Page 76 of Blood Queen

My breath catches, and for the first time, I don’t know what to say. Because maybe—maybe that’s exactly what I’m doing.

His hands clench into fists at his sides. “So what? You’re just gonna walk into Testa’s life and let him decide who you are?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Jesus Christ, Kid. Do you even hear yourself?”

Anger flares up hot in my chest, battling the guilt I don’t want to acknowledge. “This isn’t your decision.”

His mouth presses into a thin line. “No. But it’s yours. And it’s the wrong one.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and suffocating. The same hands that were on my body minutes ago are now curled at his sides like he doesn’t know what to do with them. Like he doesn’t know what to do withme. I pull my clothes on in a hurry.

Finally, he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “If you get on that bus to Miami, don’t expect me to come chasing after you,” he says yanking up his pants.

My stomach twists.

He’s never said anything like that before. Never thrown down an ultimatum between us like a loaded gun, waiting for me to pull the trigger.

But maybe I already have.

I hold his gaze, even though it hurts. Even though I can feel something breaking between us.

“I never asked you to.”

I pick up my two bags.

And I walk out.

I cry the entire walk to the bus station. Wiping my tears with my coat sleeve I sniff back my emotion to steel myself. My phone vibrates in my pocket but I don’t bother looking at it. I know it’s Truman. Apologizing.

Negotiating.

Begging.

If I look…if I take the bait, I will cave in. I will go with him to Moffitt and I will only prolong our inevitable destruction. He has a future—bright and shiny—with school and a normal life and I have no place in that world until I right the wrongs in my own life.

I’ve been on the road for hours, watching the world blur past the window in a smear of asphalt and gas stations, my stomach tight with a feeling I don’t want to name.

I left Truman standing in his dorm room, anger coiled in his shoulders, jaw clenched so tight I half expected his teeth to crack.If you get on that bus to Miami, don’t expect me to come chasing after you.

The words rattle around my skull like loose bullets, and I tell myself they don’t hurt. That I don’t care. That this is what Ihaveto do.

The bus lurches as it pulls into the Miami station, the heavy sigh of brakes snapping me out of my thoughts. I drag my bagout from under the seat and sling it over my shoulder, stepping off into the thick humidity of Florida air.

I don’t know where I’m going.

The reality of that hits me as I stand on the sidewalk, the city stretching out in front of me like a monster with too many teeth. Miami is loud, fast, impatient. Neon lights and honking horns. A sea of people, none of them looking at me, none of them giving a damn that I don’t belong here.

I pull out my phone and hover over Marcy’s name in my messages. My fingers hesitate for only a second before I type.

Me:I’m in Miami. Where do I go?

The response comes fast.

MARCY:You actually did it. Hold up. Sending you the address now.

A second later, a new message pops up with a pin drop. I tap it, and the map zooms in on a mansion—because of course it’s a mansion.

I take a breath, wave down a cab, and slide into the backseat.

“Where to?” the driver asks, barely glancing at me.

---