House Of Obsidian: Flawed Love Part 2

He lets me go with a chuckle and yawns, leaning back into my pillows.

"Your bed is better than mine," he murmurs.

"You're not sleeping here again. You snore."

"Can't make me leave," he says, wiggling down into the sheets.

"I can, and I will. I'll use force, and scissors."

He raises a brow. "I don't even want to know."

"No, you don't. Go home and torture someone else."

"You love it when I'm here, Emy. Admit it."

I grunt.

We fall silent and both of us focus on the TV. I glance over at him about ten minutes into our silence and decide to ask him a question, knowing he'll give it to me straight. There's not a lot I don't tell Rainer.

"Hey, Rai?"

He looks over to me. "Yeah?"

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

He blinks at me. "Say what?"

Dammit, I didn't say that right.

"I mean . . . do you think I'm pretty enough to ever get a date?"

He studies my face, and when he realizes I'm serious, he answers. "I don't really see you like that, kid, but yeah, if I'm to answer honestly then yeah, you're pretty."

"Pretty enough to get a date . . ."

"Yeah, for sure. Why?"

I look away and shrug. "No reason."

"Oh come on, you gotta tell me now. Are you crushing on someone?"

I laugh. "No one says that anymore, dude."

"Spill, Emalie."

"Ohhh, using my full name. s.h.i.t just got real."

He reaches over and puts his arm around my neck again. "I'll use force."

"All right, yeesh. I . . . I might want to ask Jack on a date."

He's silent, for way too long.

"Did you hear me?"

"Jack the Sack?"

I burst out laughing. "Oh my G.o.d, that's so mean."

"Hey, you call Missy Spastic Plastic."

"You're right." I giggle. "But Jack isn't a sack."

"He's a f.u.c.king d.i.c.k."

"So are you, and I like you."

He flexes his arm around my neck gently. "I'm a good d.i.c.k. He's the bad kind."

"How so?"

"He's a user."

"Meaning?" I prompt.

"He just likes to charm and f.u.c.k."

"And that's bad because . . .?"

He lets me go and stares at me, horrified. "Because you don't f.u.c.k, Emy."

"Why not?" I snap, crossing my arms. "I'm a girl, I'm seventeen-I should be able to f.u.c.k if I want."

His eyes widen. "No. Just no."

That kind of hurts, and my back instantly goes up.

"What, because I'm not fake and plastic like Missy, means I can't be interested in popping my d.a.m.ned cherry?"

"Yeah, f.u.c.kin' exactly," he snaps. "Because you're not fake, you deserve better than men like Jack."

"Oh, you mean like a nerd, who probably refers to his d.i.c.k as p.e.n.i.s, who says things like 'I'm going to penetrate you now'?"

His lip twitches. "No, but . . ."

"Agh!" I cry, climbing out of the bed. "You're p.i.s.sing me off, Rainer. Can you go?"

"No," he says, getting out of the bed too. "I'm not leaving because you're having a hissy. I'm just telling the truth. Men like Jack don't go with girls like you."

"Then who does go with a girl like me?"

He shrugs. "I dunno . . . Kenny?"

"Are you f.u.c.king serious?" I screech. "So in other words, you don't really think I'm pretty. You're just trying to make me feel good."

"He's a good guy."

"He stutters when he talks, if he's nervous. He has oily hair. What the h.e.l.l, Rainer?"

"Okay, maybe not Kenny, but . . ."

"Just stop," I cry, throwing up my hands. "You're digging a big f.u.c.king hole for yourself."

He blinks at me. "Did you just swear at me?"

"Yes, yes I did."

"Ouch, kid."

"Look," I say, turning and catching a glimpse of myself in the mirror, "I'm tired. Can you go?"

Rainer walks up behind me, and in the mirror I can see what it is he sees. Alone, I might be pretty, but with someone as striking as Rainer behind me, I'm simply average.

That hurts.

More than I could have ever imagined.

CHAPTER THREE.

NOW a MALI

Hurt constricts my chest as I sit on my bed, staring at the wall. I don't even know if Mimi is okay-I just ran out of the bar like a scolded puppy. I can't believe Rainer didn't remember me. How could he look at my face and not see the girl I was? We were best friends; we spent all our time together. G.o.d, we've been through so much. I'd never forget his face in a million years.

"Mali?"

The sound of Mimi's voice travels through the house, and I pull my knees closer to my chest. I don't know how to explain what went down tonight, or tell her why I left her alone. I don't even know if I can form the words. My best friend growing up just looked straight through me.

"Hey."

I look up and see her standing at the door, eyes narrowed.

"Ah, hey."

"You left; I was worried. Are you okay?"

She rushes over and sits on the side of my bed, studying my face.

"Not really," I whisper, looking at my hands.

"Did everything go badly with Rainer?"

"It didn't even have that chance," I murmur. "He didn't recognize me."

She's silent for a moment. "Oh, Mali . . ."

"He just looked straight through me, as if he'd never seen me before."

She wraps an arm around my shoulder, and shifts in beside me. "Maybe he was busy and barely took you in."

"He looked right into my face, and studied me."

"Maybe you've changed a lot."

"I would never forget his face, Mimi. Never. How could he forget mine?"

She squeezes me closer. "You said there's been a big change in you. Maybe you really are so different he didn't recognize you."

"Maybe," I mutter.

"Show me a picture of you when you knew him, and we'll decide. I'll be able to tell you if it's a ma.s.sive difference, and then we can figure out where to go from here."

"Okay." I sigh, climbing out of the bed and jerking open a desk drawer. I ruffle through it until I find an old picture of Rainer and I.

I take it over and hand it to her. She s.n.a.t.c.hes it from my hand and studies it, her eyes going wide. "That's you?" she squeaks.

"Yes."

"Holy s.h.i.t, are you serious?"

"What?" I say, climbing back into the bed and looking at the picture.

Rainer looks so much younger in it, more than I realized until I saw him tonight. He's a man now-he still has a boyish-look in this picture. He's grinning, his arm slung around my shoulders. I'm wearing my usual jeans, baggy top and chucks, and my blond hair is in a pixie cut. I'm also wearing gla.s.ses.

"No, seriously . . ."

"What, Mimi?"