Ghost Town Page 0,93

now she pulled it over herself, suddenly cold and feeling very exposed. "Shane--"

He was still backing away, looking panicked and deeply uncomfortable. "So, we've obviously been formally introduced at some point in my insane drinking binge. Uh, hi. Look, you've got to keep it down, okay? My parents will kill me if--" He stopped and looked around the room. "Oh, shit. This is not my room, is it? This is yours. As in, I never went home, all night. My dad is going to--" He squeezed his eyes shut. "Pants. I need pants. Where are my pants?"

Claire felt like her heart was breaking. Really, truly shattering into sharp, jagged, bloody pieces. She wanted to scream, and cry, and most of all, she wanted this not to be happening. She couldn't bring herself to say anything, and he ignored her totally to look around. He found his pants and T-shirt, and awkwardly put on his pants under the cover of the blanket before dropping it. Before he got his shirt on, he turned back to look at her, and it hurt, it hurt so badly to have him see her like that and not know her at all.

Her utter, horrified misery must have shown in her face, because his expression softened a little bit. He took a couple of steps toward the bed and said, "Um, look--I know. . . . I'm sorry; I'm probably a complete douche bag for doing this to you, and I promise, this isn't . . . I don't really get drunk off my ass and hook up like this, and you seem . . . you don't seem like the type. I mean, you're pretty; I don't mean you're not--I'm sorry; I suck at this. But I have to get home, right now." He pulled his shirt on and looked for shoes, which he slipped on without socks or even bending over to tie them. "Look, I'll call you, okay? Uh . . . your name is . . ."

"Claire," she whispered, and tears broke free and started streaming down her face. "My name is Claire. This is my fault." "Hey, don't do that, don't--I'm sorry. It's not your fault. You seem"--he bent over and awkwardly kissed her, and it felt like he was a stranger--"nice. I promise I'll talk to you later. We'll figure this out. Oh, Jesus, did I have a . . . Did we take precautions or . . ." He shook his head. "Not now. I can't think about this right now. I have to go. Later."

"Wait!" she wailed, as he opened her bedroom door and ran out down the hall. "Shane, wait!" He didn't. She grabbed up her jeans and shirt from the floor, threw them on, stepped into her shoes, and ran after him. "Shane, please don't--"

He was standing in the living room, staring around, and when she came clattering breathlessly down the steps, he turned to look at her again. This time he didn't seem as confused. But he didn't seem to be back to himself, either. "This is Michael's house," he said. "What are we doing here?"

"Shane--Shane, please listen to me; we live here! With Michael! And Eve!"

"Keep your voice down!" He made frantic shushing motions at her, and lowered his voice even more. "Okay, you seemed nice, and now you seem a little bit whacked. We don't live here. Maybe you live here--maybe you're some cousin or something; I don't know--but I live with my parents and my sister. Not here."

"No! No, your parents--" Oh, God. What was she going to say? What could she say? Her mind went completely blank. He waited, then held up both hands and backed away.

"Whatever, crazy chick who maybe lives here and maybe also breaks into Michael's house when they're all gone. I'm out. Have a nice delusion."

She couldn't let him go; she just couldn't. As he walked down the hall, she ran after him. "Shane, don't. Don't go home. You can't!"

He didn't even argue with her at that point; he just opened the front door and walked out into the morning sun. She hesitated in the doorway, wondering if she should go back and get her backpack, get something, call someone, but he was walking fast, and she had no idea where the old Collins house had once been. He'd never once told her, or pointed it out to her.

She locked the door and started following him.

Shane never looked back; maybe he knew she was there and was