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.


27. Adam

Avery slumped, only slightly, against me. I slipped her arm over my shoulder, took her by the waist. Then I started walking toward her apartment.


I had to set her down, to make sure she didn't run, when I tried to open the door. Every so often I looked over at her, but she was too dazed to focus. Good.


I'd been able to unlock the door, but my hand got cut up on a loose nail along the frame. Blood dripped down my palm, but I pushed the door open.


I hauled Avery up, and she was too weak to protest. Taking her inside, I shut the door, leaving behind a red handprint.

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