Page 53 of The Fake Divination Offense
When I see a missed text from Alexo.
ALEXO
Dark chocolate peanut butter cups
“O?” Seb’s voice is thinner with the phone away from my ear. “You there? Shit, you’re not actually in jail, are you?”
Dark chocolate peanut butter cups?
“No, I’m fine.” I shove the phone back against my head. “I—I need to go, sorry.”
“Woah, woah, there, Mr. Felony—explain yourself.”
“I did not commit a felony.”
“Or whatever stalking is considered. What happened? Did you see him? Did he see you? Gods, that’s a creepy question.”
“I saw him, and yeah, he saw me. It was… wonderful, actually.” I shove myself up to sit, and as I do, every detail of last night flash floods through me. Alexo’s body writhing against mine. The sheer delight in his eyes as he smashed the shit out of those statues.
His panicked reaction when I grabbed his ass.
The tang of nausea burns in the back of my throat.No. I will not jump to conclusions. I will not overreact. If he wants to tell me what that was about, he will.
Or he’ll tell me… dark chocolate peanut butter cups?
“Listen, Seb, I’ll explain everything in a bit, okay? I gotta—”
“You called me.”
“I know, I—”
“No, I mean—you didn’tintendto call me. Did you?”
It’s not the first time I’ve woken up in the middle of seeking him out.
When we lived together, I’d sometimes sleepwalk into his room, or he’d save himself that jump scare and fall asleep in my bed. But when I moved to Vegas, I obviously couldn’t physically seek him out anymore. Sleep-calling him became a thing. A thing I was very quick to work on with my therapist, and I haven’t done it in several years.
“Fuck,” I growl to my bedspread. “I’m sorry. You’re at work. I’ll—”
“Don’t you dare hang up, big guy.”
I obey. If only because hearing his voice is still wiping away the last of the night’s restlessness.
Was Alexo in the dream, too?
It stabs through me, a gut punch of memory.
They took someone else from me.Him.
No. Gods damn it,no. Whatever I’m doing with himcannotbe sparking my Camp Merethyl shit.I won’t let it.The two are entirely unrelated, and I refuse, flat outrefuseto let him become a gods-damned trigger.
But everything I do is tied up in Camp Merethyl, isn’t it? It always is.
“One call is not a failure, all right?” Seb tells me. “Do not beat yourself up about this. I swear to the gods, O—I can hear you chastising yourself from here.Don’t. And don’t push me away to punish yourself.”
His words have me glaring up at nothing. “What’d you say?”
“Don’t—wait, which part? Don’t beat yourself up? Don’t push me away to punish yourself?”
