Page 43 of City of the Lost
I climbeddown the steps into the basement. “I’m so fucked.”
“Not yet, you’re not,” the voice said in amusement.
“Can you be serious for one goddamn minute?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
At least he didn’t sound sad today. I preferred the bantering voice to the reflective one—probably because it made me feel less guilty for not letting him out.
“Well?” He sounded like he was reclining, relaxed, and ready to listen to my woes.
I winced. “I think I have a thing for Valance.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And Azren.”
“Riiight.”
“And you already know how I feel about Tay.”
“Yes, we’ve had this conversation, Wila. I told you what you needed to do and you said some pretty hurtful things to me.” There was a definite pout to his tone.
I paced the floor, flashlight in hand, just in case the lights went out. “I’m a hussy. That’s what I am. A goddamn hussy.”
“Isgoddamnthe newfucknow?”
“I need to sleep on it.”
“Oh, babe. You need to do more than sleep on it,” the voice said snidely.
“You’re sick, you know that?”
“Am I?”
Was he? Oh, man. My head was all fuzzy from lack of sleep, and my skin itched as if it was too tight, but my emotions were out of the box, bouncing around like crazy jumping beans. Valance and Azren and Tay, oh my, Valance and Azren and Tay, oh my. And if that wasn’t enough, I was pretty sure my body was changing, not in the boobs and hair-in-special-places way, but in the hey my hands and feet are getting bigger way. Freak much? It had to be something to do with my parentage; shame there was no way of knowing what that was. Being abandoned outside The Gables as a baby meant there were no clues as to where I’d come from.
I blew out a breath and stared at my new shoes. “I had to buy larger boots.”
“Really?”
“They either shrank or my feet grew. Weird, huh?”
“Is it?” He didn’t sound impressed. “Go to bed, Wila.”
And there was that resigned tone again. I blinked at the metal door. This was the first time he’d initiated the end of the conversation.
I crossed my arms. “Hey, wait a second. This isn’t how this works. You’re supposed to try to convince me to let you out andthenI take my leave, usually slamming the door on your final words.”
“Are you going to let me out?”
I made for the stairs. “Like hell.”
11
She is softness and comfort, her body a haven I could lose myself in. Just an hour of freedom, and hour to feel. Her hands skim over my skin, her mouth is on mine as I claim her body.
