Infatuation

I knew more about her for never having spoken to her. We didn't need to. Because the way she looked at me sometimes, that said it all. She wanted me. She didn't mind that I'd stop by her apartment late, or that I'd watch her sleep, buried under her gray blanket, while the stars strung around her room blinked on and off to the rhythm of her breathing.

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23. Adam

The next morning, I followed Avery from her home. I'd hidden in the woods near her apartment, and came out when the sun rose. She didn't see me, of course, as she walked to the corner.

To the coffee shop.

It was early enough that it wasn't open yet, and when I sidled up next to her on the crowded street, she looked up.

"Adam, hi."

She looked nice today—braided hair, light eye makeup, black sweater, jeans and boots. But she sounded odd—off, unsure.

"Hello," I said, grinning. "How are you?"

"I'm okay, how are you?" She studied me. All of me. "You seem...better since last night. I knew you couldn't have done what you claimed."

Her reassurance crippled me.

I leaned against the shop window and looked over at her, my mouth tight. "What if I did? What would you do then, Avery?"

She didn't answer.

 
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