“I’m visiting my parents!” I remind him in a hiss, heart pounding against my ribs. “There’s nothing to worryabout.”
“Well…” He shrugs his shoulders, obviously bored with the conversation. “Look, he told me not to come. And he’ll bepissedat me when I get home.” Oliver flashes me a quick grin. “He said we should give you space. That you need to consider everything before next semester.”
I stare at Oliver, unimpressed with the explanation, and he snorts. “I don’t know, though. I think this is kind of romantic, don’t you? I’d offer to buy you coffee, but it’s on the other side ofthe gate, and I don’t want to make you late. Really, I’m not here to bother you or whatever you’re thinking.”
He steps closer, until his presence is blocking out everyone else’s, and leans in once more so his lips brush mine. “Merry Christmas, Blair.” He reaches out and slips something into my pocket. “I know I probably won’t hear from you over break, but that’s okay. That’s fine, because I’ll be right here to pick you up the moment you’re back in town. You’remine,wonder girl.” He kisses me softly, and I’m too stunned to move. “You’re ours. And I can’t wait for you to realize it.”
Oliver kisses me once more, barely seeming to notice that I don’t respond, before he pulls away and beams. “Have a good Christmas,” he says again, loud enough for the people around us to hear. “See you in a few weeks.”
He doesn’t wait for my reply, whether or not I’m going to give one. I don’t even know if I am, and it’s a relief that he doesn’t demand it. Instead, Oliver turns on his heel, a bounce in his step as he heads for the door and holds it open for an older man before exiting himself, and disappearing after a few steps.
It’s then that I reach into my pocket and pull out the Polaroid there. I don’t make a sound; though my lips press together and my hands tremble as I look it over.
Rob’s face is displayed clearly by the flash. There’s blood on his pale, bluish skin, and the wound in his throat reminds me of a grin. It’s been pressed and torn wide, like someone stuck a screwdriver in it and twisted.
Or maybe just used their fingers.
My other hand comes up to trace the letters that readWinter Parting Giftat the bottom, scrawled in Oliver’s graceful handwriting, and I wonder if I’m going to throw up.
A voice from nearby draws my attention, however, and I look up as the older woman with greying hair and glasses perched on her nose says, clearly, “What anicelooking young man.He reminds me of my husband when we were your age. I bet you thank your lucky stars every night for such a polite and handsome fellow, isn’t that right dear?” She winks jovially at me, knobby hands gripping an old purse.
My smile is slow to form, and I glance back down at the picture before shoving it back into the pocket of my jacket. “Yeah,” I agree, trying not to let my voice shake. “He’s really something. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
“You have a good Christmas,” the woman goes on, still smiling. “And I hope your boyfriend has the same.”
“Absolutely,” I say finally, the words tasting like copper on my tongue. “I hope he does too. I’ll be thinking about him every single day.”