flickered past, slowly shading into silver and gray like someone going over the world with a graphite pencil. New classes and new faces filled my head. I read books on trains that smelled like cold aluminum and newsprint, intentionally missing my stop, taking them to the end of the line and switching at the terminus to take them all the way back. On the nights Armin deejayed Blythe was never at Umbra. I walked through the crowd alone, feeling halved, my whole side one raw wound. Even Armin with his syrup-slow kisses didn’t make that ache stop. Only pills. Lots and lots of them. Late at night when her door slammed I crept to the laundry basket and picked up her cardigan, crushing it to my face. Still warm. Voices behind the door, hers and a boy’s, low and muted. Always a different one. Always. I breathed in the smell of blackberries. Bit the wool, shredded it with my nails. Left it looking like a cat had destroyed it. She never said a word.
Girls love each other like animals. There is something ferocious and unself-conscious about it. We don’t guard ourselves like we do with boys. No one trains us to shield our hearts from each other. With girls, it’s total vulnerability from the beginning. Our skin is bare and soft. We love with claws and teeth and the blood is just proof of how much. It’s feral.
And it’s relentless.
MARCH, THIS YEAR
S eventeen steps. Exactly seventeen steps from elevator to apartment. Down the concrete hall, past steel doors to a bare bulb in a wire prison, a shriek of light in my eyes. I stared until my retinas burned white, blind. Pulled at the chain around my neck till it cut off circulation for a second. I don’t know how many times I walked those seventeen steps there and back like a caged wolf, lean and vicious, ready to snap.
The elevator opened and a woman stepped out. I watched her walk fast to her door.
I may have snarled.
It was late when the elevator chimed again and this time I was waiting in front of it.
Armin raised his head from his phone and startled.
“Jesus, Lane. I’ve been calling you all night.”
“Don’t talk. Unlock your door.”
“Blythe said—”
I stuck a hand inside his coat and grabbed a fistful of silk shirt, twisting. “Unlock. Your. Door.”
He put the phone away. Watched me with wary eyes. We went into the apartment together. I closed the door behind us, slamming the dead bolt.
“Laney—”
“Is Hiyam here?”
“Are you okay? What’s going on? Why didn’t you—”
I slapped a palm on the kitchen island. “We are being blackmailed. Is your sister here?”
Armin ran a hand through his hair, quick and nervous. “No. She’s not.” Ran it through again. “What do you mean, ‘blackmailed’?”
I showed him my phone.
All the lights were off, but through the windows the gold haze from a hundred skyscrapers tinted everything sepia, like an old photo. I watched Armin’s face, lit eerily from below. His eyes moved over the screen.
“Who sent this?”
I leaned against the counter, suddenly exhausted. I hadn’t eaten today and my throat felt coated with ash. I was all smoke and bone, skinny, shivering. Worn down. Unwell. Hatred is a poison and you cannot carry it inside your skin without getting sick, too.
“Laney?”
“I googled it. No records. Probably a burner phone.”
“Burner phone.”
“Yeah.”
He smiled uncertainly. “Listen to what you’re saying.”
“What, it’s paranoid?”
“You’re jumping to—”
“We had burners. Someone else does, too. Armin, they’re not fucking around. They know .”
He put my phone down and walked to the end of the kitchen. Then back. Then away again, combing his hands through his hair. Blythe had been a tornado of energy and fury, desperate to do something, anything. Armin always circled the problem first. Analyzed it from 360 degrees. Careful, considerate boy. So careful with everything. With me.
“Okay,” he said after a while. “Okay.”
Only my eyes moved,
Girls love each other like animals. There is something ferocious and unself-conscious about it. We don’t guard ourselves like we do with boys. No one trains us to shield our hearts from each other. With girls, it’s total vulnerability from the beginning. Our skin is bare and soft. We love with claws and teeth and the blood is just proof of how much. It’s feral.
And it’s relentless.
MARCH, THIS YEAR
S eventeen steps. Exactly seventeen steps from elevator to apartment. Down the concrete hall, past steel doors to a bare bulb in a wire prison, a shriek of light in my eyes. I stared until my retinas burned white, blind. Pulled at the chain around my neck till it cut off circulation for a second. I don’t know how many times I walked those seventeen steps there and back like a caged wolf, lean and vicious, ready to snap.
The elevator opened and a woman stepped out. I watched her walk fast to her door.
I may have snarled.
It was late when the elevator chimed again and this time I was waiting in front of it.
Armin raised his head from his phone and startled.
“Jesus, Lane. I’ve been calling you all night.”
“Don’t talk. Unlock your door.”
“Blythe said—”
I stuck a hand inside his coat and grabbed a fistful of silk shirt, twisting. “Unlock. Your. Door.”
He put the phone away. Watched me with wary eyes. We went into the apartment together. I closed the door behind us, slamming the dead bolt.
“Laney—”
“Is Hiyam here?”
“Are you okay? What’s going on? Why didn’t you—”
I slapped a palm on the kitchen island. “We are being blackmailed. Is your sister here?”
Armin ran a hand through his hair, quick and nervous. “No. She’s not.” Ran it through again. “What do you mean, ‘blackmailed’?”
I showed him my phone.
All the lights were off, but through the windows the gold haze from a hundred skyscrapers tinted everything sepia, like an old photo. I watched Armin’s face, lit eerily from below. His eyes moved over the screen.
“Who sent this?”
I leaned against the counter, suddenly exhausted. I hadn’t eaten today and my throat felt coated with ash. I was all smoke and bone, skinny, shivering. Worn down. Unwell. Hatred is a poison and you cannot carry it inside your skin without getting sick, too.
“Laney?”
“I googled it. No records. Probably a burner phone.”
“Burner phone.”
“Yeah.”
He smiled uncertainly. “Listen to what you’re saying.”
“What, it’s paranoid?”
“You’re jumping to—”
“We had burners. Someone else does, too. Armin, they’re not fucking around. They know .”
He put my phone down and walked to the end of the kitchen. Then back. Then away again, combing his hands through his hair. Blythe had been a tornado of energy and fury, desperate to do something, anything. Armin always circled the problem first. Analyzed it from 360 degrees. Careful, considerate boy. So careful with everything. With me.
“Okay,” he said after a while. “Okay.”
Only my eyes moved,
Similar Books
