How words passed my lips when I choked on rage was a mystery. “Don't worry, I'll keep Bastian away from the girls.”
Fueled by my anger, I turned, grabbed my coat from the hook, and walked right out the back door. It was cold, but I was so angry I hardly noticed. My feet carried me back and forth across the driveway as my temper stewed. I had half a mind to walk back into the house and slap her for real, but it would only land me in trouble. My uncle pulled up ten minutes later.
“Lark, what are you doing out here, it's cold?”
Oh, how much I would love to dump it on him, but why make his life miserable too? “I was warm.” The lie slipped silkily past my tongue.
“Hop in, you're making me cold.”
On the drive my uncle peppered me with questions about my day and though I answered, my mind was elsewhere. He pulled up in front of the school. “You look beautiful, Lark. Have fun tonight.”
“I will. Thanks for the ride.”
“Anytime.”
Climbing from the car, I pulled my long coat closed over my costume and hurried inside. I wasn't going to let my aunt ruin my night. It had been her intention after all. Likely she overheard the girls helping me get ready, and the thought of them being kind to me must have really burned her ass. She would not spoil my night and I was surprised at how easily I was able to dismiss her from my thoughts.
My friends had yet to arrive, so I dropped my coat at the coat rack before making my way into the gym. The dance committee had done a really great job of turning the gym into a haunted castle of sorts. The bleachers had been pushed back against the wall and black cloths had been draped over them, hiding the wires of the white fairy lights that shone through the fabric like stars in the night sky. The choir's grand piano had been wheeled in, a cloth draped over it, and an old candelabra, with black taper candles, sat on top of it. Life-size ghouls had been situated around the open space, ghosts hung off the basketball nets, and eerie music pumped in over the speakers. A table, dressed in an orange and black lace cloth, bore ghastly baked goods: bloodshot eye cupcakes, bread sticks in the shape of witch's fingers and skeleton bones, red velvet cake in the shape of a human heart that looked as if it was bleeding where slices had been cut.
Standing on the opposite side of the gym from me was Mica, dressed as a witch. Every inch of her skin covered which was odd since she usually covered just enough to not get thrown out. Again, I was tempted to ask her what was up with her odd behavior, but was pulled from that when I heard Poppy calling my name. Turning, I watched Queen Amidala and Anakin make their way over to me.
“Awesome costumes, guys.”
“Right back at you. What are you? A mermaid?”
“A siren.”
“I love it. Is Bastian here?” Poppy asked.
“Not yet.”
“I'm sure he's right behind us.”
I was so eager to see Bastian's costume that my eyes were glued to the entrance of the gym. As if I willed it, he appeared. I smiled the biggest, goofiest grin when I saw what he wore. His hair was down, but tucked behind his ears. He was dressed in faded jeans, his beat-up boots and a black tee with one word in large emerald-green letters written across his chest: LARK'S. Poppy must have seen my expression when she turned to see what I was looking at. Her reaction in response was priceless. “Well, there's the best costume of the night.”
I couldn't have agreed more. I walked, well ran, toward him, and the moment he saw me he halted and just stared. He took a very leisurely study of me from head to toe and back again.
“My siren—I'd follow you anywhere.”
I simply said, “Mine.”
His hand reached out to wrap around my neck to pull me closer. Right before his mouth touched mine he said, “Hell yes.”
***
Thoughts of sex would not leave my mind since the Halloween Dance. After the dance, to be more specific, when Bastian and I came back to his apartment and had a very hot make-out session on his new sofa. Despite myself, my aunt's hateful words lingered in the back of my mind. I didn't agree with her that Bastian was just using me, but it was infuriating that she had attempted to taint something as pure as my feelings for Bastian with her bullshit. I hated that she was in my head; that the idea of having sex with Bastian triggered the memory of that conversation. Again it was all a part of her plan, her mental abuse, but like Dominic had offered in regard to Bastian's parents, she only had power if I gave it to her. I ignored the same doubt I felt when Dominic shared those words of advice and turned my thoughts to a far more enjoyable subject.
Part of me thought Bastian and I weren't ready and that we should wait until we knew each other better. Another part of me still worried over his parents and how they intended to strike at us to break us up, but all the obstacles, real or imagined, no longer held the power they did because I wanted him. I wanted to touch every inch of him, taste him, wanted that connection to him: both physical and emotional. He was it for me, and so a larger part of me was ready to take that step with him. I could think of scarcely anything else.
It was crazy, because we'd only been together for two months, but he was who I wanted. I suspected I wouldn't be his first, but I wanted him to be mine.
We were sitting at the table Bastian had put in the kitchen so we had a place to do our homework. I hadn't meant to be so abrupt when I asked, “You've had sex before, haven't you?”
By the expression on his face, I had surprised him by both the question and the frankness of it.
“Yes, and not with just one partner.”
I already suspected this, but I couldn't deny I was disappointed. I think that was the word for the emotion his answer stirred.