Page 44 of Torn

Her sparkler eyes fasten onto him, the wattage of which surges up his chest. It’s not a pleasant sensation, nor entirely unpleasant.

Why is he routinely caught in the middle, torn between one reaction and another?

“What a coup! You haven’t lost that protective impulse.” Wonder claps her mutilated hands—blemished by starburst scars, wrought from torturous cuts—and makes introductions between Merry, Envy, and Sorrow.

Merry’s passionate and lengthy dissertation about Envy’s “enviable” magnetism and Sorrow’s “exquisitely woeful” features give them pause. But her gusto and rhetoric win them over.

Also, she’s Merry. Other than Malice, who wouldn’t befriend her?

Anger drums his fingers on his belt, intruding on the pow-wow. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh-oh, behold those digits,” Envy says, faking a conspiratorial whisper. “That means he’s getting testy.”

Anger’s hand falters. “I’m not jealous. And I don’t have all day.”

“Actually, you have eternity,” Sorrow jeers.

“Gossip circulates. We heard you were here,” Wonder says.

“No,youlearned I was here,” Anger corrects.

No one matches Wonder’s propensity to snoop, with the exception of a certain demon god who’s got a few loose arrows.

“The image of our classmate in the capital of exiles had appeal,” Envy says. “Plus, we were feeling nostalgic.”

“Your friendship is touching,” Anger remarks, then redirects his attention to Merry. “And you.”

“And me. You’ve noticed,” she gripes, knotting her robe. “It must be my lucky day. Yes, for a glorious moment I’d thought you were covetous of Envy’s attention, that you were finally acting like a soul mate, but I can see that my rapture was hasty—not because I’m a hasty exile, but because you’re an imbecile. I never expected to be enamored of an imbecile, but I’m not going to question the stars. I suppose it’s more triumphant when bonds are earned, the culmination of trials and tension, so only time will tell if you’ll stop being a nitwit. In the meantime, keep your hands off my robe, and don’t do me any jealous favors. I’m walking away now. Maybe someday you’ll come after me, like a soul mate would.”

She aims an inflated hostess grin at Anger’s classmates. “Lemonade?”

Then she stomps off, her hands bunched and swinging at her sides.

Sorrow and Envy give him intrigued looks before accepting the hospitality. Before Wonder trots off with them, Anger grabs her elbow, which feels like squeezing a cushion. “Why are you really here?”

She peels away his fingers and pats the side of his face. “Oh, Anger. You worry too much.”

She hasn’t outgrown that clucky lecture voice, despite everything that’s ever happened to her.

Despite what their class did to her in the past.

What the Fate Court ordered them to do to her.

Anger still can’t glimpse her scarred hands without shuddering, without wanting to crush his own fists to smithereens. There’s that, in addition to another unspoken and regretful experience that he’d once shared with her. A private interlude. A lapse that had revealed too much from both of them.

It’s the reason why he’s never been able to conceal his yearnings from Wonder.

He doesn’t stop her from leaving, doesn’t reply when she calls back to him, “Come have a reunion with us.”

The ensemble deposits weaponry against a wall. Via the stars, Merry petitions for more lounge chairs, and a circle of comfort appears, a ring of five seats. One of which Envy drapes himself across like a siren. Another of which Sorrow rests upon, reclining on her back like a psychiatric patient. Wonder perches on a third lounge chair, crossing her harem-panted limbs as if she’s about to meditate.

Which she is, because she closes her eyes.

Which means they’ve lost her for about a half hour.

Anger sits on the precipice of his own seat while Merry presents a tray of glasses dripping with condensation. Sorrow slurps. Envy raises a pinky. Wonder drinks with her eyes shut, inhaling the tartness before each contemplative sip.

Merry rests on her stomach, her calves cranked into the air and crossed at the ankles while she guzzles. Anger’s too busy watching her throat pump to bother quenching his thirst.

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