Shit, I still might.
“For drooling over her like a fucking dog. Are you a fucking dog, Deacon?”
His head shakes again, almost imperceptibly, as if he isn’t really sure. But I release him anyway, watching as he crumples against the worn carpet.
He makes his way to his hands and knees, dry heaving, and I crouch down to whisper in his ear.
“Don’t worry. You couldn’t handle her anyway.”
Deacon sputters and coughs as I pat him on the back, but no one rises to help him up.
I leave him to his choking.
With any luck, he’ll never catch his breath. But I don’t really care either way.
Another perk of being a Cross? Apathy is genetic.
I make my way to the dormitory floor, ignoring the soft sounds of chatter coming from the common rooms, hoping fate might grant me a little peace tonight. But that’s wishful thinking as the door across from mine squeaks open.
“Where were you?” Dame asks.
I groan as I turn to find him standing in the doorway, arms crossed, face grim.
It’s like looking in a mirror.
“I took Ashbourne home. Didn’t want her mixed up in an inquiry.”
I give him the truth, but I’m careful not to give him the whole truth. It won’t do him any good anyway.
“A heads up would have been nice,” he says, leaning on the door jam.
I match his position, too tired to keep holding myself up.
“Yeah, about earlier...we were running short on time, and I just?—”
Dame holds up a hand.
“It’s fine. I get it.”
He’s lying, but I’m not sure he even knows it. So I don’t say anything.
“You gonna tell me what happened out there?” he asks.
“Do you want to know what happened out there?”
He considers my question, but I already know the answer.
“No,” he confesses.
I don’t blame him.
I wish I didn’t know either. But the difference between the two of us is that Damien feels guilty about that answer. I don’t.
“Is everyone okay?” he asks.
“Everyone who matters.”
He nods but asks no clarifying questions. He doesn’t need to.
