Page 117 of Rage
I stare down at them. “What was that for?”
“They’re cold.”
“You could’ve just said that.”
“I could’ve, but I didn’t.”
I laugh despite myself. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Saint isn’t staring at me. He’s watching my hands.
“You always do that.”
He tilts his head. “What?”
“You watch my hands.”
“They tell me things.”
“Like what?”
“When you’re anxious, your left thumb rubs against your index finger.”
I immediately stop doing it, and he notices that too.
“You hide them when you’re lying.”
I swallow.
“You clench them when you’re angry.” His eyes lift to mine. “And when you’re scared...” His voice softens a fraction. “You make yourself smaller.”
Something tightens in my chest. No one has ever looked at me long enough to learn those things.
Not even Roman.
The thought hits so suddenly that I take a small step back. Saint notices.
“You’re afraid of him.”
It isn’t a question because the way my breath catches is all he needs to know.
Of course I’m afraid of him. My fingers are trembling.
Saint takes one slow step toward me. “You don’t have to keep looking over your shoulder.”
My heart pounds. “Why?”
His eyes never leave mine. “Because I’m already looking.”
The words settle over me like a promise and a warning. I can’t forget what I am in this place. I’m not any safer out there than I am in here. I’m not sure which is worse, but right now, I’ll take my chances with Saint.
We stand there for several seconds.
Saint steps back first and nods toward the path to my dorm room. “Come on, I’ll walk you.”
As we walk side by side through the quiet campus, I become aware of something that hadn’t occurred to me before. Saint never walks beside anyone else. He walks slightly behind me like he is making sure he can see everything I can’t.
