Page 109 of Chaos

As we rumble towards the A-frame, the headlights of our taxi illuminate a figure sitting on the porch.

I don’t look too hard. I assume it’s Theo, awaiting his beloved’s return. I poke Yasmin and sigh dramatically, with false contempt, and playfully shield my eyes as we clamber out of the car so I don’t get an eyeful of their dramatic reunion.

Except the grip looped around the crook of my arm doesn’t disappear—it tightens. I peek between my fingers and find Yasmin isn’t gazing at the porch, but gaping at me. “What?” I ask only to answer the question for myself with a turn of my head.

Instantly, my spine locks. My guard rises, screeching into place, iron replacing the bones of my ribcage. My upper lip curls and I’m pretty sure I snarl—I’m definitely sure that the bitter, resentful burn creeping up my neck is jealousy. Petty, pathetic jealousy that I douse with as much common sense as I can muster, with a healthy dose ofcome the fuck on, Charlotte Radley Jackson.

“Home already?” I quip as I saunter down the drive, wishing I could blame my uneven gait on intoxication—wishing Yasmin wasn’t there to feel me stumble while simultaneously being grateful for her steadying presence. “What did you do, call out another woman’s name?”

As the taxi retreats and leaves the moon as the only light source, a grim smile is barely visible. “Something like that.”

“Naughty boy.”

Long fingernails pinch the thin skin on the inside of my elbow. “You okay, Finny?”

Finnyhums. When Yasmin leaves my side to pat his shoulder on her way up the steps he’s slouched on, he squeezes her hand.One of those easy, affectionate gestures he abruptly stopped giving me.

Gritting my teeth, I make no move to follow my friend inside. I move elsewhere instead, closer to Finn, hovering over his hunched form, peering down at him with a bitchy crooked brow and a bitchy curved mouth and bitchy crossed arms because Yasmin can think and say whatever she wants, but at the end of the day,bitchis my default.Bitchis my comfort blanket.Bitchallows me to meet Finn’s gaze without feeling so fuckingsad.

“So?” I press with practiced nonchalance, as if I’m not squinting at his mouth in search of smudged lipstick, at the open top two buttons of his shirt, at the hands that are braced against thick thighs now, but maybe earlier they were wrapped around a woman. “Are there happy, smiley children in your future?”

He doesn’t even pretend to be amused, though he does play a little. “Any minute now.”

“Huh. Fast worker.”

“You done?”

I sigh. “I guess.”

“Good,” he claims.

Except when I try to stride past, he grabs my wrist. Holds me in place while he pulls himself up, jaw ticking when I kiss my teeth and back up a step. “Go bother Carmen.”

“I don’t want to bother Carmen.”

“I don’t want you bothering me,” I start to say, but I don’t get to finish.

Only the first four words are out before Finn is snapping, “Yeah, I’m aware of that.”

“What’s up your ass?”

“I don’t like Carmen.”

“You don’t like the beautiful, kind blonde horse lady?” My eyes roll. “Okay.”

“I don’t likeCarmen,” he repeats, he emphasizes her name, he makes my head spin with thewhyof it all. “I don’t like beautiful, kindblondehorse ladies.”

I don’t know why I feel compelled to ask, “What do you like?”

“You don’t wanna know,” he claims the same thing he did weeks ago, and time hasnotmade the assumption less infuriating.

“Jesus, again with that? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’m not interested in Carmen.”

“Then why’d you go out with her?”

“Why do you care?”

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