Kissing Midnight (24 page)

She’s panicked, desperate, and I’m suddenly sick with guilt. I feel like I’m killing her. But what can I do? I don’t know how to close it. And isn’t that where she belongs? In the light?

I honestly don’t know anymore.

All I know is I can’t stay here. The wind is growing stronger, the light so bright I can barely see Jesse in its glare. Fighting the wind like I’m wading upstream, I unlock the door and wrench it open, throwing myself out into the hall and slamming the door behind me. I brace myself against it, panting.

It’s quiet in the hall. I hear music coming from someone’s dorm room, the soft shush of a vacuum cleaner somewhere. A couple of girls steal a curious glance at me as they pass me on their way to the elevators. They can’t hear Jesse yelling in the room behind me, or the horrible silence when the yelling stops.

I shut my eyes. My breathing is ragged, my heart pounding like a fist in my chest. I feel like I might be sick.

But isn’t this what I wanted? To be able to send them away? To live a normal life? I promised Dev I would do it, and I did.

But it doesn’t make me feel any better, and right now the thought of being around anyone else—even Dev, even Delia—makes me feel worse. I know I should go up to my room and meet Dev like I said I would, but I just can’t make myself do it. Instead I dash out the front door into cold that makes my lungs sting. I need to be alone.

And that’s good, because I’ve never felt more alone in my life.

Dev

Saintly isn’t in her room when I get there, but the door is unlocked, so I let myself in and wait…and wait. Ten minutes pass, then twenty. Where is she? I try to tell myself that this is a good thing—she’s probably found Delia, and they’re probably giggling over every detail of Saintly’s weekend with me, which can only work in my favor, right? But, today is January 30
th
and my nerves are balanced on the edge of a knife. Even knowing that Saintly might—
might —
be able to banish a ghost if she had to isn’t enough to reassure me. I can’t wait anymore.

I decide to leave her a note and go look for her myself. I grab a pen and search for a scrap of paper.

First I try Saintly’s bag, which is hanging from the desk chair, but all I turn up is a fairytale book, maybe one of the books we looked at that day in the library? I can’t remember. It falls open naturally to a creased page, and what I see there does nothing to improve my mood. It’s the old story of Bluebeard—or “Mr. Fox” as the newer version calls him—who murdered each of his wives until the new girl he was betrothed to marry found him out and stopped him. I’m looking at a picture of my own door, right down to the phrase engraved in it.
“Bold, be bold, but not too bold…”
Have the escaped midnight girls been bold enough to give this book to Saintly somehow? Has she read it?

Not that she would understand the significance, of course. It’s only a fairy tale to her. I turn the page to an illustration of Bluebeard’s wives, piled like cordwood in his hidden room. Their blood is painted a brilliant ruby. It’s gruesome, really. Much darker than fairytales these days. Now we like our stories lighter.

I shut the book. It’s most likely a coincidence, and if the midnight girls meant it as a clue, it would be nearly impossible for Saintly to understand it. Best if I just leave it where I found it.

I slip the book back into her bag and turn my attention to the desk.

What I find there is far more interesting. A pink notebook lies open on the desk. One word in particular catches my eye: my own name in big, loopy script. A diary? Then why is it left open? My fingers itch to turn the pages. Assuming it belongs to Saintly, this could be the confirmation I need that she is actually in love with me. Although I have every reason to be confident, I have to admit that it would feel good to see it in black and white.

Or would it? Knowing that Saintly loves me is knowing that she will die. That, of course, is the point. But if I’m perfectly honest, this time around the victory feels hollow. It’s a waste of Saintly’s gift.

But it’s a moot point anyhow. A closer look tells me the diary isn’t Saintly’s. The writing is too messy, the margins tattooed with doodles. I start to push it aside when the last passage catches my eye.
“I know I shouldn’t be jealous. I mean, she’s my bestie and I should be happy she found someone she’s into, especially after all the crap she’s been through, and I’m trying to be happy, I really am, it’s just…”

Just what? If Delia has misgivings about me, I need to know. I can’t have her poisoning Saint against me at this late date. But that actually isn’t what this sounds like, is it? It sounds more like…

Anxiously, I flip back through the pages, scanning for my name. It doesn’t take long to find it. Delia’s diary is full of me. Within minutes I’ve found what I was looking for:
“I’m happy for Saintly, but I can’t help wondering, why her? Why doesn’t Dev like me, when it’s obvious that he and I would be so much better together? It’s not like I’m going to try to get between them—Saintly’s my closest friend—but he has to see that I’m into him…”

No,
I think,
he didn’t see, but he does now.
How have I missed this? I was so focused on Saintly, I barely paid attention to Delia’s flirting. I figured it didn’t mean anything, that she was like this with everyone. But the more I read, the clearer it is that Saintly’s best friend has fallen for me completely.

My heart is racing, but I try to stay calm. It doesn’t matter, right? Changing girls with just days to spare is insanely risky and, when it comes to my own life, I’m not a guy to take risks. This year has already been a near disaster. It’s a fucking miracle I’ve managed to turn it around. Better to stick to the plan and just see this through.

But now that I’ve seen an escape hatch, I want to take it. Even though it’s really Saintly’s life I’d be saving, I feel like I’m the one being granted a reprieve. And it’s not just sentiment, right? The midnight girls are getting stronger, there’s no doubt about that, and if Saintly can send them into the light she could be a real game-changer, if I can bring her over to my way of thinking. Changing plans is a short-term risk, but maybe a long-term gain.

That’s what I tell myself, anyhow.

The truth is I’m breaking my own rule.

I’ve gotten attached.

“What are you doing?”

The voice startles me so much, I drop the diary. Delia is standing in the doorway, a horrified look on her face, and I can tell by the blush flaming on her cheeks, she knows exactly what I just read.

“I was waiting for Saintly.” I sound lame. “I was looking for a piece of paper. It was open and…”

Delia snatches up the diary, her voice a fierce whisper. “You weren’t supposed to see that.” She holds the diary tight to her chest, like a shield over her heart. “I wasn’t going to say anything. I never—”

“I know.” There’s a decision to be made here and I have to make it fast. Stay loyal to Saintly and I’m actually betraying her, keeping on the course to kill her. Cheat on her and I’m saving her. It’s a gamble—I would be sacrificing all the progress I’ve made so far on the chance that Delia will love me. If I hit on Deals and she rats me out to Saintly, I lose them both. I would never win Saintly’s love back in time.

I could die.

I know the smart thing to do, but for once I can’t make myself follow the plan.

“I know.” I take a step closer to Delia. “Deals, it’s okay.”

Her eyes are bright with tears of embarrassment. “I would never have acted on it, Dev, I swear. Please don’t say anything to Saintly. If she—”

“Delia,” I say, “I feel the same.”

She freezes, her eyes wide. “You mean,” she says carefully, “you agree we shouldn’t tell her?”

“I mean,” I take another step, closing the gap between us, “I want you, too.”

“What?” Her voice is breathy with a mix of horror and hope. “You what?”

I reach out and push the door closed. “I’ve felt that way for a while now, Deals, but I didn’t think you were interested. Now that I know…” I reach out and smooth aside one yellow-blond pigtail, my fingers brushing against her cheek. Delia really does look pretty right now, with her cheeks flushed, her blue eyes wide, her breathing heavy as a trapped animal. She tries to take a step back, but she bumps into the wall behind her. I take a step closer, like a dance, pinning her up against it.

She opens her mouth and shuts it again, like she doesn’t know what to say. For a minute I think she’s going to protest. She braces her palms against my chest as if she intends to push me away, but I can tell from the way her breathing stutters that touching me has the opposite effect. “I knew it,” she says, so quietly it sounds like she’s talking to herself. “I knew you and Saint didn’t make sense.”

I shrug. “I felt for her. She wanted to go out, so I figured, what’s the harm in one date? Then she told me the whole story…”

“About her brother.” Delia nods. She seems eager to supply excuses, to let me off the hook. “And how could you break it off then, after she told you?”

“Exactly.”

“So is that why you went away?” Her blue eyes are cautiously hopeful. “So you could break up with her?”

“I wanted to talk to her somewhere more peaceful than campus. I thought it might be easier to take somehow.”

Delia, nods thoughtfully, biting her lower lip. “That makes sense.”

It doesn’t really make sense, but I have a feeling Delia will do whatever mental gymnastics it takes to justify what she wants. I know that feeling—I’ve done some mental gymnastics myself. And I also know, if I let Delia think too hard, she’s likely to come to her senses.

Which is why it’s time to take her brain offline. Gently, I tug her hands down. We’re standing so close, without her hands between us I can feel her breasts against my chest. She’s breathing hard. “You’re the one I wanted.” I barely have to whisper.

“We shouldn’t,” she says, but she doesn’t look away. She’s waiting for me to talk her into it, but I’m done talking. I lean down, letting my lips graze the curve of her neck, working my way slowly up to her lips. She shivers.

“Really. I mean it, Dev.” She tries to pull away, but she’s not trying hard and there’s nowhere to go. I have her trapped between my arms. “Saintly’s still into you, and she’s my best friend…”

Which is exactly why you should go for this
, I think,
because it’s you or her.
But of course I can’t say that, and I doubt Delia would sacrifice herself if she knew. Girls like Delia are well-intentioned but weak. I doubt she can even keep herself from kissing me.

But, to her credit, she looks conflicted. “You broke up with her, then?”

“Would I do this if I hadn’t?” I kiss her, and I don’t hold back, because this is the kiss that decides how the rest of this game is going to go.

For a second I think she’s going to resist, and I can see the whole worst-case-scenario play out in my mind: She tells me to fuck off. She tells Saint what I did. I lose them both, and there’s no time to replace them. For that second, my brain is grasping for a plan to shut Delia up if she resists, to make sure she never tells Saintly. For that second, I’m wondering if two girls will disappear this year.

Then Delia makes her choice. Her body melts against mine, her lips parting to let me in. She moans softly as I press her harder against the wall, my hand skimming down to cup the curve of her ass, slipping under her thigh to tug her leg up. She wraps it around me, pulling me even tighter to her, my pelvis tilted against hers.
Oh
, I think,
this I going to be easy
.

“Dev?”

Delia jerks away from me at the sound of Saintly’s voice. I turn to see her standing in the doorway. Her mouth is a little “o” of disbelief, but the tears are already forming in her eyes. She looks from me to Delia and back like she can’t make sense of what she’s seeing.

“Oh my God.” Delia turns away, her hands over her face, like a little kid who believes if she can’t see us, we can’t see her.

“Saintly.” I take a step toward her, but she backs away. “Let me explain.”

“No.” Her expression hardens as her mind wraps around what she’s seeing. “There’s nothing to explain. I can see perfectly.” She turns on her heels and takes off down the hall.

“Saintly!” I run a few steps after her, but I’m not really trying to catch her.

The point is to let her go.

Saintly

I get about two steps before the tears start, so hot and angry I feel like I might melt. I wish I would. I’m shaking, I’m so furious—at Dev, at Delia, but mostly at
me
. Didn’t I see this coming? The minute I met Dev, I knew he was a player. I said as much to Delia! And yet what did I do? I made out with him on the floor of the planetarium and made wishes on the fake stars. I told him about my brother and trusted him with my secrets and fastened a lock on the bridge like it would bind us together forever.

And I slept with him.

Like an idiot.

The hallway dead ends, and I press my back against the wall, because if I don’t, I’ll fall. I crush my eyes tight shut, but I can’t stop the tears. How could I be so stupid? I bang the back of my head against the cinder block like I can knock some sense into my brain. I should have known Dev didn’t really love me. I want to go back to his stupid, pretentious French restaurant with a pair of wire cutters and hack that lock off the bridge like a wolf chewing its paw out of a trap. I want to leave a hole in the railing like the giant, jagged void I feel in my chest right now. I want to claw off his silly fake tattoo—and claw deeper, too, right down to my gullible heart. This is how Enrique felt, I bet—furious with himself for caring about our father, who didn’t give a shit about him. About
us
.

My mind flashes to the amused look on Antoinette’s face. Did she know Dev didn’t love me? How many other girls had he brought there? How many locks on the bridge had his initials? God! I feel like one in an endless line!