Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Why do you call me Moth?”
“Do you know the symbolism?” he asks, surprising me.
I look up from my plate to find his eyes on me. “Ugly, stupid things that burn themselves up.”
One eyebrow rises in that way of his and I hate how shallow I am for falling for his easy beauty.
“Life is a matter of perspective, Allegra. Have you ever wanted something so badly, even knowing how bad it is for you, that you’d be willing to die for it? Think of the moth wanting so badly to be a part of the flame she’s unable to resist even knowing it will burn her up. Consume her. That’s neither ugly nor stupid. The symbolism, well, that’s beautiful.”
I pick up my coffee, unsure how to respond. His answer is not what I expected. “I don’t think they think all that through.”
“No, you’re probably right,” he says, one corner of his mouth curved upward. I can’t tell if he’s laughing at me or what. “But don’t get a big head over it. It was the small wings,” he says with a disarming wink, and I have to tell myself he’s just insulting me. Definitely not flirting.
“Cassian means hollow and vain,” I blurt out.
He smiles and although that smile makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, there’s a shadow in them, under them. He’s got something on his mind. Whatever this is, this casual almost-flirtation, it’s an act. “Did you have to look that up?”
I roll my eyes. “How would I do that? You’ve cut me off from the world, remember?”
“What would life be like to simply be hollow and vain, Moth?” he asks, clearly unbothered by my attempt to insult him. Those shadows deepen as he considers his own question making me think I see something else in his eyes. Sadness. Like last night. I saw this last night too, briefly, beneath whatever else was going on. “Easier, I think,” he says.
“What?” I ask, having lost the thread of our conversation.
“Life would be easier if we were simply hollow and vain.”
I think he’s right about that. But again, I’m left uncertain, confused.
“What’s your password?” he asks, snapping out of it, back to asshole Cassian again as he picks up my iPad.
Well, asshole Cassian I can handle better than this deeper, more profound, sad version. “That’s none of your business.” I eat a bite of eggs, then another, famished.
“Tell it to me all the same.”
I look up at him, forgetting the impact those eyes have on me. He shaved this morning. I’m used to him with a five o’clock shadow and seeing him clean-shaven after the overgrown beard of last night is kind of like seeing him barefoot. It makes him appear weirdly vulnerable.
He’s not though. His nickname is Reaper. He earned that name. I remember what my brother said that triggered him. I want to ask him what Michael meant, but can guess. Did Cassian kill his brother?
“Password,” he repeats.
“0505.”
He glances at me like he knows it’s the date my father died. I don’t know why I used it. The new iPad came a few days after the accident. It was the first thing I thought of as I was setting it up. He punches in the code and starts to look through my apps.
“What do you expect to find?”
“One never knows.” He swipes through a few things before opening WhatsApp. As soon as he does, I see the slew of messages as the app catches up. “Who’s Jared?” he asks.
“Give me that!” I try to snatch it from him, but he holds it out of reach and scans the messages.
“Boyfriend?” he asks, eyebrows raised.
I stand on the footrest of the stool to try to grab the iPad. “He’s in my class. Give it to me!”
“He’s asking how you’ve been. I guess he missed you. He wants to know if you want to get coffee, and he’ll catch you up on what you missed.” He grins. “I’ll let him know you’re neither interested nor available.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Unless you’re interested, of course?” he asks, looking at Jared’s profile picture. “Not that it matters. You’re not available.” He gives me a grin then returns his attention to the iPad. “Someone should tell him you’re out of his league.”
My mouth is open to respond, but that last part makes me stop. Does he think I’m pretty?
No, Dummy. He thinks you look like a moth.
He switches the iPad off and sets it aside. I realize he’s waiting for me to say something smart probably, but he’s managed to unbalance me yet again.
“You’re such an asshole,” is all I come up with, which is poor, I know.
“So you’ve said.” He lifts out my sketchbook. “You draw?”
“That’s private.” I take it. That he lets me have.
“They’re actually good, Moth.”
“If only I cared what you think, Reaper,” I tell him.