Page 35 of Endless Anger
He’s as terrifying as he is intriguing, and I hate that.
I hate that I’m going to miss him.
“Answer the question, Luce. You’re that mad at me, you’re fine if I walk away and don’t contact you again? Ever?”
“Yes.” A single syllable, spoken with courage I don’t particularly feel. “I don’t think I can be friends with someone who lies to me.”
“Because the only liar in this relationship can be you. Right?” Disgust drips from his words, and he comes close, shoving the envelope into my stomach.
I don’t grab it, so it falls between us, landing in a shallow puddle.
“When have I ever lied to you?”
“Actions can be lies too.”
Lifting my chin, I pretend his insistence that my feelings are untrue doesn’t bother me. “So thisisabout last week.”
Asher scoffs, shaking his head. He keeps his face turned toward me for several seconds, but I can’t tell if he’s looking at or past me. It’s unnerving either way, but I curl my toes inside my boots and keep my spine straight.
“It is now,” he answers finally, sidestepping me before taking off.
I’m frozen in place, unable to move as he abandons me. Forced to listen to his retreat grow more and more distant, until his footsteps are inaudible and the ocean beyond the trees takes their place.
I half expect him to turn around and come back. To glue himself to my side until our anger has diluted and we can speak again.
He never does.
My shoulders slump when I realize I’m really alone out here, no longer able to celebrate with the one person I wanted to.
Some fucking birthday.
9
ASHER
NINETEEN YEARS OLD
“Your call could not be completedas dialed. Please hang up and try the number agai?—”
Grinding my teeth together, I slam my thumb into the red End button and toss my phone at the sofa across the room.
Foxe comes in with a white towel wrapped around his waist, drying his hair with another, as steam billows in the doorway behind him. “Still no answer?”
I don’t respond, irritation licking a debauched path down my sternum. It’s worse than her simply not answering my texts or calls for the last year—now I’m blocked entirely.
Drives me fucking mad knowing she’s out there and I can’t get ahold of her.
Serves me right, I guess, but still.
Ihateit.
Dropping his hair towel to the floor, Foxe strides to the minibar in the hotel suite’s kitchen, frowning when he realizes there are no alcoholic beverages inside. Jaw clenched, he retrieves a tiny water bottle, turning toward me as he unscrews the cap and takes a long sip.
His suntanned skin is covered in tattoos now; since graduating andsetting off to NYC to join his cousin’s label as a debut artist, ink seems to be his favorite form of expression outside music.
Better than the alternative of getting blackout drunk every night, I suppose.
Personally, I can’t commit to tattoos. The idea of anything being permanently etched into my skin is about as appealing to me as a lobotomy.
