Chapter 13 #3
I sit back on the edge of my bed and lift my eyes to the Wall looming in the distance outside my window.
Giddiness bounces through me in a way I haven’t felt since I was a child.
I mean, there was something wrong. A sentry came to question me about a tiny little thing, but I lied.
The laugh in my head feels weird. No sound escapes my mouth, but humor bubbles in my mind.
Apparently, lying makes me laugh now. And then the sentry got greedy, like the Rules don’t apply to her.
She couldn’t just leave. She had to make sure we knew we weren’t in control. But Malcolm and I chose to have fun.
What kind of fun? Lucan asks hesitantly.
We went into our joint bedroom—not like that, I say quickly.
For some reason, this new euphoric sense of freedom is making me feel like I can spill at least some of my secrets.
It’s not like the Monster can tell the Guardians that I’m deliberately disobeying them.
I almost snort at the thought. Malcolm and I decided that we’re not the right partners for each other, so we just pretended to…
you know. I hurry on before the blush on my cheeks can leach into our connection.
But I felt like a kid again—because I couldn’t tell you the last time I chose to pretend.
Lucan sighs, and for some reason, I feel like he slumped down in relief. Chose, he repeats, finally catching his breath. I like that word.
Me too. I smile to myself as my eyes cut to the mirror laying face down. The golden metal catches a bit of moonlight and casts reflections across the room. And I went to Diggory’s housing unit. I found all his secrets.
What?
This time, I’m sure Lucan remembers who Diggory is, because it sounds like he’s gone rigid, all of his attention honed in on me and my words—like he knows just how dangerous it is for me to go snooping. The intensity of his tone makes me feel like I actually did something brave.
Under my breath, I tell him what I discovered in Diggory’s shower. He listens with rapt quietness until I get to the part where I nicked the key and the mirror.
A mirror. You actually found a mirror. Do I finally get to know what you look like, then? The teasing tone comes back, and it settles low in my stomach like simmering coals. I realize I like the way it ignites my core, simply because it’s not supposed to.
No, I say. I finally get to know what I look like.
Lucan doesn’t respond, and I can’t quite make out a complete thought in his mind. He must be better at hiding his thoughts in the folds, somewhere I’m unable to decipher them.
I rise to my feet and take a deep breath as I tip the handheld mirror up.
Adjusting it against the wall, I catch a brief glimpse of myself. Not yet, I think, averting my eyes, before I prop it up so that it’s at the right angle and take a step back.
My face fills the oval glass surface, and immediately, my lips part in surprise.
They’re full and pink. I bring my index finger up to touch them, sweeping the tip across my top lip, and then I watch the flesh bounce back after I press into my bottom lip.
Turning my chin to the side, my eyes follow my jaw line sideways, then up and across my cheekbones, to my nose.
I’ve seen so many different shapes of noses on other people, but this is the first time I’m seeing mine—how it slopes ever so slightly in the middle.
Like only a handful of people I’ve noticed before, I also have a light dusting of little dots that sweep over the bridge of it.
Freckles, Lucan says intently, like he’s trying to memorize the shape and color of my thoughts. You have freckles.
I have freckles, I agree.
I look myself in the eyes. They’re green? Or brown? Greenish-brown, I decide.
That’s called hazel, he tells me.
It’s… pretty, I say, trying to take my eyes off my own. My pupils are blown, taking in every curve, line, and angle that creates my face. What color are yours?
I don’t expect him to respond, but he does after a few moments of hesitation. Amber.
For a moment I think back to my dream, how I fell off the Wall and opened my eyes to find wicked yellow irises gleaming back. I wasn’t far off, then, and suddenly my imagination is conjuring more images of him and what he might look like—until I get distracted by my hair.
You have red hair? Lucan asks.
I’ve always known it was a deep auburn. Obviously, I can see the ends of my long strands when I braid it, but the way it frames my face and the way the reddish color contrasts with my fair skin—I’m enamored.
I take a few steps back eventually, unsure of how much time I’ve spent staring at my face, to take in the rest of my body.
I have on the same plain shirt and pants I put on this morning, but it looks different on my body than it does on the hanger.
I have to shift to get the complete picture, but I have curves; my breasts, my hips, my waist. They form an hourglass shape, and when I bend over, the swell of my breasts makes me feel… I don’t know. But I like it.
I straighten and let my fingers linger across my collarbones that create a trail down to where the necklace drops into my cleavage. Into the space that I think looks good.
My heart jumps in tandem with Lucan’s as I abruptly remember he’s even here with me.
I’m sorry, I start. I shouldn’t be seeking out attention or thinking about myself like this. I just never realized I’m…
The word stifles itself in my throat. It’s something I shouldn’t admit, too selfish to even think, but Lucan finishes my sentence in a growl.
Beautiful. You’re beautiful. He pauses. And little nightmare?
What? I whisper, but I can feel it. That pesky little emotion we’re not supposed to indulge in intertwining around my heart.
I’m jealous of the people who get to lay eyes on you.