He closed his eyes while the world spun, and when he pried them open again, the monster leered over him. Its jaw opened and long, needle teeth extended.
Andrew fumbled a hand around the table, dizzy and gasping.
His fingers closed on silverware.Please be a knife, please be a—
He screamed and arched his body upward in a frenetic surge of energy, stabbing the monster in the face.
Butter and bread crumbs covered the knife as it punctured the monster’s cheek. Its skin tore like papery autumn leaves, and clumps of moss tumbled out. The monster screamed and twisted its head in agony.
Andrew wrenched free of its grip with a terrified cry. He didn’t let go of the knife. He stabbed the monster again, and then again, and the creature bent in half and its bony fingers clawed its face.
But its tongue had touched mortal food. Poison.
This was Andrew’s fairy tale, his tragedy, his beautiful suffering coming true. He’d won. He’d bested it alone.
As the monster disintegrated to rotten leaves, Andrew pushed to his feet and stood, bruised and fierce, atop the table. His chest moved fast and ragged, and he didn’t know if he wanted to laugh or cry or keep screaming. He stayed silent as the shadows sank back into the walls and faded into the carpet.
Lights flickered back on over the trashed dining hall. There were tangled bodies and broken plates and splattered food everywhere as if a war had taken place while they all slept.
Someone groaned and raised their head.
They’d all be awake in a second, but Andrew still stood there with the bloody butter knife. He licked his lips, tasted blood and decay and the forest. He should… he needed to… He didn’t know. He felt alive, powerful,effervescent.
He started to shake.
He was still shaking when arms wrapped around his waist and half lifted him off the table while everyone woke and confusedcries filled the hall. The knife slipped from Andrew’s fingers, but he didn’t care. He touched his mouth as he was dragged out of the dining hall.
He was smiling. He couldn’t stop.
Outside the hall, Thomas dumped Andrew against the wall and knelt beside him, cradling his face and brushing a thumb over his busted lip.
“Your head’s bleeding, shit,shit. Stop smiling. You’re freaking me out.” Thomas’s voice cracked. “Damn it, Andrew,stop smiling. What did you do?”
“I killed it myself.” Andrew dug fingers into Thomas’s shirt. “I’m s-s-strong enough now. I’m so-so-so much—so much more than I used to be.”
Thomas swallowed. He still looked too pale and his voice sounded more wrecked with each word. “I woke up and saw your story. You didn’t fall asleep, too?”
“I’mstrong enough.” Andrew was laughing, or maybe crying. Their fight seemed so meaningless now. “I want you. Please, I-I-I want you more than anything. Don’t let me go.”
Thomas pressed his mouth to the top of Andrew’s head, and for a long, long moment he said nothing. He should have been fierce with pride or relief that Andrew could take care of himself. But Thomas’s eyes looked haunted.
Then he crushed Andrew to his chest. “I want you always.”
They stayed there, tangled in each other, heartbeats racing.
Nothing mattered but this.
TWENTY-EIGHT
The world had thinned.
Andrew felt it as he sat in class, as if he could press fingertips against the air and the gossamer threads separating this world from the next would part. A small push, and anyone could fall through.
Or maybe they’d already fallen.
His mouth felt full of graveyard dirt, his head bent over his notebook as he wrote feverishly. He needed to change their story. He needed to think up an ending cruel enough to appease the monsters, but soft enough so when this was all over he could fit himself against Thomas’s side and be safe.
cut out a heart—
