“Okay, I get that you don’t want to talk anymore today. But I’m going to keep calling to make sure you’re eating, alright?”
Maybe Blood was right. Coming here was a mistake. He can’t get attached to me. I have nothing to give.
So why can’t I stand up and walk away?
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I say, but his eyes stay shut. “Bruno.”
He acts almost like an adult—wounded, faithless. It wasn’t my intention to make things worse by coming here, but Iwas worried. Every report I got said he wasn’t adjusting—not to the staff, not to the other kids.
At his age, he shouldn’t be this guarded. But deep down, I know—regardless of his actual age, Bruno has already lived more than most children ever will. Pain leaves a mark. And sometimes . . .those wounds never close.
“I’ll come back,” I say as I leave.
Maybe this visit was more than he could handle in one day.
The silence tells me our interaction is over. But just as I reach the door, I hear, “Are you really coming back? Do you pinky swear?”
“You want me to come back?” I ask, turning to look at him.
He seems to think about his answer. “Whatever,” he mutters, closing his eyes again.
Once more, the feeling of having a mirror held to my face hits me.
We’re too alike.
He doesn’t want to have hope. And I chose to kill mine.
Chapter 30
“I ran into Rafe Oviedo the other day,” Ben says after we place our orders at the restaurant. “He told me you and Martina became friends.”
“Yeah, we did. Which is amazing, right?”
“Why?”
“Because we’re opposites. Martina is effortlessly popular, and I have a hard time making friends.”
“Still?”
“Yeah. I hoped that when I came back to Boston things would be different. In Paris, besides Martina, I was really alone. But judging by my first week of classes here, it looks like my life’s staying the same. In France, I could blame it on the cultural gap, but now? I’m in my own country, in my own city, and the only people I’ve talked to since I got back are older guys.”
“That sounds super weird.”
I laugh. “I’m talking about a friend I made—he’s a fashion producer. And the other one is . . . um . . .”
“Is what?”
“A friend of Ethan’s,” I say, not wanting to go into detail. I’m not used to sharing, and honestly, I doubt anyone besides Theo and Martina would even believe me if I said I was dating Amos.
I mean, he doesn’t seem like the dating type.
Amos is a storm. He took over my mind and body and completely possessed me that one night we were together—even though we didn’t do anything that intimate.
Well, unless you count the way he talks, since his dirty words are basically foreplay.
“Lilly.”
“Oops. Sorry.”
