She has short-circuited me. I am the tamed animal at her feet though in the back of my throat I can already taste the hurt she will cause me, the heartbreak – this is a story that can only end one way, after all – but one look at her and I stay put, muzzle to paws, I forgo the freedom of the solitary hunt.

Shit. She has me comparing myself to a lone wolf. This is bad.

I play with the make-up brush. It glides over my cheeks, my mouth, my closed eyes. For a moment it is almost enough, a simple touch, a fleeting pleasure. I am afraid to want more. But I can’t help myself.

Love is pain. I don’t know who said that – someone smarter than me, certainly. And here it is, undeniable, the burn and pinch of it in my chest with every inhale. I have learned it so well, this involuntary reaction to our every meeting, so well I already brace myself for it even before I see her; a look at her, a sharp intake of breath, an involuntary smile – and in the background of it all, this frightening free-fall inside me. My heart is on a yo-yo string, all it takes is a touch of her fingers on my forearm, and there it goes – from my throat down to the pits of my stomach, and back again.

I can smell her whenever she sits near, air between us hot with possibilities. I do nothing to turn what is possible into what is real. I am a coward. And yet I don’t run. Instead, I fall back on the basics of self-defense, the Ashley Routine – the tease, the reel-in, the pull-back – but this time it is me who is jerking uncontrollably at the end of the line, hooked and gasping for air.

She has taught me what weakness is. I lay out my clothes for tonight carefully, nearly nauseous with anxiety. Every piece of the ensemble is a talisman, a charm. Black, to keep my feelings hidden. Silk, to stay cool to her touch. Lace, to make her want me as I want her. This will be my armor for tonight. It will not be enough to protect me. I am weak. I will succumb.

I look in the mirror. Old Ashley looks back at me, seemingly impervious in the Chinese-style dress, the lacquered chopsticks holding her hair up sharp enough to draw blood. She looks as though she could wound with a look, smite with a smile. Only her eyes betray her.

I have faced my weakness. Will I find my strength?

~vii~

Blue neon of Gray’s sign is flashing erratically, throwing eerie light across the cab of my car. My heart follows its fitful tempo, a beat, two, then silence, then a stampede of scared beats, then silence, then… My hands are slick on the steering wheel, my mouth dry. Aiden’s car is parked next to mine, and I know they’re already inside, waiting for me.

Love trumps fear every time. How ironic.

I close my eyes, screw them tight, will myself to let go of the steering wheel, open the door, step outside. To take that step. I see her in the darkness behind my eyelids, confused but determined, and so strong. Spencer.

I swallow. I open the car door.

I am not ready. Not yet. Not like this.

I take a step, two, three, Gray’s door looming before me. I’m not ready yet. I need some time. She will understand.