"Don't what?" She keeps coming. "Don't look at you? Don't care? Don't tell you you're scaring the shit out of me?"
Another laugh scrapes out of me. "I'm fine."
"You're wearing his shirt like armor, and you smell like sex, body odor, and grief. You're not fine."
Heat climbs my cheeks. I turn my face away, but she's already close enough to reach out. Her fingers catch my chin, gentle but firm, and turn me back to her. She gently orders, "Don't try to hide from me, Blue."
I blink hard and take a shaky breath. "I promised you no knives. I haven't touched one." I turn and go into my bedroom.
She follows. "Where are you going?"
"In my room." I spin.
She glances around, and her eyes land on my closet. The glowing ring light is still on, and the tripod is standing like a sentinel. She comments, "You promised me no knives. But this? This is a different kind of blade."
My lip trembles. I bite down hard to stop it. "I'm just…reminding him."
"Reminding him of what? That you exist? That he fucked up? That he can't have you anymore, so he should suffer?"
"Yeah. All of it."
Her lips twist. "Blue, you don't need to do that. He already asked about you. He's already missing you."
The words land like a slap I didn't see coming. My heart stutters, then slams forward so hard I sway. "He asked about me? When?"
"The other day, when he needed to talk to Mikhail. Then he texted me out of nowhere this morning asking again, 'How is she?'"
My ears ring and the room tilts. "He asked," I repeat, tasting the syllables like they're sugar.
"Yeah." Demi's expression turns wicked. "He asked."
A laugh bubbles up, high, jagged, almost hysterical. I press both hands to my mouth, but it keeps coming. Tears burn the corners of my eyes. Relief and triumph and something wicked twist together in my chest until I can't breathe around them. I choke out, "He's breaking. He's already breaking."
Demi carefully states, "I think he wants to make sure you're not bleeding out somewhere, too."
"No." I shake my head so hard that strands of my hair whip my cheeks. "No. He wouldn't text you unless it hurt him to not know. He's thinking about me. Right now. He's picturing me and wondering if I'm okay. If I'm with someone else. If I'm—" My voice cracks. "If I'm still his."
She doesn't contradict me. She sighs and steps closer, murmuring, "You're glowing right now. It's like someone flipped a switch."
I am. The high races through my veins, bright and electric, chasing away the fog that's lived in my head for days. My skin prickles. My nipples tighten, and between my legs, I'm still slick, still sensitive, and the thought that Red is out there somewhere feeling even a fraction of this ache sends another pulse of heat through me. I blurt out, "I need to go out."
Demi raises a brow. "Tonight?"
"Tomorrow night. The Violet Hour. Girls' night. Public. Visible."
"Visible?"
"Yes!" I grab her wrist. "You're coming. We're going to make sure every tagged story in Chicago sees me. I'll invite Cloud, too!"
She studies me for a long beat, then she nods. "Okay. But first, you're showering and eating something that isn't cold Chinese. And sleeping."
"Okay."
"I mean actual sleep, Blue. And I'm staying here tonight."
I open my mouth to argue.
Her voice turns firmer. "No negotiation. You want to burn the city down tomorrow, fine. But you do it on a full tank, not running on fumes."
