Till Death(6)

Really looked at myself.

Because it had been ages since I had, and I’d become so good at not looking at myself that I was a freaking pro at putting makeup on without a mirror. Even eyeliner. Upper eyeliner.

My brown eyes weren’t dark like Dad’s. They were warmer and lighter, like Mom’s. My blond hair was pulled up in a messy topknot, and had been all day, but when it was down, it fell to the middle of my back. My face would’ve fit the classic heart-shape mold if it weren’t for the square jaw.

Clenching the rim of the basin, I leaned in close to the mirror.

Around about my freshman year of college, I’d finally grown into my nose and mouth. Or at least that was how it felt to me, because before then, my nose had been huge and my lips plumper than the rest of my face, and contrary to how it sounded, that had not been an attractive combo. Those lips had come from my grandmother. The jaw from Dad. The body and eyes from Mom.

It was my freshman year when I’d realized that I’d moved from passably average to blonde-girl-next-door pretty. Right now I thought I looked like the kind of woman who’d be bringing baked apple pies to the neighbors and currently be working on percolating my third child.

My lips curled up at the corners, and the smile was weak and sad, and a little empty. There were faint shadows under my eyes and a wary glint that never seemed to fade, no matter how many years passed or what I’d come to terms with.

If I could go back in time, I would’ve told the nineteen-year-old Sasha to live it the hell up. To go to the frat parties I’d been invited to. To stay out late and wake up even later. To have more confidence in myself. To know what I had when I’d looked in the mirror.

To take the huge step in the relationship with the boy I’d met in Econ 101.

Out of everything I regretted not experiencing before . . . before the Groom found me, it was probably that, because he had taken my firsts and twisted them into something revolting and cruel.

Pressing my lips together, I glanced down. Pink toes poked out from the frayed edges of my jeans. I placed my hands on full hips and then slid them up to where my waist tapered in just slightly. What did I look like naked?

I honestly had no idea.

Even with the men I’d been intimate with in recent years, I really didn’t check myself out. Actually, come to think of it, I never got fully nude with anyone.

There were reasons for that.

Two of them, to be exact.

Uncomfortable with where my thoughts were traipsing around and about to belly flop into, I stopped feeling myself up. Quickly finishing up in the bathroom, I flipped off the light and walked out.

Before crawling into the unfamiliar bed, I padded out into the living room and into the kitchen, the tile cool under my bare feet. Seeing the apartment key Mom must’ve left on the kitchen counter, I made a mental note to add it to my ring of keys. Beside the kitchen island was a door. Each apartment had separate outdoor access in the form of wooden staircases that led up to a narrow balcony.

Stopping at the front of the door, I double-checked that the deadbolt was locked. My stomach wiggled with nervousness. Feeling neurotic as hell, I turned the handle just to make sure. Locked. Definitely locked. Breathing easier, I made my way to bed, tugged the warm comforter up to my chin, and . . . stared at the shadowy ceiling. Exhausted from the drive, my all-over-the-place emotions, and the endless folding of clothing, I still couldn’t close my eyes.

Sleep did not come easy. It hadn’t since . . . well, since I was nineteen. Since sleep had become a time when I couldn’t see what was coming at me and I couldn’t protect myself. For six days, sleep had been something I’d fought with every cell in my body before ultimately caving in to it and instantaneously regretting it.

I did eventually drift off, and when I did, it happened, like it always did.

His forehead presses against mine, and I know he isn’t ready to let me go—he never is, and I like that about him. Love it actually. “You need to get back inside,” I tell him as I slip my hands off his chest. “You still have a lot of studying to do.”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, but doesn’t leave. His lips brush over my cheek and find my mouth with unerring accuracy. He kisses me softly and he lingers, dragging it out until I’m so close to asking him to forget about his study group. But then he pulls away and picks up my forgotten backpack. He slips it over my shoulder, scooping my hair out from under the strap. “Call me later?”

Later would be late, but I agree.

“Be careful,” he says.

I smile, because he’s the one who has the dangerous job when he’s not in class. “You too.” I wiggle my fingers and turn away, because if I don’t, he won’t, and we’d be standing outside the university library half the night kissing.

I make it halfway across the lawn when he calls out, “Call me, babe. I’ll be waiting.”

Smiling, I wave at him and hurry across the lawn, taking the path behind the science building that leads to the parking lot. It is late, the sun already gone, and thick clouds block the stars. The parking lot is barely lit, because three out of five of the tall lamps are out, and the school hasn’t gotten around to replacing them. There are only a few cars in the lot, and as I walk down the short set of concrete steps I spot mine, parked where I left it.

My steps slow as I cross the cracked pavement. A dark work van is parked next to the driver’s side of my Volkswagen. It wasn’t there before, and a sliver of unease shuttles through me.