Page 97 of Riot Act
She yawns. “Please.”
While she’s getting changed back into her own clothes, I wrap the burrito I made for her earlier—the one she tookonebite out of—in a piece of kitchen paper and put it in the microwave. She doesn’t say anything when I gruffly hand it to her by the front door. She eats it in silence as I her drive her up the mountain. Chase has the sense not to say anything about the weird tension that hangs between us now, but I know she can feel it.Ican fucking feel it. Something has changed between us, and I’m not ready for it. I don’t want it. I’d do anything to make things go back to the way they were before break, when I didn’t even remember nearly fucking her in the forest the night of the last Riot House party. But this isn’t something that can be undone. Something you can give back. Bombs don’tunexplode.
I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to do now. I’ve seen how other people act around the people they purportedly have feelings for, but the idea of reaching out and taking hold of Chase’s hand just feels fucking humiliating. So, I don’t.
She gets out of the Charger, and I chew on my thumbnail when I know she’s not looking, watching to make sure she’s safely through the doors of the academy before I peel back down the driveway at a truly dangerous speed. My heart is beating so hard when I arrive back at the house. I have to sit in the car for five minutes, breathing, thinking, breathing, thinking before I’m ready to go back to my room. And when I do, what’s the first thing I notice? A single red hair on top of my pillow, curled around on itself like an ouroboros, the symbol for eternity, the snake eating its own tail.
Snakes are symbols of transformation.
Change.
Hahaha holy fuck, I am readingwaytoo much into this. I sweep the hair off the pillow and throw myself down onto my bed, digging the heels of my palms into my eye sockets until I cause bursts of color to erupt behind my eyelids.
Fuck.
Fuck this fucking shit.
Seriously.
Fuck.
I take out my cell and text Jacobi.
ME: Need your help with something.
He replies right away.
Wren: ???
ME: Dig up everything you can find on an asshole called Jonah Witton.
37
PRES
I have to end it. Whatever this thing with Pax is, I have to end it now, before he really starts asking questions. The irony of this situation is far from lost on me. How long did I love Pax Davis before he noticed me? I broke my own heart over him for years, pining over him, unable to do anything but eat, sleep, breathe him. And then the world ended. Something happened, so ugly and terrible, that my all-consuming feelings for him were completely overshadowed by suffering. My feelings for him didn’t cripple me anymore because I was crippled by something far greater. Only then did the universe conspire to give him to me. Only then did some higher power decide I could have him, in order to temper the bright pain that steals my breath every waking hour of the day.
And now I have to choose to walk away from him, because he’s getting too close.
He can’t know about what Jonah did. For starters, Jonah’s resourceful as hell. He’ll find a way to carry out his threat against meandMom. He’d take great pleasure in hurting both of us, and I can’t let that happen. Secondly, my own shame simply won’t allow it. I can picture the pity and disgust on Pax’s face already. How weak he’ll think me, if he finds out how quickly I was overpowered. How dirty he’ll think me, once he discovers how tainted I am.
My hearthurtswhen I get a text from Pax before I fall asleep.
This is the first timehe’smessagedme.
I’m no fool. I know that he’s simply checking in on me, in his own weird way, after I passed out this morning. He’s made himself perfectly clear, and I already was under no illusions—I’ve known Pax for too many years now to believe that he’s actuallyromanticallyinterested in me—but I still have to give myself a reality check when I read his text.
Pax: Next chapter’s due. You’re behind. We can meet and write in the library together tomorrow. If you think it might help you get it done.
It’s hardly a friendly text. It’s typically passive aggressive, but as far as communications with Pax go, it’s practically an invitation to go on a date. I know it’s not. I know. I’m still miserable when I tap out my response to him.
ME: All good. I write best in my room anyway. I’ll have the next chapter to you before midnight tomorrow.
What fucking planet are we on? I’m turning down the chance to hang out with Pax, alone, in the library. I used to fantasize about having to work with him. I used to touch myself at night, working myself into a frenzy, thinking about how he’d lean across the table and kiss me when he just couldn’t help himself any longer and he justhadto have me. Now I have been kissed by Pax, I’ve been taken by him, and it was even better than I could have imagined. But I’m calling it quits, even though contact with him has been the only thing to keep me sane, because I’m trying to protect my half-brother’s vile secret? I know how it sounds. It’s fuckinginsane, but there are only a few weeks left until graduation. Such a small amount of time until our little arrangement will come to an end and I’ll have to say goodbye to him anyway. Maybe it’s better that it happens now, before graduation, so I have some time to get used to the idea. I can wean myself off him instead, still see him around the academy, instead of cutting myself and going cold turkey.
Pax doesn’t reply.
In the morning, he’s waiting for me by the entrance to Econ. I realize for the first time that his hair is a little longer than normal. It’s still shorn super close, but the shadow of his hair is much darker than usual. Almost black. It must have been at least a couple of weeks since he’s shaved it. Leaning against the wall, one foot planted against the paintwork, covered in ink, clothes blacker than black, eyes made up of compact, glacial ice, he is the stuff seventeen-year-old girl’s father’s nightmares are made of.
