Uninvited (Uninvited, #1)(28)

“I’m leaving.” My feet move swiftly down the steps. I don’t look back to see if he’s following. I hope he’s not.

The loud pulse of music vibrates up my legs from the floor as I push through the crowd. When I burst out onto the porch, it almost feels like I’ve emerged from underwater. I suck in a slightly frigid breath and brace a hand against the limestone post. I stare out at the dark street lined with cars. The late March wind folds over me. It’s still cold in the evenings. I know I need to enjoy this weather while it lasts. Soon, the days will be scorching.

But enjoying anything anymore seems the most implausible thing.

I brush fingers to my lips, still tasting Zac there. Familiar. But no longer exciting or comforting. The memory of him doesn’t make me warm and tingly inside. There’s only hurt. Betrayal and bitterness.

It took losing me—the death of the old Davy Hamilton—to meet the true Zac. To learn what the world is really like. A hard lesson, but now I know at least.

Shaking my head at the gnawing ache in my chest, I descend the wide porch steps.

“Davy, stop!”

I don’t know why, but I do. Turning, I watch as Zac jogs down the steps. Several of our friends—his friends—spill out onto the porch, like vultures scenting blood. They love a good scene.

Squeezing my hands into fists at my sides, I vow not to give them one.

He stops before me, releasing a breath.

I wait, bracing myself for his coming apology, telling myself that I can be dignified and accept his apology, but that it won’t change anything. I can’t be with him anymore. Now that I know how he really feels. He’ll gladly use me. Sleep with me. But he doesn’t want me. Not really. I’m ruined in his eyes.

He turns his face slightly, looks behind him, aware of our audience standing on the porch. Tori pushes to the front, her arms crossed in a hostile pose.

Zac looks back at me. I wait, saying nothing. He stopped me, after all.

“Davy,” he begins, “I want my sweatshirt back.”

I blink, uncomprehending.

“The NYU one,” he prompts as if I might not know what he’s referring to.

He stopped me for this? Not an apology. He wants his sweatshirt back?

I gawk at him. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder. Several of the kids on the porch laugh. Tori smiles, satisfied. Even Zac smiles . . . just a hint, but those lips that had kissed me only minutes ago curve ever so slightly.

Then I understand. He’s doing this for their benefit. Dumping me in front of them. Making sure they all know that I didn’t walk out on him. That a girl with the kill gene didn’t leave him high and dry. There’s no apology coming. There never was.

My hand shoots out. Before I even realize what I’m doing, my palm connects with Zac’s face. Gasps ripple through the kids assembled on the porch. Even in the night, I can detect my white handprint against his cheek.

Tori thunders down the steps. “See! See! Get out!” She’s practically shrieking at me, waving a hand in the direction of the road.

I back away, horrified. I gave them a scene. I gave them the evidence they wanted that I was someone dangerous and violent. That I didn’t belong with them. It didn’t matter that I was justified. Any other girl could have reacted this way. Any girl but me.

I don’t belong with them. This much is true, I realize. With any of them. And surprisingly, this doesn’t fill me with even a shred of sadness. Outrage burns through my veins, keeping me warm against the wind as I turn and walk past rows of cars lining the circular driveway.

It’s going to take forever to hoof it home, but I’m not going back to that house for anything. Tonight’s misery quota had been met.

I’ve only covered a few yards before headlights flash behind me. Zac’s car rolls ups beside me. I shoot him a cursory glance and keep moving. He sticks his head out the window. With one hand propped on the steering wheel, he drives slowly, keeping pace with me.

“Davy, get in the car.”

I bristle at his tone. “I can walk, thanks.”

“It’s going to take you an hour on foot.”

“I’ll be fine. Besides . . . are you sure you’ll be safe with me?”

He makes a sound, part grunt, part sigh. “Stop it.”

“I’m just saying. You’re sporting a nice handprint on your face there.”

He glances at the road, turning the wheel a bit to avoid someone’s recycling bin that’s still in the street. “I picked you up. I’ll take you home.”

A little laugh breaks loose from me. “Trying to be a gentleman now, are we?”

“Damn it! Get in. I’m responsible for you. Come back to the house with me. Or let me take you home. What if you’re caught out here? You know there’s a curfew.”

I snort. “Like we always obey that.”

“Yeah, that was before. What’s gonna happen if they find you wandering out here, a carrier . . . ?”

Of course everything comes back to that. I whirl to face him. “Just stop! Go! I’m not your concern, Zac. We’re done. I absolve you, or whatever.”

“Fine. Walk,” he bites out, ducking his head back inside the car. “I tried. Just remember that. I tried.”

And he’s not just talking about me getting into the car. He’s talking about us. He actually thinks he tried to keep us . . . alive. I laugh out loud, the sound harsh on the night, making me feel a bit like a madwoman.