Flawed (Flawed, #1)(49)

Suddenly I hear a noise in the library, and I jump as Logan appears.

“Hey,” he calls cheerfully. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Me?” I say in surprise.

He jogs forward and hands me an envelope. He’s always so confident, but right now, he seems shy. “Invitation to my eighteenth. This Friday.”

“Thank you.” I smile, my heart surging.

“The directions are inside. You’ll come?” He holds my eye.

I hold the invitation in my hands, feeling stunned and unsure. “Um, why?”

He laughs. “Why what?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“The whole class is invited. Couldn’t leave you out.”

“I don’t think they’d want me there, Logan.”

“Well, I do,” he says firmly. “Are you coming or not?”

“Okay. I mean, yes. Thanks.” I feel my grin take over my whole face, and I just can’t stop. As soon as he leaves, I squeal and stamp my feet excitedly. Maybe things won’t be so bad after all. Maybe things can change.

I hear another sound in the library, and I call out. “Logan? Is that you?”

I walk to the end of the row of books and look left. I’m grabbed from the right and pulled around the corner to the next aisle. I’m about to shout when I’m faced with Art.

“Shhh,” he says, holding his finger up to my lips, and leads me down to the far corner of the library, behind the shelves, in the darkest corner.





THIRTY-FIVE

MY HEART IS pounding. I can’t believe it. I can’t wipe the grin off my face.

We’re so close I’m pressed up against the bookshelf. I feel a few books slide behind me as I push against them. Art looks tired, his hair not as bright, a bit grubby, his curls looking more like knots. There are dark circles around his eyes, like he hasn’t slept for weeks, and the mischievous glint is gone from his eyes; they’re flat. While I take him in, he does the same with me. He studies my temple, the one with the brand, and winces as if feeling my pain. His fingers come close to touching it, but they don’t make contact, just hover above my skin. His finger runs down my cheek to my lip, and he looks at my mouth with intensity. I know he’s thinking about my tongue brand.

“It’s still me,” I whisper.

“I know, I just…”

“It’s okay.”

There’s a silence, and I suddenly don’t know what to say. I’ve wanted to kiss him for so long, but now it doesn’t feel right, it feels different, he seems different, and I have so many questions, like where on earth has he been?

“Who’s Logan?” he asks before I get a chance to speak. “You called out his name.”

“Oh, that’s just nobody. It doesn’t matter. Art, where have you been?”

“What’s that?” He looks down at the invitation in my hands, reads it.

“Logan Trilby?” His face looks hard, angry.

“He was just being kind, Art,” I say quietly. “How did you get in here?”

He lightens up a little, but he seems flat. “The number of times I had to sit in here for study, I eventually found a way out.”

“I’ve been so worried about you. I didn’t know what was going on. I don’t know what is going on. Where have you been all this time? It’s been a week and a half.”

“I can’t tell you where I’ve been.”

“Why not?”

He looks around, paranoid. “Because they’ll ask you where I am, and I don’t want you to have to lie, to get into trouble again.”

“I couldn’t possibly be in any more trouble.”

Neither of us laughs.

“Please tell me.”

“I can’t. They’ll follow you to me. They’re watching you all the time.”

He leans in, and I think he’s going to kiss me. I watch his lips and wait for them to kiss my lips, but he moves away again.

“I’ve needed you,” he says.

“Me too.” I feel tears prick, feeling sorry for myself. “I feel like you just left me alone.…”

“I’m sorry. I just had to get away from him,” he says, stepping away, agitated. “I’ve been so confused, trying to figure it all out. I was so angry with you, Celestine.” He shakes his head. “Everything was perfect.”

I’m in so much shock I can’t speak. After what his dad did to me, he’s angry with me?

“And I can’t even look at him knowing what he did to you. Five brands? Five?! That wasn’t just to hurt you, it was to hurt me, too.”

He doesn’t know about the sixth. I can’t tell him, his rage is so intense. I want to reach out to touch him, but for some reason I can’t.

“And I can’t live with you, either, knowing that my dad did this to you,” he says, taking a step back. “I’m in the middle of the both of you, and whatever I do, it will be wrong.”

“Art, listen to me,” I say, feeling the panic rising. I can’t lose him. If I lose him, then I’ll have nothing.

“No, you listen to me. What you did on the bus was right, but it was wrong for us. If you were selfish like me, you wouldn’t have done it. If I was as strong as you, I would have defended you. I would have stood beside you on that bus. Instead, I watched you do it all, in silence. I let the person I loved get dragged away.”