Page 10 of XOXO, Yours

He’s just standing here with me in a hallway that smells like bleach and old coffee, under lights that make everyone look a little bit dead.

And somehow, he’s the only warm thing in it.

“Come on,” Hope says. “Let’s go sit down.”

“Yeah.”

She disappears through the doorway, and the sound of the waiting room spills out after her.

I start after her, my sneakers squeaking faintly against the linoleum.

“You know you don’t have to pretend not to be scared, right?”

My feet stop.

Just like that, mid-stride, like he’s reached out and grabbed my ankle.

Well, fuck you very much, Payton Blankenship.

I turn slowly, the candy bar wrapper crinkling in my fist.

He’s not smiling now, but there isn’t any pity on his face either.

Thank God.

I would have to punch him if there were. I genuinely don’t know if my hand would survive making contact with whatever that jaw is made of.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you do.”

“You’ve known me for five minutes.”

“Closer to seven.”

“Then you definitely don’t know me well enough to psychoanalyze me.”

“I’m not psychoanalyzing you.”

“Could have fooled me.”

He shrugs one shoulder, unbothered. “You said she’s your sister.”

“She is.”

“And you’re at a hospital waiting to find out why she passed out.”

My fingers tighten around the candy bar.

“Most people would be scared.”

I look away.

My eyes land on the vending machine glass, on my own reflection ghosted over rows of chips and gum, on the fluorescent tube overhead that is flickering just slightly. Just enough to be annoying. Just enough to give my eyes something to focus on besides him.

Stupid fluorescent lights.

Stupid vending machines.