She still thought about him, though, in no small part because her mother muttered often about the fact that he didn’t call. Kat tried not to care, but each time she stood at the top of a flight of stairs, she felt the loss of him. She waited for it to happen again, some random accident in the random world that flummoxed her. Wouldn’t he be sorry when her next stair debacle turned fatal because he wasn’t there? Escalators with their sharp, scary teeth were impossible for her to cope with. She took elevators whenever she could and convinced herself he was just an asshole. Just one more of those club guys, not worth obsessing over. She forced herself to stop thinking about him and actually tried to convince herself she hated him. She threw away his silly paper animals so she didn’t have to look at them, then fished them out of the trash and stowed them in a shoebox under the bed because she couldn’t bear to lose them.
On difficult days, when the textbook translation was boring and her family was annoying her to tears, she’d pull out the box and pore over the origami figures he’d made. The folds and corners were so delicate and precise. Little flaps and notches, each perfectly symmetrical and balanced, like him. She would trace the folds as if to trace the fingers that had run over them. Some of the newspaper ink blurred along the edges. Had his fingers done that? Or hers, tracing again and again? She imbued the paper figurines with an emotional gravity she was sure they didn’t have.
She just needed to go back out to the clubs. She needed the eardrum-bursting music, the hot press of party people. But to return to that place where she’d surely see him, where she’d have to navigate those stairs—it seemed the most self-destructive of choices.
But then, she was a self-destructive person. It took less than three weeks for her to break down and return to Masquerade because she simply couldn’t stay away. She refused to admit to herself that he was the reason, that she really wanted to see him again. She convinced herself it was only the atmosphere she missed, and the promise of more empty but comforting sex.
When she got there it felt strangely different. She felt like an outsider for the first time in a long time. She wandered around for a while, then retreated to her place at the top of the stairs, navigating the concrete steps gingerly. The blood was long gone, of course, and now the stairs had some kind of nonslip rubber material on them. Some other girls were standing in her spot. Damn it. She leaned on the railing farther down and her gaze swept the dance floor. Lots of new faces but a few familiar ones too.
But not him. Relax, she told herself. You didn’t come here to see him. She could have asked one of the bouncers where Ryan was but she was way too embarrassed to do that. Even now, she thought they were looking at her funny. Why is she back here? I hope she doesn’t fall down the stairs again. She needed to get out of there before she went crazy, but she needed to find a man first.
She made her way down to the dance floor and found a hot prospect quickly, a youngish, very handsome college boy. Okay, you’ll do, she thought to herself, pasting on a come-hither smile. He was sweaty but he still smelled good and he had some pretty intriguing hip-thrusting action going on. He leered back at her and started grinding his hips against her. He was already half-hard. Oh yes, he was hers.
But then she felt a hand close on her elbow. She pulled away instinctively. She hated to be grabbed at. Hard, dark eyes bore into hers and he wouldn’t let her pull away. In fact, he was pulling her right off the dance floor.
“Let go of me.” She tried to extricate herself. “How dare you? I was dancing with that guy.”
“I saw your little hook-up-in-progress,” Ryan muttered. He spun her to face him on the edge of the dance floor. “What in holy fuck’s name are you doing back here again?”
“I’m dancing and trying to have fun. At least I was.”
“You go home now and you go home alone. I’m tired of watching you do this.”
“Do what?”
“Give it away and play fast and loose with your life. You’re supposed to be resting, recuperating. Hm, now how would I know that? Oh, that’s right. Because I was your doctor!”
“That doesn’t mean you can yank me around now and tell me what to do. Why the fuck do you care anyway?”
He leaned close to her, his eyes flashing. “Because you’re a reckless little slut and I do not approve.”
His face was so close to hers that they could have kissed if they wanted to, but they didn’t kiss. He started to pull her again. She was so shocked by his words she didn’t resist when he tugged her along. The crowds parted to let them pass and she felt embarrassed that everyone was witnessing something so private. She was embarrassed by the possessive way he dragged her, by the angry look on his face. But at the same time, she was also a little aroused at the way he was manhandling her.
She caught a glimpse of College Boy, who gestured in confusion.
“No,” Ryan spat at him. “Not yours.”
Not yours. Whose was she? From the way he was acting, he thought she was his. He hustled her back through the kitchen and into a small storage room in the back. He turned on the light and shut and locked the door behind them.
He let go of her finally and she scrambled away. He stood
