Chapter 37
Font Size:
AA+A++
He smiled unnervingly. “The answer is no. I mean,
there may have been a time when one or the other of
us considered it, but she’s almost a sister to me. It
would be strange.”
“You mean Isabelle and you never—”
“Never,” said Jace.
“She hates me,” observed ry.
“No, she doesn’t,” he said, to her surprise. “You just
make her nervous, because she’s always been the
only girl in a crowd of adoring boys, and now she isn’t
anymore.”
“But she’s so beautiful.”
“So are you,” said Jace, “and very different from how
she is, and she can’t help but notice that. She’s
always wanted to be small and delicate, you know.
She hates being taller than most boys.”
ry said nothing to this, because she had nothing to
say. Beautiful. He’d called her beautiful. Nobody had
ever called her that before, except her mother, which
didn’t count. Mothers were required to think you were
beautiful. She stared at him.
“We should probably go downstairs,” he said again.
She was sure she was making him ufortable
with the staring, but she didn’t seem to be able to
stop.
“All right,” she said finally. To her relief, her voice
sounded normal. It was a further relief to look away
from him as she turned around. The moon, directly
overhead now, lit everything nearly to daylight
brightness. In between one step and another she saw
a white spark struck off something on the floor: It was
the knife Jace had been using to cut apples, lying on
its side. She jerked hastily back to avoid stepping on
it, and her shoulder bumped his—he put a hand out to
steady her, just as she turned to apologize, and then
she was somehow in the circle of his arm and he was
kissing her.
It was at first almost as if he hadn’t wanted to kiss her:
His mouth was hard on hers, unyielding; then he put
both arms around her and pulled her against him. His
lips softened. She could feel the rapid beat of his
heart, taste the sweetness of apples still on his mouth.
She wound her hands into his hair, as she’d wanted to
do since the first time she’d seen him. His hair curled
around her fingers, silky and fine. Her heart was
hammering, and there was a rushing sound in her
ears, like beating wings—
Jace drew away from her with a muffled exmation,
though his arms were still around her. “Don’t panic,
but we’ve got an audience.”
ry turned her head. Perched on a nearby tree
branch was Hugo, watching them beadily from bright
ck eyes. So the sound she’d heard had been wings
rather than demented passion. That was
disappointing.
“If he’s here, Hodge won’t be far behind,” said Jace
under his breath. “We should go.”
“Is he spying on you?” ry hissed. “Hodge, I mean.”
“No. He just likes toe up here to think. Too bad—
we were having such a scintiting conversation.” He
laughed soundlessly.
They made their way back downstairs the way they
hade, but it felt like a different journey entirely to
ry. Jace kept her hand in his, sending tiny
electrical shocks traveling up and down her veins from
every point where he touched her: her fingers, her
wrist, the palm of her hand. Her mind was buzzing
with questions, but she was too afraid of breaking the
mood to ask him any of them. He’d said “too bad,” so
she guessed their evening was over, at least the
kissing part.
They reached her door. She leaned against the wall
beside it, looking up at him. “Thanks for the birthday
pic,” she said, trying to keep her tone neutral.
He seemed reluctant to let go of her hand. “Are you
going to sleep?”
He’s just being polite, she told herself. Then again,
this was Jace. He was never polite. She decided to
answer the question with a question. “Aren’t you
tired?”
His voice was low. “I’ve never been more awake.”
He bent to kiss her, cupping her face with his free
hand. Their lips touched, lightly at first, and then with
a stronger pressure. It was at precisely that moment
that Simon threw open the bedroom door and stepped
out into the hall.
He was blinking and tousle-haired and without his
sses, but he could see well enough. “What the
hell?” he demanded, so loudly that ry leaped away
from Jace as if his touch burned her.
“Simon! What are you—I mean, I thought you were—”
“Asleep? I was,” he said. The tops of his cheekbones
had flushed dark red through his tan, the way they
always did when he was embarrassed or upset. “Then
I woke up and you weren’t there, so I thought …”
ry couldn’t think of a thing to say. Why hadn’t it
urred to her that this might happen? Why hadn’t
she said they should go to Jace’s room? The answer
was as simple as it was awful: She had forgotten
about Simonpletely.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not sure whom she was even
speaking to. Out of the corner of her eye she thought
she saw Jace shoot her a look of white rage—but
when she nced at him, he looked as he always did:
easy, confident, slightly bored.
“In future, rissa,” he said, “it might be wise to
mention that you already have a man in your bed, to
avoid such tedious situations.”
“You invited him into bed?” Simon demanded, looking
shaken.
“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” said Jace. “We would never have
all fit.”
“I didn’t invite him into bed,” ry snapped. “We were
just kissing.”
“Just kissing?” Jace’s tone mocked her with its false
hurt. “How swiftly you dismiss our love.”
“Jace …”
She saw the bright malice in his eyes and trailed off.
There was no point. Her stomach felt suddenly heavy.
“Simon, it’ste,” she said tiredly. “I’m sorry we woke
you up.”
“So am I.” He stalked back into the bedroom,
mming the door behind him.
Jace’s smile was as nd as buttered toast. “Go on,
go after him. Pat his head and tell him he’s still your
super special little guy. Isn’t that what you want to
do?”
“Stop it,” she said. “Stop being like that.”
His smile widened. “Like what?”
“If you’re angry, just say it. Don’t act like nothing ever
touches you. It’s like you never feel anything at all.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before
you kissed me,” he said.
She looked at him incredulously. “I kissed you?”
He looked at her with glittering malice. “Don’t worry,”
he said, “it wasn’t that memorable for me, either.”
She watched him walk away, and felt the mingled
urge to burst into tears and to run after him for the
express purpose of kicking him in the ankle. Knowing
either action would fill him with satisfaction, she did
neither, but went warily back into the bedroom.
Simon was standing in the middle of the room, looking
lost. He’d put his sses back on. She heard Jace’s
voice in her head, saying nastily: Pat his head and tell
him he’s still your super special little guy.
She took a step toward him, then stopped when she
realized what he was holding in his hand. Her
sketchpad, open to the drawing she’d been doing, the
one of Jace with angel wings. “Nice,” he said. “All
those Tisch sses must be paying off.”
Normally, ry would have told him off for looking into
her sketchpad, but now wasn’t the time. “Simon, look
—”
“I recognize that stalking off to sulk in your bedroom
might not have been the smoothest move,” he
interrupted stiffly, tossing the sketchpad back onto the
bed. “But I had to get my stuff.”
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Home. I’ve been here too long, I think. Mundanes like
me don’t belong in a ce like this.”
She sighed. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I wasn’t intending
to kiss him; it just happened. I know you don’t like
him.”
“No,” Simon said even more stiffly. “I don’t like t
soda. I don’t like crappy boy band pop. I don’t like
being stuck in traffic. I don’t like math homework. I
hate Jace. See the difference?”
“He saved your life,” ry pointed out, feeling like a
fraud—after all, Jace hade along to the Dumort
only because he’d been worried he’d get in trouble if
she got herself killed.
“Details,” said Simon dismissively. “He’s an asshole. I
thought you were better than that.”
ry’s temper red. “Oh, and now you’re pulling a
high-and-mighty trip on me?” she snapped. “You’re
the one who was going to ask the girl with the most
‘rockin’ bod’ to the Fall Fling.” She mimicked Eric’s
lazy tone. Simon’s mouth thinned out angrily. “So what
if Jace is a jerk sometimes? You’re not my brother;
you’re not my dad; you don’t have to like him. I’ve
never liked any of your girlfriends, but at least I’ve had
the decency to keep it to myself.”
“This,” said Simon, between his teeth, “is different.”
“How? How is it different?”
“Because I see the way you look at him!” he shouted.
“And I never looked at any of those girls like that! It
was just something to do, a way to practice, until—”
“Until what?” ry knew dimly that she was being
horrible, the whole thing was horrible; they’d never
even had a fight before that was more serious than an
argument about who’d eaten thest Pop-Tart from
the box in the tree house, but she didn’t seem able to
stop. “Until Isabelle came along? I can’t believe you’re
lecturing me about Jace when you made aplete
fool of yourself over her!” Her voice rose to a scream.
“I was trying to make you jealous!” Simon screamed,
right back. His hands were fists at his sides. “You’re
so stupid, ry. You’re so stupid, can’t you see
anything?”
She stared at him in bewilderment. What on earth did
he mean? “Trying to make me jealous? Why would
you try to do that?”
She saw immediately that this was the worst thing she
could have asked him.
“Because,” he said, so bitterly that it shocked her, “I’ve
been in love with you for ten years, so I thought it
seemed like time to find out whether you felt the same
about me. Which, I guess, you don’t.”
He might as well have kicked her in the stomach. She
couldn’t speak; the air had been sucked out of her
lungs. She stared at him, trying to frame a response,
any response.
N?velDrama.Org owns all ? content.
He cut her off sharply. “Don’t. There’s nothing you can
say.”
She watched him walk to the door as if paralyzed; she
couldn’t move to hold him back, much as she wanted
to. What could she say? I love you, too? But she
didn’t—did she?
He paused at the door, hand on the knob, and turned
to look at her. His eyes, behind the sses, looked
more tired than angry now. “You really want to know
what else it was my mom said about you?” he asked.
She shook her head.
He didn’t seem to notice. “She said you’d break my
heart,” he told her, and left. The door closed behind
him with a decided click, and ry was alone.
After he was gone, she sank down onto the bed and
picked up her sketchbook. She cradled it to her chest,
not wanting to draw in it, just craving the feel and
smell of familiar things: ink, paper, chalk.
She thought about running after Simon, trying to catch
him. But what would she say? What could she
possibly say? You’re so stupid, ry, he’d said to her.
Can’t you see anything?
She thought of a hundred things he’d said or done,
jokes Eric and the others had made about them,
conversations hushed when she’d walked into the
room. Jace had known from the beginning. I was
laughing at you because derations of love amuse
me, especially when unrequited. She hadn’t stopped
to wonder what he was talking about, but now she
knew.
She had told Simon earlier that she’d only ever loved
three people: her mother, Luke, and him. She
wondered if it was actually possible, within the space
of a week, to lose everyone that you loved. She
wondered if it was the sort of thing you survived or
not. And yet—for those brief moments, up on the roof
with Jace, she’d forgotten her mother. She’d forgotten
Luke. She’d forgotten Simon. And she’d been happy.
That was the worst part, that she’d been happy.
Maybe this, she thought, losing Simon, maybe this is
my punishment for the selfishness of being happy,
even for just a moment, when my mother is still
missing. None of it had been real, anyway. Jace might
be an exceptional kisser, but he didn’t care about her
at all. He’d said as much.
She lowered the sketchbook slowly into herp.
Simon had been right; it was a good picture of Jace.
She’d caught the hard line of his mouth, the
incongruously vulnerable eyes. The wings looked so
real she imagined that if she brushed her fingers
across them, they’d be soft. She let her hand trail
across the page, her mind wandering …
And jerked her hand back, staring. Her fingers had
touched not dry paper but the soft down of feathers.
Her eyes shed up to the runes she’d scrawled in
the corner of the page. They were shining, the way
she’d seen the runes Jace drew with his stele shine.
Her heart had begun to beat with a rapid, steady
sharpness. If a rune could bring a painting to life, then
maybe—
Not taking her eyes off the drawing, she fumbled for
her pencils. Breathless, she flipped to a new, clean
page and hastily began to draw the first thing that
came to mind. It was the coffee mug sitting on the
nightstand next to her bed. Drawing on her memories
of still life ss, she drew it in every detail: the
smudged rim, the crack in the handle. When she was
done, it was as exact as she could make it. Driven by
some instinct she didn’t quite understand, she
reached for the cup and set it down on top of the
paper. Then, very carefully, she began to sketch the
runes beside it.
Source:
by
by
by
by
by
by
by
by
by
by
by
by
by
by
by
by
Articles you may like
Ads by