Page 13 of Stillwater

“It’s Sunny.” A weak barrier to put in place, but I ask for it anyway.

He nods, fingers fluttering to his collarbone. Lara drives the conversation forward, talking about the plans for the new exhibition. She steers clear of Bellamy’s past, but the masochist in me wants to know—what happened to turn that beautiful, glowing boy into this closed-off, guarded man?

Why didn’t he get his happy ending?

When our food arrives, I pass him the ketchup instinctively. A zip of electricity arcs from my tattooed knuckles to his skin as our fingers almost brush. I swear I glimpse his lips part before he slams them shut, pink staining his cheeks.

He’s still so fucking pretty—prettier, even. He always danced along the line of femininity, but I never minded that about him. We were a flavor combination that, on the surface, shouldn’t have gone together.

But we did.

Until I outgrew my own skin and foolishly decided to shed him in the process.

I feel slightly more human after eating. Doesn’t stop me wanting to bite Séverin’s fucking head off when he turns in his seat and leans toward Bellamy, though. The feeling intensifies when Bellamy laughs—properly laughs—at whatever he says.

I clear my throat, pulling off my sunglasses and hooking them on the front of my shirt. The metal from my barbed-wire-style choker chain clinks as I rake my hands through my hair, my biceps flexing with the movement.

Bellamy splutters, choking on his smoothie. He recovers quickly, swiping a bead of strawberry-red juice off his lip and sucking it off his thumb.

Fuck my life.

“You good?” I ask before Séverin can get in there with his fancy-ass accent.

Bellamy looks at me with watery eyes. “Y-yeah, sorry. Had bones in it.”

I suck my teeth, picking up what he’s putting down. “Shoot. I told them to hold the bones.”

My reward for the awful joke is that same half smile and crinkled-up nose I remember—the one that means he thinks it’s funny but doesn’t want to give me the satisfaction of laughing. If we were still in college, this would be the time I’d start tickling him, usually escalating to dry humping until we got friction burn.

Well, maybe not in the middle of a restaurant, but still. A guy can dream.

“I thought we’d go to that old psychiatric hospital on Friday after work. Still can’t believe we haven’t been there yet,” Lara says beside me.

I flick my gaze back up to Bellamy’s face, but he’s fallen into conversation with Séverin. “Yeah,” I reply distractedly, “that’s cool. My car or yours?”

“Ugh. Mine, obviously,” she grimaces, waving me off.

I don’t know why people have such an issue with my car. I think it’s goth as fuck but go figure. Excellent suspension in the back, too.

I zone out of the conversation, tearing my napkin to shreds as I struggle to keep old feelings and memories from bubbling up to the surface. The white noise eventually fizzles out, allowing me to zero back in on Séverin’s lilting voice.

“Archaeology and history combined, actually. You studied history, too?” he asks Bellamy, leaning farther into his space.

“Yeah, at UPenn. I got a scholarship to go there.” Bellamy smiles, the pink tip of his tongue darting out to circle the straw hovering near his mouth.

I observe the exchange between them like a dog watching a game of tennis. Game, set, match.

“Oh! It is where Sunny went too, non?”

“Yep.” He pops the P with subtle aggression before sucking the last of his smoothie through the straw. The slurping noise grates on me slightly, fraying the edges of my nerves.

“Hmm. You are… You cannot be as old as Sunny,” Séverin says, tilting his head in what is probably meant to be an endearing way, giving him a warm smile.

He’s fucking flirting with him.

“We shared a dorm room, actually,” I snap, throwing my torn napkin on my plate. I lean back in my seat and cross my arms over my chest.

“Play nice,” Lara hisses in my ear, elbowing me in the ribs as she gets up to go to the bathroom.