Burn Before Reading(98)

“What is this?” I ask.

“She left it for me!” Fitz says breathlessly. “At first I thought it was a trash file, but it was on her desktop, so I thought that was weird, and then that was hexadecimal that said there was another one hidden in her root directory, and that one led to the settings of her Paint program –”

“Who is ‘she’?” Burn asks. “Did you hack someone’s computer?”

“Bee!” Fitz explodes. “I was just messing around, and I thought maybe she kept a diary or something on her computer, something that would explain things better, but then I found this, and she left it for me! Isn’t it cute? There’s you, and Wolf, and there’s me, and I’m obviously the best –”

Fitz blabbers on about how many layers of files he need to sift through to find it, like she’d set up some sort of game for him. Of course he likes it – he’s liked these sorts of treasure hunts since he was a kid.

“She left me the keychain,” Burn muses. “And Fitz the picture. So what did she leave you?”

My heart squeezes, but I force a scoff. “Nothing. I don’t want anything from her.”

“Except a kiss,” Fitz taunts, and I’d blow up at him, normally. But hearing him tease me again after he hadn’t for so long feels good.

“What’s this?” Burn reaches into the trash can, and pulls out a felt ring box. He holds it up to me, and I shrug.

“Mr. Finch said someone told him to give it to me.”

Burn and Fitz’s eyes lit up, and I rolled mine.

“No, it isn’t what you’re thinking. Amanda always tries to buy me rings. It’s just her, again.”

“Why would she give it to Finch to give to you?”

“So I’d actually be forced to accept it this time,” I sigh. “I don’t know.”

“Did you even open it?” Fitz asks.

“No. There’s no point.”

Burn opens it, and his face goes flat. He holds it out to me.

“Open it.”

“I told you, it’s just a piece of bribery from Aman –”

“Now.” Burn insists, hard.

Glaring, I pull the lid open slowly. Inside is a tasteful silver ring, carved with a wolf’s head. It’s vintage – the silver a little dull on the edges, nothing like the shiny new tacky ones Amanda gets me. The wolf motif is thoughtful, deliberate. It can’t be.

I told her I feel safer with more rings.

It can’t be.

Fitz’s loud voice suddenly rings over my shoulder. “Wow! Look at that ancient, impoverished-looking thing! That’s definitely from Bee.”

I’m silent. Burn clears his throat.

“You okay?”

I’m far from okay. I want to hear her voice, to drive to her house again and ask her to come out. I want to see her walking down the stairs to me, to see her outline, her shoulders, the curve of her face. My confusion and sadness might still burn in me, but nothing burns as hot as my desire to touch her. If it was the last time, I’d savor it. If I had known that night on her lap was the last time, I would’ve stayed longer. I would’ve told her how I really felt, instead of running away like a coward.

We both made mistakes, she and I. I more than her.

But it’s too late.

We’ve said our goodbyes, no matter how bittersweet they were.

****

BEATRIX



“Thanks for coming!” I wave at the old lady leaving the coffee shop. I blow out a puff of stress-air, adjusting my apron ties. God, it’s been a long day. But I can’t relax just yet – I’ve got another half-hour to get through before my shift’s up. I need to leave right on time today – I’m worried about Dad. He promised he’d take his meds today, but last night he’d taken three instead of the regular two. Maybe it was a slip of the hand, but my gut nags at me that it could be intentional, too. That he’s trying to hurt himself again.

“Well hi there, dollface.”

I look up at the voice to see Wolf. My insides soar, suddenly in zero-g. What is he doing here? How did he find me at my work? Why isn’t he pissed at me -

I blink – no, it isn’t Wolf. It’s a dark-haired guy, probably college-aged, smiling at me. He’s very handsome, in that thick-browed way. At a glance he could be Wolf. But only at a glance. As if Wolf would ever call me by a petname.

As if he’d ever speak to me again.

The fact it’s some rando calling me ‘dollface’ makes me want to barf, but I put on my best barista face and smile.

“What can I get you?”

“A small mocha late, and your number.”

I laugh nervously and decide to be polite. “Well, I can get you one of those things.”

Thankfully, he leaves without much more fuss once he’s has his latte. My shift ends, and I sterilize the kitchenette and hang up my apron before going home.

The house is quiet, which is the usual. I check the bathroom first – Dad’s pills are still there. He hasn’t taken any today. That’s probably for the best. I check his room, since it’s open, but he isn’t there. My room – he isn’t there either. The garage is empty. He’s gone.

My lungs start to burn with panic. Where is he? Did he leave the house? Maybe he just decided to take a walk. I’m overreacting. I sit on the sofa and call his phone. It rings, but no answer. Maybe he can’t hear it over the traffic he’s walking next to.