She freezes in front of her apartment stairwell and her head snaps up. Her cheeks, which were pink, go red as she stares back at me.
“Hi,” she whispers, and it’s so simple, so sweet, so Anna.
“Hi, yourself.”
I should leave. I shouldn’t have called her name. I shouldn’t be here. I know all of that, and yet, I can’t move.
“I hate Valentine’s Day,” she says.
My heart squeezes at the sound of sadness in her voice, but I grin at her blunt honesty. “Yeah, it’s shite.”
I want to tell her I’m fairly certain my father created this poor excuse for a holiday as a way to promote disappointment among lovers, but I don’t want to mention him.
She rewards me with a small smile, then falls serious. “Is everything okay?”
No. No, everything is not okay. Everything has been awful. But right now, in this moment, it feels perfect.
“I just needed to see that you’re well. And it seems you are.”
I want to go to her so badly that I grip the car door to keep from running. As we stand there, refusing to look away, it’s as if each of the past fourteen months is stripped away, one by one, and we’re back in that New York alley kissing. Any progress I’ve made to separate us is ruined. I know it, and she knows it, because she’s moving toward me, and she’s mirroring the need I feel. She’s stepping off the pavement and walking my way.
That’s right, little Ann.
I’m finally going to touch her again. Then I’m going to get to the bottom of what’s going on with this “traveling” business. I’ll worry about the consequences later. Right now, Anna is mine.
I move to shut the door and go to her when I feel the itch of a tingle across my neck. My eyes flash to the gray winter sky and I’m blasted with a sight I recognize well.
Two whisperers.
“Fuck,” I whisper. I step back, and it kills me. Anna sees them and rushes between two cars, fear in her eyes. “Don’t try to follow me,” I tell her, because it’s just the kind of thing she’d do. “I’m going to the airport.” She nods her understanding that I’m not in town to stay, and her chin trembles.
My skin turns to ice in the cold air as I move to climb back into the car, leaving as quickly as I can, so as not to endanger her by being seen together.
That is why I cannot seek out Anna. Not even for a moment.
When I’m well enough away, I smack the steering wheel with my palms. I shout every obscenity I can at the top of my lungs. I rip my hat off and throw it on the floor.
We will never be safe. She can never be mine.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Rage
“The secret side of me I never let you see
I keep it caged but I can’t control it, so stay away from me.”
—“Monster” by Skillet
Seeing Anna, even briefly, gets me through the next few months, though I can’t concentrate for shite. My nineteenth birthday comes and goes without a blip on the radar except a text from the twins and a pity call from Blake.
I’ve always gone through the motions of life, doing what needs to be done and putting on a good show, but I’ve stopped caring about the show now. I can’t even lose myself in the drums anymore. I’m too busy wishing for something more. The band knows something’s up with me, and I overhear them talking. They think I’ve become a cokehead or some shit. I don’t bother correcting them.
In May I start to feel the itch. It’s been three months since I saw her, and I know her birthday’s coming up. I need to hear from her, to get my fix.
I’m sitting at a bar with Michael, Bennett, and Raj. When I see a group of girls watching me, then making their move to come over, I take out my mobile and dial Marna. I hunch into myself a bit while I talk, and the girls don’t approach. They wait.
“Where are you?” I ask when Marna answers.
“Scotland, my lad.” She sounds chipper.
“Any news?”
“Erm . . . no. Not really.”
“Not really?”
“I meant no. Just no.”
A prickle of apprehension heats my skin. “Are they still traveling together?”
“No.”
Before I can ask another question I hear my mates greeting someone loudly, and the voice of Anna Malone rings out behind me.