Page 52 of Shine Bright

In return, I told him about LA and how strange it was to move here, to this city that is so much smaller and colder. But it still feels as though it suits me better. We talked about books and movies and how neither of us ever has time to watch a whole show. He asked me what my favorite flowers are, and I told him peonies. Not white, not dark pink, but pale pink. He smiled and said that pale-pink peonies would suit me, and my heart beat a little too fast.

“See, you’re really about to fall asleep.” My lips brush his temple as his eyes close again.

“That’s not true,” he says.

My smile widens. “Go ahead and sleep.”

“But when I wake up, you’ll be gone.” His eyelids flutter and his words blur into a barely intelligible murmuring.

“Maybe,” I say, since my flight leaves in a few hours and I have to go back to school to get my suitcase.

“Stay,” he whispers. “I’ll drive you to the airport tomorrow.”

The idea is so tempting.

“Okay,” I whisper back. I’m lying to him, and it hurts. It hurts because I want to stay. I want to fall asleep and wake up with him and let him take me to the airport. What would be wrong with that? It wouldn’t be such a big deal, would it?

Yes, unfortunately it would. Because then he would have to stop at the New England School of Ballet so I could pick up my things. And then he might want to know if I was coming back. And I would say yes.

But yes isn’t an option.

We are not an option.

Because I’m not usually like this. Never. But I want him to remember me that way. Exactly as I am right now. Reality would only ruin that image. I don’t want him to see the girl I usually am.

“Promise?”

“I promise.” Another lie, but I wish this one was true.

Phoenix’s breathing gets heavier and deeper until he falls asleep next to me. I watch him and never want this to end. His body is warm, the bed is warm, and I feel cold as I carefully detach myself from him and slide off the mattress. It’s not dark in the room; we left the curtains open so we could watch the rain tapping quietly against the window.

I pick my dress up off the floor and slip it on for the second time that night, making a face as the cold, damp fabric touches my skin. But I have nothing else to wear, and I can’t rummage through his closet to steal dry clothes. My sandals are still in the living room, and so is my handbag. I sneak to the door as quietly as possible and turn the doorknob. It doesn’t even squeak.

I pause one last time and look back at Phoenix, who turns over with a soft sigh. The covers have slipped down to his waist, exposing a lot of bare skin. I’m about to turn away when I notice something glittering on his nightstand. At first, it’s just a bright sparkle, a silvery glow that magically draws me in. Only when I’m standing directly in front of it do I realize that it’s a necklace with a small pendant on it.

My heart is beating so fast, I can feel it in every cell of my body. I can’t help but reach out and take it. I slip it into my pocket. I don’t think, I just do it.

And then I leave.

Barefoot, with tousled hair and a wet dress. Without underwear. I just leave it behind.

I took the necklace instead, to remind me what it’s like to be real.

Chapter 27

Phoenix

I only realize I forgot my phone when Mom’s daily call doesn’t come. Before, I’d been too swamped by the chaos in my head to notice. I went back to the studio, but it was no longer there. Lia must have taken it with her.

Little thief.

For a moment, I’m tempted to go to her room and get it back, but that would mean asking someone where her room is, and that would raise questions, just like everything we do could raise questions. Besides, I’m pretty sure that after the way I left this afternoon, she would slam the door in my face if I showed up at her room.

The look on her face still haunts me. Hurt and sad, angry and uncomprehending.

It feels strange not to have my phone with me, like I’m cut off from the rest of the world. At the same time, it’s also liberating. No calls from Mom, no messages from Brooklyn—none of the same old demands and reproaches. I’m alone with myself and my thoughts, and that, in turn, is pretty awful. I think too much, and nothing meaningful comes of it. I don’t magically find solutions to my thousands of problems.

And then one of those problems knocks on my door. I expect it to be Mom or Brooklyn, because they’re the only two people it could possibly be after I ghosted them over the last few days. It wouldn’t be particularly unlikely for them to show up here.