Page 134 of Twisting Beauty

He just held my broken pieces together while I couldn’t.

39

LIATH

Iwoke up with Maeve in my head before I’d opened my eyes properly. Her doe eyes. Her mouth slightly open. The metal of the slab under her. The wrong wrist split open.

I shoved her down before she could open me up again. Not now.

The light through the heavy red drapes was a faded gray. It was early. My eyes ached. My throat was raw. I’d cried until my body had given up and dropped me.

I dragged my hand across the other side of the mattress, finding it cold. The duvet was smooth and undented, the pillow flat.

I sat up.

Last night.

The way I’d rolled my hips down onto him. The way I’d kissed up his throat.

The way he’d pulled away. Not like this.

A hot wash of humiliation came up through my chest and lodged at the base of my throat.

I had begged.

I had begged and he had said no.

I had begged and he hadn’t stayed.

Never again.

I would never beg him for anything ever again.

I flung the sheets off me, my limbs itchy with movement.

I threw on one of Rua’s black dresses like armor, drew the eyeliner along my lash line like war paint, and painted my mouth in her dark-plum color.

The girl in the mirror looked back at me, blank and steady.

I am Rua.

Last night had happened to a girl I’d buried.

I picked up my college bag and opened my door.

I froze.

Lorcan was sitting on the floor in the corridor outside, his back against the opposite wall, his long legs sprawled out. His head was tilted back against the paneling, his eyes shadowed, his jaw rough with stubble that had come in overnight. His charcoal sweater was the same one he’d worn yesterday.

He had not gone to bed. He had slept by my door.

His ice-pale eyes locked on mine, the softness in them threatening to undo me.

I locked it down and stepped over his legs.

“Gray.” His voice was low and roughened.

I didn’t answer. I just started down the corridor.