Page 112 of Undone

Stupid. Childish. Selfish.

Selfish.

Holden steps in front of him, pushing Toren back carefully with his hands. Guarding him, I realize, from me. The protective stance makes me freeze, watching the pain melt over Toren the second he steps away from me. He’s panting for breath, hand raising to rub at his chest like a physical wound has torn through the skin.

“I think you should go inside, Lily,” Holden says, voice low and quiet, but not soft. “Leave him alone for now.”

I trip backward over my own heels, nodding as I do.

It’s just like last time. You did this.

“Please—just . . . I’m fixing it. I promise. I just need—”

“Lily,” Holden says, his voice quiet but low. No hint of a smile or his usual happy demeanor. “Let him go.”

Let him go.

Some noise bursts from my throat. The words are too familiar. Let him go?

Doesn’t Holden know he’s asking me to cut out my heart? The one branded by Toren Kane the moment he held me in his arms at seven years old?

Because I protect it?

Stupid. Childish. Selfish.

Holden doesn’t say anything more, doesn’t shake his head or make any comforting gesture to me. He only turns on his heel and herds Toren into his car parked at the end of the driveway.

I don’t move. I don’t even feel the sting of the cold, though I’m not dressed at all for this weather. A hand lands on my shoulder, and I jump, backing away and tripping over the stairs.

“Are you all right?”

Mrs. Harris. Sahara, as she’d introduced herself. I nod, crossing my arms and rubbing my gooseflesh-covered skin up and down.

She smiles again, all disarming, but I feel like I’m slowly sinking into a bottomless pit that’s opened up in front of me. And I don’t want comfort or relief.

I just want to let it carry me away, so I can forget. Pretend none of this ever happened.

Pretend that things are different, just like I used to.

Chapter 44

Toren

“Do you think one day we’ll get married?” Lily asks.

Her body is damp, her muscles sleepy, but her eyes are wide awake. If she hadn’t expended all her energy earlier, I’m sure she’d be seated astride me, tracing the newest ink on my skin.

The ceiling of her room is decorated in sticky glow-in-the-dark stars that barely light up anymore. But I still remember the way she felt on my shoulders, using my height to re-create the yellow pattern of Starry Night so we could stargaze in her bed.

It was before I got the replica on my skin. Since then she’s preferred to stare at my torso instead of her creation across the ceiling.

“One day,” I say. It’s a more romantic notion than I’m used to with her, but it’s easy to find the answer. Even if I don’t really believe in the institution of marriage, I’m only seventeen. Maybe one day I will. Besides, I won’t live without her.

“Do you do this with other girls?”

It’s the most direct she’s ever been. We both took each other’s virginities—but it was impossible for me to explain that for me, there would only ever be her. She saw the way the other players, the other guys and girls at our school acted. The dynamics were intricate and messy and complicated. Kids with too much free time, too much money, and zero supervision—or consequences.

“No, Lily,” I say, solemn and still. So she’ll understand. “Just you.”