But the sky offers more protection when the door opens a few minutes later, light spilling out before it shuts off again. I squint, trying to make out who it is, before she illuminates in a soft glow.
She made another umbrella.
This one looks similar to the one she left on Ben’s grave, lights woven around it. Quirky.
Emilia doesn’t even turn around. Her eyes on the floor, she walks away, one hand buried in her pocket and the other holding that damn umbrella.
Like a signal, beckoning every fucking asshole to her. And she pays no attention to her surroundings whatsoever.
Jesus.
I wait until she’s a safe distance away before following. The splash of my soaking wet boots in the puddles don’t register against the heaviness of the rain as we head down the sidewalk toward her apartment.
Her unsafe apartment.
Hey, Benny. Your girl is a walking fucking liability.
Gritting my teeth, I keep following. I’m irritated as hell with her, but not enough to scare her half to death in the dark. She heads down a road lined with run-down warehouses on each side.
No light. No windows. No people.
No fucking regard for her own safety.
I hang back, ready to run like hell as soon as she turns the corner to catch up.
It means that I have a perfect view as she stops. Folding my arms, I glare at her silently, willing her to pick up on my silent signal and haul her ass home.
But she—
What the hell is she doingnow?
Emilia lowers her umbrella until it hangs at her side, lifting her face to the pelting rain. It soaks her through in seconds, her hair sticking to her skin.
Then she looks down, to the umbrella at her side. She twists it so the canopy twirls in her hand.
And then she spins, dragging the umbrella around her to create a wide circle of light.
Again.
And again.
Baffled, I run my hand down my face.
Because instead of going home where it’s safe, Emilia isdancing.
In the fucking icy-cold rain.
Down a deserted street in the dark.
She spins over and over again, her feet moving faster. She jumps into puddles, kicking her feet up so water sprays out in wide arcs, covering her from head to toe.
Resigning myself to waiting out whatever the hell she thinks she’s doing, I lean against the wall and fold my arms.
And I watch.
Despite myself, I feel the edges of my lips creep up.
But then her boot catches on something. A rock, maybe. Or a jagged edge in the tarmac.
