Page 33 of Twisted Violet
“Thanks.” I say, reaching up to kiss his cheek.
It’s quick, light, more instinct than anything else, but it still stuns him.
I feel his body go rigid. His gaze catches mine, sharp and unguarded for a heartbeat, before he clears his throat and steps back like I just brandished a weapon.
He opens his mouth as if to say something, then closes it again.
“I, uh…” He gestures over his shoulder. “Forgot to put the other stuff in the fridge.”
“Rome,” I say, eyeing him cautiously, “Is everything good?”
I expect him to laugh. Or shrug. Or do anything, really. But he just backs away like I burned him.
“It’s fine,” he says, and disappears down the hall.
I glance at my screen.
Stevie hasn’t moved. She’s staring at me with her head tilted and her brow furrowed, like she’s trying to solve a complex math problem.
“You kissed him,” she says.
I blink. “On the cheek. It was a thank-you kiss.”
Though I can’t remember the last time I could get that close to someone without flinching.
“Sure.” She sits up straighter in her hospital bed, the movement stiff but precise. “That’s what it looked like.”
I stay quiet.
She doesn’t.
“I told you to be careful.”
“I am,” I say, even though I’m not sure it’s true.
Stevie sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her jaw is tense. “Look, I know you’re grateful they were there when you needed them. I get it. But you’re still healing, Alex. You’re vulnerable. And they -”
I flinch.
Alex.That name doesn’t belong to me anymore. It hasn’t for a while now, but I still let her use it. She already lost the old me; I didn’t want her to lose anything else.
“They’re my friends.” I say a little sharper than I mean to. “They’ve been nothing but good to me.”
She shakes her head. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?”
Stevie’s eyes flick to something off screen. She takes a second too long to respond, and when she does, her voice is eerily calm.
“You shouldn’t blur the lines, Al. You’re there because you need a safe place to stay, not… whatever that was.”
I go quiet, because I don’t know what to say.
Whatever’s happening between me and Rome, me and all of them really, isn’t defined. It’s not clear, and maybe she’s right. Maybe blurring the lines is a bad idea.
But also…what if it isn’t?
“I just think,” Stevie adds carefully, “you should be careful. At least until you’re back home and your head’s clear.”
