Page 97 of Bite
“Don’t act like that isn’t a regular occurrence for you these days,” she scoffs, hopping up onto the counter and hugging her knees to her chest. She’s wearing my oldest hoodie and a pair of boxers from an ex whose name we both refuse to mention. Her hair is a black tangle, mascara smudged under one eye, yet she’s somehow still glowing. I swear she’s the only person who can make a hangover look like an aesthetic.
“I mean, you could’ve kicked me out,” she mutters, almost as an afterthought. “It’s not like you ever listen to my advice anyway.”
I glance up from my phone, meeting her gaze. “What, and miss your insightful commentary on vampire dating etiquette? Never.”
She grins, but there’s something heavy behind it– a hangover that has nothing to do with the cheap tequila. “So…” she starts, drawing the word out. “Are you going back?”
I freeze, mug halfway to my mouth. The question lands harder than it should, considering how much we danced aroundit last night. I set the mug down carefully, pressing my palms to the tabletop to steady myself. “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean… yeah, probably.”
Bex narrows her eyes. “That sounds suspiciously like a yes.”
“I’m not sure,” I insist, but even to my own ears, it sounds hollow. “I’m not sure of anything except how I feel about him. And I’m not even sure I can trust that.”
“God, you’ve turned into such a romantic,” Bex teases, clutching at her chest in mock horror. “We have to stop this before it spreads!”
“Shut up.” I fling a napkin at her.
She bats it away, laughing. “No, really. Listen to yourself. If I’d told you a year ago you’d be mooning over a dude who rips people’s heads off for funsies, you’d have threatened to chloroform me and dump my body in the lake.”
I roll my eyes, pretending to ignore her, though my cheeks burn. “He’s not that bad.”
She snorts. “He’s not thatgood, either. But whatever– it’s your funeral, bitch.” Bex pauses, then adds, “You know, youcanstay here. You don’t have to go back.”
I stare past her, at the wall where the paint’s chipped away in uneven patches. This place used to feel safe. Sacred, even. Four walls and a futon felt like a palace when I had nothing else. Now it looks small, like a dollhouse version of my old life, made for someone else.
I shake my head. “This just doesn’t feel likemeanymore.”
Bex tilts her head, studying me. “Not enough glitz and glamour?” she jokes, but there’s softness underneath. “You’ve changed, girl. A lot.”
“That’s not always a bad thing, “I murmur.
“I’m not saying it is,” she quickly amends. “At least in your case. Before, it was like you were always waiting for the world to bite. Never letting yourself breathe.”
“And now?” I snort.
Bex gets that faraway look, thumb dragging over her chin. “Now… you seem more grounded. Maybe it’s because you know where the bite is coming from and you’re not afraid to bite back. I mean, you’re living with a monster, but he’syourmonster, isn’t he? You feel safe with him.”
I manage a small nod– because he is, and I do.
A stretch of quiet settles between us, the kind that only exists between old friends who’ve seen every version of each other. Ozzy hops up on the counter and headbutts Bex’s arm. She absently scratches his chin, her expression unreadable.
“You know,” she says finally, “If you’re bonded to a king, that totally makes you a queen. You’re basically living the dark fairytale, babe.”
I heave a long-suffering sigh.
“I’m just saying,” Bex chuckles. “I’m happy for you. Seriously. If anyone deserves a happy ending, it’s you.”
“You say that like I’ve already decided I’m going back,” I grumble.
“Haven’t you?” She arches a brow in challenge, staring me down.
Because she knows. I know. I just haven’t said it out loud yet.
Bex slides off the counter, leaning down to smack a kiss on my cheek as she passes, then disappearing into the bathroom. I catch my reflection in my coffee, hardly recognizing the eyes staring back. I’m different since leaving this place, but somehow moremethan I’ve ever been.
When Bex eventually emerges, she’s wearing her own jeans and a faded pink crewneck she clearly pillaged from my closet. “You ready?” she asks, snatching her purse off the coffee table and slinging it over one shoulder.
“Yeah. Gimme a sec.”
