“You know,” they said, addressing me, perhaps aware and not caring that Kirra had reappeared behind them. That’s what I’m saying, this fucker was immune to her. “I really do hope [UNIVERSITY REDACTED] likes her portfolio. Because history has taught us when someone like her that doesn’t get into art school, it never really ends well.”
I had fallen for Asher. I’m hyper-romantic– me falling for a date isn’t so much of an occasion as it is an eventuality. The feelings were mutual, which was a plus, because people who were in love with me were likely to listen to me talk for long periods of time.
“Yeah, I decided that it may be time for you to go home when you suddenly seemed way too fascinated with the owner’s description of the air duct system,” Cotton told me. “He was telling us how he had to install some new vents and you were like ‘Wow! Are you kidding me?'”
“I don’t even remember anything about the air duct system,” I laughed. “No, I’ve just had a really stressful couple of weeks. See, after [April] and I broke up, I joined Tinder.”
I was about to fade… Until I saw the hypocrisy. Until I saw the modified explanations of events and motives. Until a fucking self-proclaimed Unseelie Fae King stood in front of my bedroom door and called me delusional.
Even more infuriating, March put his two cents in without knowing the situation, putting his hypothetical psychology degree to the test. “His alters don’t love you, Xanthe.” He said, in a way that made me vaguely feel as though I were being condescended to by a breathy 900 number.
Maybe they were right. Maybe I never had enough reason to believe about half of my friends actually existed within their own bodies and had their own social security numbers. Except… “But you slept with Aberle? You told me you met him? In person?”