The first time I met Grim was the one time I didn’t feel alone. I couldn’t remember exactly what had instigated the crying, but I had a few guesses. It was my first year at Crowne Point High, but my grandfather ripping me out of boarding school and shoving me into public school wasn’t the cause, just a symptom. That suffocating buzzing I used to smother at boarding school with pills and sex had nowhere to go. It clawed out of my chest daily, screaming.
That day, I couldn’t control it.
Tears fell in a deluge, so I skipped class and ran to an empty room. I swiped furiously at my eyes and dug my nails into my palm. Nothing worked. I couldn’t stop them. On the floor, I dug my head into my knees, hating myself. Hating that I was like this. Hating that I had nowhere to hide.
Then I heard a book fall.
I moved to get off the floor when Grim came out from behind a shelf. Still on my knees, I froze.
“You can’t tell anyone about this,” I said.
His hands came to my face. Silent. Smearing the tears beneath my eyes. His palms were big, encapsulating the entire span of my face. I felt…safe.
Maybe it was how his body eclipsed everything and became the only thing I knew. Or maybe it was how he held my face with a kind of knowing possession that should be reserved to past-life lovers, not two kids who just met. Like even back then he knew I belonged to him.
So when I should have been standing, shoving him off, and running, instead I leaned into it.
He didn’t ask if I was okay or if I needed help. Just stared at me with a knowing look that excavated parts of my soul.
Then he dropped to his knees too.
I still had to tilt my head to find his eyes. I remember my brain screaming at me to leave. That this wasnotwhat I should be doing. But then he took my hand in his and pressed my nails into his neck.
The same way his dark stare told me he knew what I needed, I knew what he wanted. I scythed my nails against his flesh.
“Who made you cry?” A threat lingered in the rough, rocky tone of his voice.
“No one. I’m…”I’m fucked up.
I expected him to press me, or say he felt sorry. Instead he pushed my hand deeper into his neck. His eyes grew, then drooped into something heavy with promise. I felt something more than sizzle between us; a part of me broke off and latched on to him.
Then thebell rang.
Grim stood off his knees, but I stayed frozen.
“Frankenstein, huh?” He nodded to the book that had fallen out of my bag.
“It’s my favorite,” I said.
Why am I telling him this?No one knew about my secret love ofFrankenstein, and I definitely hadn’t told them. Gemma Crowne was supposed to be untouchable—not aloof, but so very above everyone else. As if possessed by someone who had never met Tansy Crowne, I kept talking. “The author wore her husband’s petrified heart as a necklace. I don’t think there’s anything more romantic.”
His eyes sharpened, like he was homing in on some great treasure.
Then he turned to leave.
“Wait, will you—What just—” I broke off. What thefuckwas I doing? Despite my brain screaming at me not to be such a fool, I asked, “Will I see you again?”
Pathetic.
Grim placed a knuckle beneath my chin, lifting my blurry gaze to his.
“My insides are radioactive. I corrode whatever and whoever I touch.” He stroked the side of my jaw with his thumb. “I’m poison, Gemma. Stay away.”
We never spoke of what happened in that room, but my starving soul feasted on the memory for years.
I will never let you go. Never.
I was that teenage girl again, frozen and on her knees, knowing she should run, but leaning into it anyway.
