just famous pieces, but more unknown ones—

Skull of a Skeleton with Burning Cigarette, but surrounded by blends of landscapes and pastorals I can only assume are based on the famed artist’s work. All done in grays and blacks, but still recognizable without the color.

He’s caught me staring now, and embarrassment stings my cheeks as I stutter, “Big fan of Van Gogh?”

My question has his entire body tensing before he eyes me a little strangely.

“Excuse me?”

My mouth goes dry, neck damp with sweat at the intensity of his eyes. Molten gold. Furious, a match waiting to be set alight.

“You—your tattoos. There’s, like, an entire collection of Van Gogh.”

His eyebrows shoot up.

Maybe no one has asked before. Maybe they’ve only recognizedStarry Nightand the sunflowers but didn’t bother to realize he’s made a shrine to the artwork on his skin.

“Yeah. I… like his work.”

His right hand raises to his bicep, fingertips dancing along the inked skin there absentmindedly. I narrow my gaze to where, between the perfect sleeve of Van Gogh paintings and sketches, there is a cluster of lilies. In fact, there are several bunches, scattered between different images all over his body.

“I didn’t know Van Gogh painted lilies.”

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