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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36. Avery

I put the phone down and closed my eyes. What was wrong with me? Adam had stalked me, had tried to kill me, and what do I do? I try to help him.

Devon was right. I was sick.

But she was still here—beside me, her eyes on me. She hadn't said anything when I called him, only looked at me with deep disapproval. But she didn't leave, for whatever reason, and I was grateful for that.

"This is so fucked up," she finally said. "Why would you want to help him, Avery? Let the police or the doctors at the psyche ward deal with him. You should focus on getting the hell out of this town."

"Why are you still here?" I asked. I didn't mean for it to come out so nasty. "I'm sorry. I'm tired."

"Well, sure, you almost died." It sounded like a joke, only she wasn't smiling. She wasn't even looking at me.

How could she?

My heart seized as I took in her stiff posture, narrowed eyes, and distance body. She was angry, disgusted.

But she was still here.

Carefully and slowly, I reached for her hand, wrapping my fingers around hers. She didn't pull away.

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