“As if,” she answered quickly. “Wait, so did you get in? Did you rent a car? I’m so confused.”
“I’m with a boy.”
Lily paused, like she’d misheard me. If I was her, I’d have thought the same. I didn’t talk to boys — that was always more her forte. “Um, do I know this boy?”
“No. I don’t even know him.”
“Wait. You got in a car with a stranger?”
“Hence why I shared my location,” I reminded her. “Actually, Tammy shared it. I was too busy freaking out and listing all the reasons I shouldn’t go.”
“Well, I can add a few to the list!” she yelled. “Who is he? Are you safe? What if he’s a murderer?!” She whispered the last word, as if he could hear her through my phone, or maybe she was finally being considerate to the other students in the library with her.
I laughed. “Look, I promise I’ve already freaked out enough for the both of us. But he’s… nice. And he’s not going to kill me,” I added, scrunching my nose. “I don’t think.”
“Real comforting.”
“At least, if he does, you’ll know where to find the body.”
“Still not helping.”
I chuckled again. “I’ve got it under control,” I promised her. “He’s a good guy.” I believed myself when I said it, even though I had no proof to back it up. Not yet. Not enough to feel as confident as I did when I said the words.
Lily scoffed. “Like I care if he’s a good guy. Is he hot?”
I didn’t get the chance to laugh before Lily rambled on, asking me question after question and listing off reasons why this was absolutely insane. But there was no way I could have responded to a single point she made, anyway, because the bathroom door swung open, and Emery walked out of the steam with only a towel wrapped low around his hips.
Suddenly, I couldn’t hear Lily anymore. I couldn’t feel my hands. I couldn’t not stare at him.
His shaggy hair was damp, dripping water from the ends of it down his neck and over the lean muscles of his chest, his ribs, his abdomen, all the way down to the edge of the towel. He ran a hand through his hair, ruffling it slightly with his eyes on the phone in his hand. It was playing music and he paused it, not even looking up at me when he spoke.
“She’s all yours.”
His arms were so muscular.
His abs were so defined.
His waist was so lean.
His towel was so low.
I snapped my eyes shut, shaking my head. “Uh, I have to go, Lily. I’ll call you later. Love you, bye.”
“Wait—“
I ended the call, plugging my phone into the charger before grabbing the clothes I’d set aside and the small bag with my extra liner and socks, dipping into the bathroom without another look in Emery’s direction.
I still wasn’t breathing as I ran the bath water, peeling my diner uniform off and propping myself on the edge of the tub. I stared at the heap of cloth on the floor as I removed my prosthesis, realizing I would never be wearing that uniform again.
Even though I’d done it for more than eight years, taking off my leg was still just as strange to me as it was the first time I did it. My hands moved on autopilot now, though, where they used to stumble through the process, fussing with the pin that would release all the parts with a simple click. I watched my hands numbly as they removed the leg, sliding it off the thick socks that I wore beneath it. I peeled them off next, one by one, followed by my liner, and then I was face to face with my scar.
I took my time cleaning my stump before lowering myself completely into the water, sighing as the hot water rushed up to my neck. I let myself soak for a while before washing my hair and cleaning my liner, then I dried myself with one of the fluffy towels, switched to the new liner and socks, and slid my stump back into the prosthesis, standing to wiggle my knees until it clicked into place.
The bathroom mirror was fogged over, and I ran my hand over the glass, making a circle just big enough to see my face. I knew what my body looked like. I knew the petite frame of it — the barely there chest, the narrow hips, the tan, freckled skin. And I knew the left thigh was thinner than the right, and that it ended in an uneven, unnatural cut just below my knee. Even with my leg on, even with the socks thickening my thigh and knee, I never forgot what was missing. I never forgot what I’d never have again.
My long, wet hair stuck to my back as I dressed, and I smoothed a thick drop of keratin oil between my palms before brushing my fingers through the strands. I could barely see without my glasses on, which was fine by me, and I didn’t push them back into place until I was fully dressed and pulling the bathroom door open.
Emery’s eyes found me when I emerged from the bathroom, and I stood at the door with my rumpled uniform tucked under one arm and my toiletry bag hanging from my opposite hand. I planned on moving, on walking back over to my bed and sitting next to Kalo, but once his eyes found mine, they pinned me. They felt more like hands as they made a slow descent all the way to my Toms. The strong and steady way they took me in, how they wrapped around my arms, holding me in place, making it impossible to breathe, let alone move.
His eyes were darker in the hotel room light, and his hair was still damp as he ran a hand lazily through it. “I’m not that hungry yet, are you?”
“I could wait,” I lied, my stomach growling in protest as my feet finally found the ability to move again. I tucked my dirty clothes into the side pocket of my duffle bag, slipping a new hair tie over my wrist as I turned back to face Emery.
“Cool. Let’s hit a few bars before dinner, then.”
“Okay.”
He eyed me. “Don’t look so scared.”
“I’m not,” I lied again. His journal peeked out from where he’d stuffed it back into his bag, and I ripped my eyes from it and back to him.
Emery stood. “First thing’s first — we need costumes.”
“Costumes?”
He crossed the room to me, stopping with less than five inches between us, his own body towering over mine as a barely there smile found his lips. “Well, it is Halloween, isn’t it?”
My twenty-first birthday wasn’t for another three months, so it shouldn’t have been a surprise when I said I didn’t drink. But it was. Every single time. Because even if it wasn’t legal for me to have a beer yet, it was still normal for me to want one. Except I didn’t. I never had.
I told Emery this as he picked random headbands off a street cart on Bourbon, placing one after the other on my head and tilting his head to the side as he watched me, trying to decide what I should be for the night. He had a pirate patch over his eye and a bandana tied over his hair, along with a fake gold earring clipped on his left ear. He completed the look with a pirate sword hooked into a brown leather belt at his waist.
For me, the choice was between a cat and a devil.
Neither made sense, since I was allergic to cats and my list of sins was five lines long, the worst of the offenses being that I stole a backpack from Mr. Harold’s store when I was thirteen.
Still, Emery decided the devil horns suited me, and after I was equipped with a red plastic pitchfork and a tail that hung awkwardly from my tailbone, we were swallowed by the chaos that was Bourbon Street.