Huffing, I run and grab the little lockpicking kit he gifted me from my room.
“If I can just explain it better, he’ll realize I’m right,” I mutter to myself as I feel the inner mechanisms twist with my metal.
The lock clicks open in about ten seconds. I’m very good at this after doing it so many times. At least with Colten’s door.
I push the door open, my jaw set with determination. “Colten, we need to—”
He’s not there.
The room is empty, his bed is made, and the lights are off. That stupid plant he refuses to admit is dying is still somehow alive on the windowsill.
A stack of old books sits on his otherwise tidy desk. I frown and step closer. Those definitely weren't here the last time I picked his lock.
Several of the books lie open, pages marked by sticky notes covered in Colten's neat handwriting. They all seem to be about magic. One of the books is even handwritten, though I can't tell if it's in another language or if the author just has absolutely terrible handwriting.
Was he still looking for a way to get rid of the spell? Why bother?
…Does he want me to stop being attracted to him?
My stomach twists, nausea coming right back from when Colten left earlier.
Then I notice a piece of paper on his bed.
I frown, stepping away from the magic books. The paper is folded, with my name on it in Colten’s handwriting.
Patrick.
I swallow hard and pick it up.
I need some space. I’m going to my mom’s.
Also, stop picking my lock.
—Colten
I stare at it.
Then I flip it over, then flip it upright again, before holding it up to the light from his window to see if I missed an invisible message or something.
I didn’t.
My chest is tight, while my throat feels like it’s being squeezed from the inside.
I grab my phone and call him. It goes straight to voicemail.
“Colten,” I start while pacing, “Funny joke, very funny. You can come back now.”
I hang up, wait a few seconds, then call again.
Voicemail. I call again. Voicemail again.
“Are you kidding me?” I snap after the beep, running a hand through my damp hair. “You don’t get to justleave!We’re adults, and we should talk this out like adults!”
I stop, breathing hard, glaring at the posters on his wall as if Cristiano Ronaldo personally offended me. The voicemail tells me it’s full and I can’t leave anymore messages.
“This is all Elias’ fault,” I realize aloud.
If Elias hadn’t done his weird soulmate spell thing, I wouldn’t have kissed Colten, and Colten wouldn’t be hiding at his mom’s house like he hates me or something.
