Page 38 of Wicked Little Darling

His expression turned hesitant, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “So you did that…to yourself.” Doubt oozed from his statement as he studied my scar. When his eyes met mine again, they were full of disbelief. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Because I’m crazy.”

His brows furrowed even deeper, and I could’ve sworn there was anger in those eyes now. “Says who?”

“Everyone.”

He stared hard at me, biting down on his bottom lip like there was something he wanted to say but he was trying to hold himself back. Then he shook his head and moved to the end of his bed. “You shouldn’t talk about yourself like that,” he said, so softly I barely heard him. He bent down and picked somethingup, and when he turned to face me again, there was a small cloth bag in his arms.

“Can you tell me where the laundry room is?” he asked.

I guessed our conversation about my scar was over. Well, I mean, I’d kind of been the one to kill it by not taking it seriously. Guilt started to crawl through me again, but I shoved it away.

“Sure. I can show you,” I said, bouncing to my feet.

“No, that’s okay. I’d like to find it on my own.”

“Mm. If you say so.”

The look he shot me was saturated in annoyance, and when my balls started tingling with heat, I knew I was fucked.

It was those goddamn eyes of his, burning gold and green as they tried to make me combust where I stood.

“It’s in the basement, past the utility room. Make a left at the end of the hall and go three doors down. It’s on the right, you can’t miss it. Or, you can, but hopefully you won’t.”

“Thanks.” He quietly left the room without sparing me another glance.

I contemplated lying on his bed and relishing in his anger at finding me there when he eventually returned, but I’d already caused him to break down once tonight. I felt like that was enough, considering how volatile his reaction had been.

How he’d cried. How his eyes had been a deep brown—blotting out all that beautiful gold and green—as if a darkness had begun a takeover he was helpless to stop.

I dragged my ripped shirt over my head, then stuck it under my pillow and climbed into bed. Exhaustion had my limbs sinking into the hard mattress, and I turned over onto my side, hugging my smaller pillow to my chest and wondering if Reese had found the laundry room yet.

A knock sounded at the door, and because I didn’t feel like moving, I yelled, “It’s open!”

The doorknob rattled, and Val’s muffled voice came through the door. “No, it’s not, dickhead! All the doors lock automatically.”

I laughed into my pillow, then slid to my feet and opened the door for Val, heading right back to my bed.

“Wooow,” Val said with a whistle. “He’s messy, huh? Doesn’t that bother you?”

The bed sank as Val lay down beside me.

“No,” I muttered. “As long as he keeps it on his side, I don’t care.”

“Sure you don’t.” I felt Val move closer behind me, then he nuzzled his head into the back of my neck. “How’s everything going so far?”

“It’s fine,” I said, shoving his icy feet away from mine. He laughed and stuck his cold toes on my calf. “Ew—why aren’t you wearing socks?!”

“I was, I just took them off,” he said, laughing. He snuggled closer and the tightness that had been around my chest all day loosened. “How’s it actually going? I haven’t heard from you much.”

I sighed and stared at the wall. “Same old, except my roommate hates me. Actually wait, that’s the same too.”

“Why does your roommate hate you? What’d you do?”

“What—why do you automatically thinkIdid something?”

“Because you always do something.”