Torment - Lauren Kate [115]
Miles opened the door of the microwave. He held up a finger. “I can press any button with this finger, and microwave most anything. You’re lucky I’m so good at it.”
It was weird that earlier she’d been torn up over kissing Miles. Now she realized he was the only thing making her feel better. If he hadn’t come over, she’d be spiraling into another guilty black abyss. Even though she couldn’t imagine kissing him again—not because she didn’t want to, necessarily, but because she knew it wasn’t right, that she couldn’t do that to Daniel … that she didn’t want to do that to Daniel—Miles’s presence was extremely comforting.
They played Boggle until Luce finally understood the rules, Scrabble until they realized the set was missing half its letters, and Parcheesi until the sun went down outside the window and it was too dim to see the board without turning on a light. Then Miles stood up and lit the fire, and slid Hannah and Her Sisters into the DVD player on Luce’s computer. The only place to sit and watch the movie was on the bed.
Suddenly, Luce felt nervous. Before, they’d just been two friends playing board games on a weekday afternoon. Now the stars were out, the dorm was empty, the fire was crackling, and—what did that make them?
They sat next to each other on Luce’s bed, and she couldn’t stop thinking about where her hands were, whether they looked unnatural if she kept them pinned across her lap, whether they’d brush against Miles’s fingertips if she rested them at her sides. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his chest moving when he breathed. She could hear him scratch the back of his neck. He’d taken his baseball cap off, and she could smell the citrusy shampoo in his fine brown hair.
Hannah and Her Sisters was one of the few Woody Allen movies she’d never seen, but she could not make herself pay attention. She’d crossed and uncrossed her legs three times before the opening titles rolled.
The door swung open. Shelby barreled into the room, took one look at Luce’s computer monitor, and blurted, “Best Thanksgiving movie ever! Can I watch with—” Then she looked at Luce and Miles, sitting in the dark on the bed. “Oh.”
Luce bolted up off the bed. “Of course you can! I didn’t know when you were leaving to go home—”
“Never.” Shelby flung herself on the top bunk, sending a small earthquake down to Luce and Miles on the bottom bunk. “My mom and I got in a fight. Don’t ask, it was utterly boring. Besides, I’d much rather hang out with you guys, anyway.”
“But Shelby—” Luce couldn’t imagine getting in a fight so big it kept her from going home on Thanksgiving.
“Let’s just enjoy the genius of Woody in silence,” Shelby commanded.
Miles and Luce shot each other a conspiratorial look. “You got it,” Miles called up to Shelby, giving Luce a grin.
Truthfully, Luce was relieved. When she settled back into her seat, her fingers did brush against Miles’s, and he gave them a squeeze. It was only for a moment, but it was long enough to let Luce know that, at least as far as Thanksgiving weekend was concerned, things were going to be okay.
SEVENTEEN
TWO DAYS
Luce woke to the scrape of a hanger dragging across the bar in her closet.
Before she could see who was responsible for the noise, a mound of clothes bombarded her. She sat up in bed, pushing her way out from under the pile of jeans, T-shirts, and sweaters. She plucked an argyle sock off her forehead.
“Arriane?”
“Do you like the red one? Or the black?” Arriane was holding two of Luce’s dresses up against her tiny frame, swaying as she modeled each one.
Arriane’s arms were bare of the awful tracking wristband she’d had to wear at Sword & Cross. Luce hadn’t noticed until now, and she shuddered to remember the cruel voltage sent coursing through Arriane whenever she stepped out of line. Every day in California, Luce’s memories of Sword & Cross grew hazier, until a moment like this one jolted her back into the turmoil of her stay there.
“Elizabeth Taylor says only certain women can wear red,”