Page 103 of Strange Familiars
Unlocking my screen, I open the message.Briggs. Wanna go for a run?
I flop onto my back and groan. Not really. All I want to do is stay here, in bed, naked, next to Gwendolynne. But the longer I lie beside her, the more I want to touch her, kiss her, roll her over and take her again, from behind. And despite my wants, I don’t wish to wake her prematurely.
I tap out a reply:Can’t mate, sorry. I’m in London.
A few seconds pass before my strap buzzes again.I’m in London too.
Sitting up, I swipe my disheveled hair off my forehead. Danny’s in town? That’s odd. He never said anything about that yesterday.
I scrub at my face with both hands and blow out a slow breath, thinking. At some point I’ll need to return to Seamere and pick up Pudding, but not just yet. Perhaps a runisa good idea. I’m jittery, I’m anxious, and I’m still so fucking turned on. If I head out, I can work off some of my unspent energy, then pick up some breakfast from my favorite pastry shop—I want to introduce Gwendolynne to everything, all at once—and bring something back for her.
Then, after I’ve settled my nerves, and I’ve satiated her in other ways—with fancy boxed sugary carbs—then…Then I’ve decided: I will grow some balls, harden the fuck up, andfinallytell Gwendolynne how I feel.
I refuse to be coy or circumspect any longer. There is only one day until our graduation ceremony; one day before university ends for good. After that she’ll head back to Manchester for the summer, until she commences her first postgraduate job. With each passing day, my opportunities to admit that I am so desperately in love with her are rapidly diminishing.
Even if she rejects me, even if she laughs in my face…Even if last night was another “onetime thing” and she never wants to see me again. If I don’t work up the fucking courage to tell her before we graduate, I know I’ll regret it forever.
Having made my decision, I roll carefully out of bed and tug on a pair of shorts.
Taking a deep breath, I cast one last look at her sleeping form before going to the desk and scribbling a note.Gone for a run. Be back soon. H xx.Then, I shrug on my discarded T-shirt, lace up my trainers, and quietly slip out the door.
As I run, I re-open the bond between Pudding and me. For obvious reasons, I’d put up shields last night, but now that I’m at a distance from Gwendolynne it seems safe to check in again.
You’re up early, Pudding says as soon as the bond snaps open.
“Just going to meet Danny,” I puff.
Danny?Pudding gives a murmur of approval.That’s good.
I’ve just turned in to my favorite running track, which loops around Green Park and St. James’s Park, when Danny joins me. We’ve run this route many a time, so he just merges onto the pathway and starts keeping pace beside me.
A good quarter of an hour passes before my chest begins to burn. I slow to a jog, then stop, bracing my hands on my knees. I’m more tired than I realized, since I—like Gwendolynne—didn’t get much rest last night.
“You good, mate?” Danny says. Usually I have more stamina.
“Yeah. Just tired.” I straighten and rub my temples, trying purposefully to slow my breathing. A faint headache is starting to brew somewhere behind my left eyeball.
He grins. “Not enough sleep?”
I shove his shoulder but say, “Something like that.” Glancing sidelong at him, I add, “What are you doing in London, anyway?”
Annoyingly, Danny doesn’t seem in the least bit out of breath. “Actually, to be honest, I was trying to find you.”
He’s giving me a funny look—full of pity and resignation—and I’m just about to ask him what’s going on when he digs into his pocket and pulls out a half-full syringe.
“Wait. What is that?” I eye the syringe. Why is he holding it? Is it some sort of drug he filched last night in order to get high for the party?
But if it’s just that, then why is he moving closer? Why is he holding it likethat?
“What are you doing?” I back away. My head starts to throb in time with the alarms going off in my brain.
Danny doesn’t answer. Undeterred, he just continues advancing on me, even as I retreat. “Whatisthat?” I say. “Danny? Danny!”
Still not speaking, he closes the distance, his expression one of dogged determination.
My heart is thumping, my back so clammy that my T-shirt is clinging, slicked against my sweat-soaked skin. Raising both hands, I shove him, hard, in the chest. “Get the fuck away from me!”
“Briggs.” He shakes his head. “I’m really sorry, mate.”
