They Call It Heart

Chapter 20, The Day After

Kinsley

A person can't love somebody one day and then not love them the next. It's not possible. If it were possible, it wasn't a genuine love. Jace loves me—deeply and truly loves me. The immersed glow I've observed in his eyes each occasion he's confessed those wonderful, special words makes it impossible for him to deny.

I know I made a mistake, and he's mad at me, but it's not as bad as he's making it out to be. He just needs time, a few days, to realize that it was just a stupid incident. The sharp, throbbing spasm of pain I feel in my head that comes with the slightest movements of my body will keep me from ever repeating it. I keep breaking into a cold sweat, struggling not to gag.

I ball the thick cotton washcloth in my palm, turn on the cold water, and hold my hand underneath it before slapping the icy, soaked rag on top of my head as I slowly lay back in the bathtub, letting the cold wetness drain down my scalp, neck, and face. My head hurts too much to worry about Jace's assertion right now.

Relief is nowhere. Sighing and moaning, I muster enough energy to slosh myself out of the tub and crawl over to the toilet, dripping water all over the red brick-patterned linoleum floor. I dry heave as quietly as I can until some disgusting yellow fluid from my dehydrated, nauseous stomach makes its way from my mouth. I feel like I'm dying.

Toweling off, I wipe up the floor, get dressed, and haul myself out of the bathroom, meeting Talan in the hallway.

"Good. You took a shower," Talan says in a voice loaded with confrontational sarcasm.

I push my way by him, holding on to my aching head. As if I'm not feeling tortured enough, he follows me into my bedroom, refusing to realize my ignoring him means I want him to leave me alone. He won't go away quickly, nor do I deserve that courtesy. The sooner the tirade is over, the better. "I'm sorry, Talan," I say, finding my way to the bed, sadness and regret already threatening tears from my eyes.

"Kinsley, what the hell were you thinking?" He glares, disappointment and anger apparent in his scowl. "What the hell would you have done if Amalia and I weren't there?"

Weary and without a single ounce of fight in me, I frown. There is no excuse for my idiocy—no acceptable defense—but I attempt to explain, anyway. "I wouldn't have done it if you weren't you, Talan. Honest. I felt safe enough to try it because you and Amalia were there."

Regardless of how ridiculous my reasoning sounds coming from my lips, after the fact, my claim is essentially the truth.

"Pfft..." He huffs with a roll of his eyes. "Don't give me that crap, Kinsley. Do you realize how much trouble you almost got us all into?"

I close my eyes and hang my head in shame, wondering how I could have been so thoughtless, especially after I'd promised him I wouldn't do anything stupid.

Everyone was having so much fun, though. I didn't think a few forced-down gulps of the nasty-tasting mix Mallory gave me would hurt me, and they didn't. Not at first. I waited to feel some difference but took more gulps when that difference didn't come soon enough. The next thing I knew, I was sloppily hanging on Jace, barely holding myself up, if even that.

"Because you're too mentally weak to just say no!" He sounds every bit like a parent, like Mom and Dad.

He's right. I was too weak to say no. I let the condescending eyes ogling me—for not drinking—pressure me. I felt like I was telegraphing my young age when I only wanted to fit in with the crowd. Oh. I became part of the crowd, all right, the worst part of the crowd. I became the entertainment and joke of the night.

Why didn't I just leave?

Each remark Talan makes lifts the guilt inside me a little higher up my throat.