To the right is a bus stop that’ll take me to Mom’s.
She texted me this morning asking me to come by some time this week. Amidst all the elevator mayhem, I forgot to respond.
But even though she bums me out so much sometimes, I’m in my feelz enough to long for some motherly love. Not that Georgia Hunter has ever known how to give much of that, but hey, a girl can dream.
Left, home.
Right, Mom’s.
Left, loneliness.
Right, depression.
I’m still debating which way to go when I look up and see a black car parked across the street. It’s shabby and unremarkable—except for the fact that the windows are completely blacked-out. As in, not an ounce of light is getting through those bad boys.
Call it paranoia, but I get the distinct, creepy-crawly feeling that someone in that car is watching me.
I shake my head. This is obviously the result of a cocktail of bad medical news, the emotional whiplash of Bastian’s kiss, my crumbling vision, and maybe some residual stalker fears I picked up from Yasmin’s Brandon dilemma.
“It’s just a car,” I scold myself. “There’s no one in it, and even if there was, they do not give a damn about you.”
But it does decide things for me.
I sigh, shoulder my purse, and start trudging right.
Over the river and through the woods, to Mother’s house we go.
28
BASTIAN
flam·bé: /?fläm 'ba/: verb
1: the technique of dousing food in alcohol and igniting it.
2: setting shit on fire. usually done on purpose. not always.
“Hello, boys.” Aleksei drawls when I lower the car window. His breath is rancid with menthol cigarettes. “Fancy seeing you here.”
“With the day I’ve had,” I growl, “I shouldn’t be surprised you’d show up.”
“Aw, is someone in a bad mood?” Aleksei asks in a baby-voiced sing-song. He reaches out to pinch my cheek, but I smack his hand away before he gets close.
“Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Testy, testy.” Aleksei’s attention shifts to Sage. As it does, his smile widens in a way I do not fucking like. “And who’s this handsome young man? Don’t tell me this is little Sagey?”
Sage frowns, looking between us. “Do I know you?”
“Not yet,” Aleksei says. “But I’m?—”
“No one,” I interrupt. “He’s no one, Sage.”
Aleksei laughs. “That’s harsh, Semyon. After everything we’ve been through together?”
“Don’t call me that. And don’t talk to him.”
“I’m just being friendly. Catching up with family.” Aleksei leans halfway through the window, and I can see Sage’s confusion deepening. “You’ve gotten so big,bratishka. Last time I saw you, I was?—”
