Page 55 of Torn

“You cannot be serious.”

“What? Why are you grouchy? His is a monumental story.”

“It’s an asinine one. He’s not a god, and he flew too close to the sun with a pair of do-it-yourself wings, which melted and sent him plummeting to the ocean. What do I have to do with that?”

“Gracious, calm down.”

“Why not Zeus? He’s a divinity of the sky and thunder.”

“He’s also an asshole. You strike me as someone who once fled reason and got too close to a perilous desire, blinded by its allure, for which you’ve paid dearly. You’re not the light, but you strive for it. You strive for the wrong reasons.”

Anger’s quiet. “And who represents the light?” he murmurs, the inquiry coasting up her nape.

Merry twists to meet his countenance. “Let’s find out.”

And then they’re off, gliding down the streets, the city a puddle on either side of them, outlines and colors swirling. Reflective blue, musing purple, and ardent pink. They melt together, tender tints that defy the hour and its brooding shadows.

Stars freckle the sky. Someplace up there is the Milky Way, and legends and myths, the real and unreal.

Merry’s hair flutters behind her, but Anger doesn’t bat away the strands. He only squeezes her waist and, after a few minutes, rests his chin on her shoulder. Two profound weights work in tandem, dissolving the rest of her thoughts.

On impulse, she skates them through a quad, catching the fragrance of foxglove. Bell florals rise and sway as the board skims by. She could have brought her player and shared earbuds with Anger, but she’d rather listen to his breath near to her own.

The plate of his chest bumps against her as they vault off a sidewalk and veer around a corner. The wheels crank up the momentum as they plunge down a hill, the wind swatting his shirt and turning her skirt into a sail. She tilts her head back and feels him do the same, his hold tightening.

Merry can achieve kinetics with this board that humans cannot. However, she can’t show off and flip them upside with this much density. Everything has its limit. And the simple act of speeding up, up, up and going down, down, down is enough.

She lifts her arms, as if riding the Pegasus Rollercoaster, an attraction that she’s ascended with her board, inverting and diving with the tracks at midnight. Anger mimics the action, like she’d hoped he would. Taking it further, their fingers intertwine as velocity and gravity snatch them.

Their hands link while they accelerate and then let go.

This is what it’s like to be a shooting star.

Rolling to the street level, their arms lower, but their hands remain clasped, fingerless gloves plaiting over her midriff. Merry can’t tell who’s made the choice, or if it’s mutual. It should render the trip cumbersome and wonky, but it doesn’t.

The wheels sigh, the board soaring and then slowing in front of the observatory. The breeze stops, bringing them back to earth, their chests pumping. Other than his guttural exhalations and her roused inhalations, there’s no competing noise, nothing piquing their attention.

Maybe they’ve gotten used to moving in unison, because after a frightening and climatic moment, Merry twists. At the same time, Anger lowers his head, angling it toward her.

His eyes consume her. An invisible thickness lingers in the space between her lips and his. It’s a static restlessness, an intoxicating and magnetic buzz that pulls them closer.

Anger’s strong gaze sinks to her mouth.

Oh, Fates. Oh gracious Fates.

There’s a drum ramming from his body into hers, and there’s a tick in his cheek that she feels along her jaw. She doesn’t know what heat feels like, but his gaze is nevertheless hot, smoldering as if he wants a taste of her.

Merry’s blood rockets into her throat, and her lungs hyperventilate, and her lips feel so antsy, so achy. And her brain fills with helium because she’s a second away from fainting or impersonating a mortal in the throes of a full-throttle coronary.

He inches closer, and she meets him halfway, and they pause. One drawn breath away frommore.

Then his eyes flap, the heat leaking out of him.

Anger tears himself from Merry’s arms.

And then he’s gone.

14

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