The Fabric of our Souls

Lanston leans over the table and grabs a piece of fried chicken from my plate. “You sure you don’t want it?” He raises a brow, pulling the fried batter off and popping it in his mouth.

“Yeah, I’m not very hungry today.” I look down at my finger. The cut is already scabbing over and the itch to slice another finger is eating away at me. “The hospital food made my stomach upset.”

“Shit.” Lanston frowns at me. His brown hair is hardly visible beneath his baseball cap but his hazel eyes pin me with worry. “You weren’t trying to hurt yourself that badly, were you?”

That’s a hard question to answer.

Yes? No.

My hand unconsciously glides to my side, where my ribs got cut a little too deep. Jericho freaked out when he found me in the greenhouse. I was leaning over the drain in the storage room and trying to stop the bleeding. Chills crawl up my spine at the memory of that night, and my hands tremble beneath the table.

“Of course not,” I say in a low voice.

Lanston stares at me like he doesn’t buy it, but nods anyway. It’s good that he doesn’t like to talk about that night. No one does.

“I heard you had a little excursion. Jericho said he reported you missing just to find you in your bed the next morning.” Lanston laughs and looks over his shoulder to see if our counselor is in the cafeteria or not.

I smile too. Unlike my new little muse, I know how to make it reach my eyes. “Yeah, I couldn’t stay cooped up in that fucking room for another night. I was only stretching my legs. You know Jericho, he’s wound up way too tight.” I glance out the window and watch the rain fall like it’ll never stop.

I don’t tell Lanston that I found something I hadn’t been looking for and that she’s here too, somehow.

Fate can be funny like that—if you believe in those kinds of things.

My eyes widen as I see two women dancing in the courtyard, their clothes fully drenched and feet bare in the grass like it isn’t fucking freezing out there.

“Who’s that?” Lanston says slowly, as if he’s in a trance. He stands from his chair, walking over to the window and pressing his hand against the pane, staring at Wynn.

I get up and stand next to him, watching my lovely, sad roommate with pale-pink hair dance in the rain like the storm calls to her soul. Her sweater clings to her flesh and reveals just how thin she is. It hurts deep in the chambers of my heart, that a creature so woeful and enchanting as her wants to die.

It hurts.

It makes me despise her more than anything, yet crave her all the same.

I need to find out why.

“She’s my new roommate,” I mutter indifferently as I slide my hands into my pockets, watching Wynn dance with Yelina like a lost fool.

Lanston snaps his head to look at me. “You’re kidding.”

I keep my eyes on her body. She’s moving like a siren, beckoning me to go to her. I shake my head. “I’m not kidding.”

I want to touch her, to feel her. To bite her and tell her how much her mind repulses me.

I want her to live.

“Fuck—I guess I’ll be sleeping over in your room in a few nights then,” Lanston teases, but I glare at him. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead, a curious light flickers in his eyes. “She’s a heartstopper.”

“Not her,” I warn him.

Lanston’s condition is just as bad as Wynn’s. Two people who want to die, sleeping in the same bed—no. I won’t allow it. He’s so close to getting better.

I look over at him and watch as his thumb traces over the old scars on his wrists. We all have scars here, some deeper than the rest. My eyes linger around his neck, and a cold shudder shoots down my spine. The night I found his body limp in the showers resurfaces in my mind and my chest grows heavy.

I’ll never forget the way his eyes lost their glimmer for a moment. He’ll never feel that low again, not if I can help it.

He wraps his arm around my shoulder and laughs. “Well, at least tell me her name.”

“Coldfox! Bergmot!” Jericho shouts as he struts across the courtyard, startling the two of them. They take off running, Yelina guiding Wynn to the west wing’s entrance.

My bones yearn to follow her, but I remain standing still.

“Coldfox?” Lanston smiles as her last name leaves his lips.

“Her name is Wynn,” I mumble as my thumb caresses the fresh scab on my forefinger, sending small thrills of pain through my nerves. “And she’s mine.”