Gluttony

Bright seeped into shadow, light searing her eyes and then disappearing into a dark cloud. She felt like she was flying. She felt like she was sailing. She felt like she was drowning.

She felt still and safe, wrapped in his arms.

“Beth.”

My name. But the voice was distant, and her words were lost.

“Beth!”

She smiled, and fingers pressed against her lips. Her fingers, warm and damp. His fingers on her forehead.

Hello? But she spoke only in her head, the words flashing against her brain, bright gold against a deep grey emptiness. Don’t go.

Silence, and the fear overtook her. Alone, she would float away. No one to keep her safe, no one to tie her down, free to fly, free to crash. Crash-and burn, as the car had burned.

As her head burned, raging hot, flames licking her body and, alone, no one would notice, no one would save her and she would burn.

“Beth…”

But she wasn’t alone. He was still there. His arms. His heartbeat. His face, too bright for her to see. His voice, familiar, indistinct. She had lost his name, lost herself, but he would find her. He would keep her safe.

And the world faded out.

“That is disgusting!” Miranda cried, puckering her cheeks and reaching frantically for a glass of water. She took a swig, then another to wash the taste of Kane’s scotch out of her mouth. “You can’t drink that.”

“Not only will I drink it, but for your viewing pleasure, I’ll drink it in a single gulp.” Kane had whisked her out of the restaurant and taken her to an enormous bar that looked like the inside of an airport terminal. What it lacked in ambiance, it made up for in mug size.

“Not possible,” Miranda decreed, glancing skeptically at Kane’s oversize glass filled with Glenlivet aged to tastebud-killing perfection.

“Wanna bet?”

Miranda nodded. “’I win, you answer a question. Any question.”

Kane rolled his eyes. “Remind me to bet you more often. And if I win… well, since you’ve chosen truth, I guess I’ll take dare.”

“Dare me to what?”

“To be decided later. After I win. You in?”

Miranda glanced down at the glass again, then up at his cocksure face. “I’m in.”

Kane shrugged. “Your funeral.” He slapped his palm down on the table and, with his other hand, grabbed the glass, tipped his head back, and poured the scotch down his throat. Just before the glass emptied, a spasm of coughing wracked his body, and he spit out the final mouthful-right in Miranda’s face.

“I was wrong,” she said wryly as she dried herself off with a soggy napkin. “There is something more disgusting than drinking scotch.”

“I don’t get it,” Kane mumbled.

“Well, when you spit liquor in someone’s face, it is traditional to apologize,” Miranda explained. “I know it’s a difficult and foreign ritual to understand, but maybe you should just go with it-”

“No, I mean, I never lose,” he complained. “There must be something wrong with this glass. And you distracted me, Stevens.”

“Yes, I’ve oft been told that my beauty is enough to drive men to distraction,” she joked. “Now, back to business. The question.”

Kane sighed and leaned back in his chair, still looking confused. “Fire away.”

Under ordinary circumstances, she wouldn’t have had the nerve, but she was a little tipsy and even more exhausted, and the combination made her brave. “Why’d you really ruin my date?”

“I told you already, Stevens, the guy was a jerk-”

“Yes, but what made that your problem? I’m sure you’ve got plenty of things you could have been doing tonight. Why waste your time rescuing me from the dangers of a three-course meal?”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” he shot back. “I already told you everything.”

“Were you… jealous?”

Kane leaned forward, and the sulky expression melted away. His eyes narrowed, and his lips pulled back to reveal gleaming white teeth; everything about the look screamed challenge. “And what if I was?”

“Well…” She didn’t have an answer for that one. In her mind, she hadn’t gotten past asking the question. “I don’t… uh…”

“That’s what I thought.” He looked down at his watch. “It’s 12:58,” he told her. “You know what that means.”

“You have somewhere better to be?”

“It means it’s officially tomorrow.” He clinked her glass. “And you’re officially eighteen. Happy birthday, Stevens. Ready for your present?”

“You didn’t have to-”

But she stopped speaking, somehow knowing what he was going to do before he did it. So when his face came toward her, she was expecting it, and when his lips touched hers, she was ready-but that couldn’t keep her from getting swept away.

When Beth opened her eyes again, she was lying with her head on Adam’s lap, and his arms were still around her. This time, she knew him. “Hey,” she said weakly. “What happened?”

“Beth?” He peered down at her nervously, his face crinkled with concern. “Are you-do you know who I am?”

“Of course.” She tried to sit up but, still a little woozy, fell back against his side. He held her steady, his grip firm. “How did I get here?” For a moment, she wondered if the last several months had been a long nightmare from which she was finally waking, safe in Adam’s arms. But then she remembered-running away from Reed, talking to someone outside the hotel, taking… something.

It was all real. Her acts; her lies.

“I didn’t know what happened to you. I found you in the alley,” Adam said, sounding sick and broken. “And you were… it wasn’t good.”

“Nothing happened. I-I took something,” Beth admitted. She rested the back of her hand against her throbbing forehead. “It was stupid. But I think… I think I’m okay.” She didn’t feel okay. She felt weak and shaky, scared that if she didn’t hold tight to each word, her thoughts would fly away again, stranding her in darkness and confusion. She couldn’t go back there again.

“I was worried.” Adam hugged her and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. The pressure felt like an iron barbell, but Beth didn’t say anything. Pain or not, she liked knowing he was there. “You really scared me.”

“I scared myself,” she said, trying to laugh it off. But there was no relief in her voice. As her mind woke up, so did her memory. Not just of the night, but of the year-everything was equally sharp, as if it had all happened at the same time, was still happening. Adam, calling her a slut. Harper, tearing away everything that meant anything to her. Kaia sleeping with Adam. And the rage, the terrible rage that had swept through her and driven her to get revenge. Kaia’s death. Reed’s pain. Beth’s lie.

It was all jumbled in her mind, screaming for attention, and a part of her longed to be back in the silent dark.

“Hey, what is it?” Adam stroked her face, and Beth realized she was crying. She