Page 62 of Clinically Bewitched
But something in her expression stopped me.
She wasn’t smiling anymore.
She was just looking at me.
Really looking at me, and for the first time since I had woken up to find her in my bed, she looked uncertain.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to invade your space. I just thought...” She pulled her knees up slightly, covering herself. “Vivian said you might need someone. That you tend to isolate when you’re stressed. And I thought maybe I could help.”
“By breaking into my apartment?”
“By being here. By showing you that you don’t have to face everything alone.”
I stared at her.
She stared back.
And despite everything, despite the panic attack I had just had, despite the violation of my personal space, despite the fact that she wasstill naked in my bed, I felt something in my chest soften.
Just slightly.
Just enough to be dangerous.
“I appreciate the thought,” I muttered. “But in the future, could you maybe... call first?”
“I can do that.”
“And not break into my apartment?”
“The doorman let me in.”
“Athena.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll call first.” She smiled that warm, genuine smile that made my carefully constructed defenses feel suddenly inadequate. “But just so you know, the universe is very persistent. If it wants us together, it’s going to keep finding ways.”
“The universe,” I said, “is going to have to try harder than a home invasion.”
“Challenge accepted.”
I closed my eyes.
What have I gotten myself into?
What cosmic joke is this?
And why—WHY—does part of me not completely hate this?
I opened my eyes and looked at her again.
She was still sitting in my bed, her expression open and earnest and completely, utterly sincere.
She genuinely thought she was helping.
She genuinely believed the universe had sent her here to... what? Take care of me? Balance my precision with her chaos?
She’s insane,I thought.
She’s completely, certifiably insane.
