The way Lucas watches me is terrifying.
Terrifying, because there's finally interest in his gaze.
I don't want to hold hope, because every time I have even the glimmer of it, he says something that crushes my heart. The way he doesn't even recognize our fated bond kills me. It's yearning, aching in my chest, wanting me to go to him. To claim him. To shake and scream until he remembers all the pain and all the joy between us.
Instead, I sit there, scratching more vigorously at my arms, and the string inside of me tugs harder, as if trying to get my attention. I ignore it.
"Your scent."
Glancing at Lucas, who stops talking mid-sentence, I sniff discreetly in the direction of my armpits. Did I forget to scrub? He keeps talking about my smell.
"Do I stink that bad?"
"It's getting stronger," he confirms, his voice husky.
Maybe this is his way of getting me to leave again. "Do you want me to go?"
"No."
Oh. Never mind, then.
