Chapter 15
Fifteen
Melissa
Nyx finds me at the counter, his fingers gently closing over mine. His lips move, but the pounding music swallows his words, so I laugh and shake my head.
I slide off the barstool and lean into his ear. “I can't hear you!”
A familiar boyish grin spreads across his face, and he shrugs, keeping his fingers laced with mine.
The opening notes of Nerd's “She Wants to Move” vibrate through the floor, traveling up my legs and pulling a giggle from my throat.
Tugging his hand, I lead him through the sweating mass of bodies to the centre of the dance floor, positioning us directly in Hella's line of sight.
On fucking purpose because of course.
His arm clamps around my waist, pulling my body hard against his. “Make me forget, Nyx,” I whisper into the crook of his neck. He pulls back, his eyes searching mine. “Please,” I plead, my hands gripping his cut.
He nods, swallowing hard. “Okay.”
My hips sway to the rhythm, moulding against him as my backside grinds along his denim.
The friction builds between us until I spin around, my fingers sliding up to tangle in the hair at his nape.
Flashing lights illuminate the beads of sweat on his brow, the music consuming everything until there is only this.
Time dissolves into nothing but movement and touch until Yana pipes up beside us, her cool fingers circling my wrist and tugging me back to reality.
“Come on, my little dancer. Time to get home!”
She’s probably right. Nothing good ever happens when I’m hurt and drunk.
“Yana!” I holler from my room the next morning because apparently I didn't stay awake long enough last night to remember getting back.
She runs in with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth, her little lace boy shorts on, and a “Woodsmen” shirt hanging proudly off her body.
I grin, pushing myself up onto my forearms. “Well, don't you look cute.”
Her eyes narrow before she flips me off and walks back to the bathroom. At least she stayed last night.
“You know, I think it's good you being here…” I tease, because the more she's around everyone, the more they warm to her, like I knew they would.
She mumbles something that sounds strangely close to Fuck you.
I throw the covers off my body, the fabric billowing as I spring from bed. My bare feet pad across the floor as I follow the sound of her mumbling. “What's on the agenda for today?” I ask, leaning against her doorframe with a lingering smile.
“You,” she glares, “have to think about your actions!”
“Pardon? Are you my mother?” I ask in mock disgust as if I need another person telling me how to live my life.
She rolls her eyes. “Cut down the drinking.”
“Not going to happen.” No way I'm giving up the one thing that actually makes this life bearable sometimes.
My phone buzzes against the coffee table, the screen lighting up with a new message. I swipe it open, waiting as the image loads agonizingly slow.
When it finally appears, my stomach drops. A single tree stands rogue against a grey sky, its branches twisted and bare. Not just any tree. That tree. The one outside the cathedral in Prague, where I spent that week. Where Millie...
My fingers tremble as I zoom in, searching for any clue about who sent this. No name, no number, an unknown contact. The timing can't be coincidental, not after Millie's call.
“What's wrong?” Yana asks, her voice cutting through my spiral. “You look like you've seen a ghost.”
I lock my screen quickly, forcing a smile that feels brittle. “Nothing. Work stuff.”
But my mind races. Only two people know about that tree, about what happened there. Millie. My mother.
I delete the message with shaking hands, but the image burns behind my eyelids.
Bleach and something metal. The crying. Church bells. Snow…