I continue on aimlessly, probably waking everyone up with my loud engine, but they know better than to complain. Everyone knows who I am, around here. They leave me alone.
I don’t know where I’m going, I just want to drive and feel the wind whip against my face, through my hair, soothing the headache and entering my lungs. But I’m not half-surprised when I end up by her house, a small cottage standing across the lawn from Mrs. Kent’s mansion. I park my bike and edge closer to the Guest House, through the shrubbery that borders it. I pause just a few feet away from her window. It’s plunged in darkness, and I know she’s asleep.
The little path that leads to the house is covered in gravel, and I think for a moment of grabbing a handful and waking her that way. But I’m not sure I want to wake her. I don’t know if I can face her awake.
I just want to see her. That’s all.
There’s a tree nearby that branches its leaves out toward her, and I wonder if I can climb up and get to her window that way. It’s on the second floor. Not that high. It should be manageable.
Gulping down more nerves than I’ve ever experienced in my life, I swing up the tree and get to the highest branches, edging toward her window, when…
With a loud crack, I’m toppling down on the grass, the branch falling with me.
The fall doesn’t hurt, it just makes me feel dazed. I sit up, coming slowly to my senses, wondering whether I’ve just woken up the whole household.
No, just her.Great.
Somehow, that’s even worse than if I’d woken up her parents. There’s the click of a light, then the window to her bedroom is opened and her sleepy head pops out. She puts her glasses on, and they’re awry on her face, her hair completely crazy, like flames jutting out of her head. The freckles on her cheeks and nose stand out starkly on what looks like the face of a ghost.
“Quill!” she breathes, and I wonder if I don’t want to strangle her to death after all.
Or maybe just tug that lock of hair that’s standing out straight from her head back down. No, I think I’ll leave it wild. It’s kind of cute.
Cute.That word again. Since when have I ever found anythingcute?
“Come up,” she whispers, pointing to a trellis on the side of the house, which would have been a lot easier to clamber up than the tree.
I really hate her for being the one to take the lead. For seeing me like this. I’m the one who’s supposed to dominate her. Torment her.Ownher.
Clenching my jaw, I do what she says, hating myself even more than I hate her.
But that’s all forgotten when I reach her window and she puts her small hands on my back, as if she could possibly be helping to pull me up. Ridiculous.
Still, those hands burn my skin, and the burn remains long after she’s removed them.
I stand in her bedroom, feeling like I’m taking up all the space. It’s small, as small as her, and just as messy. There are clothes on the ground, untidy piles of books stacked against the walls andcovering her desk, a half-eaten bowl of cereal on the nightstand, and she’s actually been sleeping with three more books in her bed.
She sees my eyes taking in her messy bedroom, and blushes. “I… didn’t have time to clean.”
I snort. “You’ve never cleaned this place in your life, have you?”
She blushes again, her fingers fussing with the hem of the old, oversized shirt she’s using as her nightgown.
“Whose shirt is that?” I growl.
“My… my dad’s,” she stammers.
I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me for being jealous of her dad right now. But awkwardness soon takes the place of possessive anger.
Now that I’m here, I have no clue what to do.
And clearly, she doesn’t either, balancing from one foot to the other as she eyes me nervously, chewing on her lower lip.
I want to be the one chewing on that lower lip. But somehow, I can’t seem to break the barrier between us.
I wish she was asleep. It would be so much easier if she was asleep.
“What do you want?” she asks at last, in a little squeak of a voice.
