Page 32 of Gravehouse

I can’t breathe.

Camille and I won’t be home tonight.

Everything blurs around me as the first tear drops.

I deserve every fucking second of this.

Playing the jealousy card would make me a hypocrite. I shot him, and with each day that passes I’m starting to think he’d never believe me if I told him how much I regretted it. How much I suffered that first year, feeling like part of myself died with him.

Camille and I won’t be home tonight.

There’s only one thing to do to fix this.

Play into it.

I standat the top of the spiral staircase, watching my plan unfold below.

Bodies grind across the living room as strobe lights flash and music shakes the floor. Coke lines the coffee table. A girl covered in glitter snorts a whole rail while a guy fucks her from behind.

Punk bumps my shoulder with hers. “I didn’t know this kind of insanity lived inside you, Vanya. Have you been holding out on us all these years?”

I swallow champagne straight from the bottle and let the bubbles burn my throat. “Oh, this is new.”

And it’s true.

“Ah, sweet love,” she sings, skimming the crowd.

I lift a shoulder as two guys climb onto the couch.

“I plan to tear that particularproblemout before it does more damage.”

My phone buzzes in my palm. Atlas.

Wow. You really outdid yourself, Ice Mommy. I brought friends too…

Ice mommy? Is he joking?

Punk stays on my shoulder, following me through the crush of skin and perfume. Influencers, tourists, whoever the hell she dragged in from the island. Did I expect there to be two hundred? No. But…whoops. I didn’t expect to open a door and see him fucking his ex either, so here we are.

Atlas props himself against the doorframe with one arm draped over some girl’s shoulders, smirking.

“Ivy.” He spreads both arms wide. “My beautiful disaster.”

People snap photos, lights flashing across the room.

He brings a joint to his mouth, and I steal it before he can light it, catching it between my teeth.

Flicking open his zippo, he shields the flame with his hand. “You good?”

I grab his collar and yank him close. “No, I’m not okay! These feelings are all new to me, Atlas, and I don’t know what to do with them except make shit burn.”

Smoke fills my lungs as I hand it back to him.

He squints through the smoke. “He’s going to kill you.”

I widen my eyes. “He can try, but I’m better at it than he is.”

Thirty minutes slip by. The music climbs higher, bodies pressing over each other. I’m done pretending I’ve got boundaries, because I fucking don’t. Not with him, noteverwith him.