Page 17 of Bitten, Marked, Obsessed

I flinch.

Wrong phrase. Too close.

“Adora’s still in the hospital,” I say instead, steering the conversation like my life depends on it. “I’m gonna go see her. Maybe she’s up to talking now.”

Stefan nods, watching me. Too quiet and calculating.

“What?” I snap.

“Nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You’re doing the thing.”

“What thing?”

“Thethinkingthing. Where you act like you’re not thinking anything, but I can see it all over your face.”

He sighs, steps closer. “I’m just worried, alright? You’re not acting like you.”

I grit my teeth.

That’s because I’mnot.

I want to scream it, throw it at him like a grenade and watch him scramble to understand. But I don’t. I can’t.

He wouldn’t get it. No one would.

So I lie.

“I’m fine,” I say, and smile again, wide and practiced.

He doesn’t buy it, not fully. But he lets it go.

For now.

“I can drive you to the hospital,” he offers.

“No. I need the walk. The air helps.”

That’smostlytrue.

I need space more than anything. Space to think, to breathe, to figure out how to keep whatever the hell is inside me from tearing me apart—or worse, getting out.

Stefan pulls me in for another hug before he leaves.

This time I let him.

I fake the warmth. I fake the normal. I fake the human.

“Keep me posted, okay? I love you.” Thankfully he leaves before waiting for my reply that gets caught in my throat. And the second the door shuts behind him, I sink to the floor, pressing my hands over my face and breathing through the scream lodged in my throat.

My hands tremble in my lap. The bite on my shoulder throbs like it’s remembering before I do.

Stefan can’t know what’s happening to me.

Hecan’t.

He’d try. He’d listen. He’d nod with that patient look he always wears when he’s trying to pretend he’s not freaking out inside. But he wouldn’t be able to un-know it. Not after whatthose thingsdid to his parents. Not after the blood and fear and the headlines he never talks about, but I know he still dreams about.

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