Chapter 142

"What’s going on?" I asked, still embarrassed.

"I’m considering if it’s worth taking a slap from you if I kiss you in front of that bastard."

Kiss me? My chest tightened. A euphoric state filled my veins.

"Who?"

"Daniel."

Dante didn’t like me being close to Daniel. It was unnerving because he and I were friends. Maybe he disliked how close we were becoming because of the crush Daniel had on Kayleen.

"I…" I stammered. "Maybe, I…"

"I’m not serious, pulchra," he murmured, leaving the imprint of his teeth on my earlobe.

I stood frozen, watching him walk back to his friends. From the murmurs of the onlookers, they assumed he had threatened me and I was terrified.

The truth was, it had been a threat.

But to my heart.

I stomped my foot and returned to my friends. Kayleen and Daniel looked just as stunned as I was, but their need to talk about it was infinitely greater.

"Why did you go talk to him?" Cullbert asked.

I shook my head.

"Let’s go back to the greenhouse. I need to see flowers and hear the end of the teachers’ gossip."

"Don’t even think about escaping me," Kayleen exclaimed. "I told you not to get close to that guy. He’s dangerous."

"I agree," Daniel wisely added.

I turned to both of them.

"He didn’t do anything to me. I’m fine. See?"

"Then why did you go over there?"

Because I had an unnecessary outburst of anger seeing him with other people.

"School stuff."

"Lie to me again, and I’ll shove the carnivorous plant up your butt," Kayleen threatened, scaring Daniel beside us. I held my stance. My best friend was one of the few people I was sure would never hurt me.

"You need to protect yourself, got it?"

"He’s not a dragon."

"But he’s more than capable of turning into one," she concluded, pulling me along again.

I looked back, searching for Dante. My chest melted when I saw his dark eyes resting on me. I couldn’t hold the eye contact for long, but his intensity spread through my blood quickly. Just as it had been doing for the past three years.

***

I arrived home exhausted. I played with Shakespeare for a while. I had already named him, and I thought it suited the intelligence of my favorite little pet.

I needed to study and train for the school orchestra competition the following week. My parents were busy at the hospital, as always. In recent months, they had been pulling me to spend my days with them there. I knew it was a cheap trick to convince me to become a doctor too. The truth was, my plans were different, and they didn’t involve spending so much time away from home because I’d have to run a hospital and save lives.

My mind twisted with a sense of protection when I remembered the day I saw six bodies and didn’t care about any of them—except for the boy who had probably brought all that chaos with him.

I still believed he hadn’t played any role in it and that it was likely something much bigger. However, every time I hoped Faulkner would deny it, he brought the abyss with him and made it clear it wasn’t a lie. Nothing he showed about himself was a lie.

I preferred to accept his kind side.

The glass rattled the moment I put on the last piece of my pajamas.

Three knocks.

A smile spread across my lips, and I ran to the window, opening it. Dante was already hanging there, waiting to come in.

He had just showered too. His wet hair left droplets on the sleeves of his long white shirt. I admired how, with each passing day, Dante grew more handsome. More charming. More intriguing.

Even his breathing had become something worth admiring.

"Good evening, Emilia Gray from next door."

The memory hit like a blow.

"You’re an idiot."

"And you’re a lioness when you’re jealous."

"I wasn’t jealous," I said, continuing to dry my curls with a towel.

"Of course not, little one."

Dante flopped onto my bed on his back, then placed a small box on my nightstand. He picked up the book resting there. It was Hamlet. Dante had already read it, which irritated me deeply because we usually shared our reading days, but he didn’t mind rereading it with me.

"So… Do you like any of the girls?" I asked.

"What girls?"

"The ones with you, Cole, and Jaxon."

"I don’t remember. Were they your friends?"

"I thought they were your friends," I remarked, curious. His indifference made me happy, giving me space to draw closer to him again.

"Don’t play dumb, Gray. You’re the only friend I have. The only annoying one, by the way."

Butterflies fluttered in my stomach, filling my chest with something very, very good.

"What do you think?" Dante asked, staring at the book.

I snapped out of my thoughts.

"I don’t know. It’s strange. The Ghost is kind of silly."

"I think they’re Hamlet’s demons," he said. "When his father died, his twisted mind replaced his logic."

"You think he was crazy? He says he pretends to be mad," I asked, uncertain.

"People pretend to be what they are to avoid facing their reality." Dante sat up, closing the book. "But no, I don’t think he’s mad. He’s fully aware of his actions."

"He’s vengeful."

"Vengeance is the first step toward madness. But throughout the play, Hamlet makes it clear he’s struggling between what others expect of him and what he expects of himself. He fights this until his death, only to realize none of it was worth it. That nothing was as he imagined."

I observed Dante closely, his gaze fixed on the cover with the title The Tragedy of Hamlet.

He rested his arms on his knees, bent on the bed, making him terribly attractive with all his mysterious atoms and glorious chaos.

"The rest is silence," I said, drawing a friendly smile from Dante. He enjoyed when I quoted Shakespeare. There was something in it that brought him satisfaction.

"I still believe the Ghost was real."

"You’re too lazy to interpret texts."

"I just believe in a less elaborate version. To be or not to be? Isn’t that exactly what he says?"

Faulkner let out a soft laugh.

"Come here."

He always asked me to come closer with a certain tenderness. It was an intimate kind of request that only the two of us shared.

I went, positioning myself in front of him. With his finger, Dante gestured for me to turn around and sit. He quickly grabbed my ribbon, his fingers delicately grazing my curls. Then, he tied it gently, as he always did when he came to my room.

Though we never spoke about it, Faulkner seemed to find something therapeutic in tying my voluminous hair, and I discovered a small piece of paradise in having part of me adored by him.

It was the tender side no one else saw. The dark and twisted Dante everyone expected was, in truth, gentle and extremely sensitive with people.

Or perhaps just with me.

"Dante, you shouldn’t smoke," I began.

"It’s nothing serious," he replied, finishing the bun. As he stepped away, he took my hand and started writing phrases on it.

He had this habit of transcribing what he read onto my skin as if it helped him memorize it. I let him. I liked being one of the drafts of his mind.

"I’ll meet death one way or another," he continued.

"You’re speeding up the process," I replied, annoyed by his tasteless joke.

"Is it that easy? I hope she takes me tomorrow," he teased, still focused on writing on my skin.

Death, who sucked the honey from his lips, had yet to conquer his beauty.

"Don’t joke about that!" I exclaimed, though curious about what he was transcribing onto my skin. It was the saddest part of Romeo and Juliet.

"Relax, Gray." His warm hand clasped my wrist, pulling me closer to his lap. "I’ll go after you."

I feigned normalcy with his face so close to mine.

"I’ll die old," I retorted, trying to steady my voice.

"Then I will too."

"I’ll die old without smoking."

He was quick to grab the pack of cigarettes and throw it out the window.

"Happy now?"

I gave a small amused smile.

"Very."

Dante didn’t leave room for more conversation. His eyes darted to the watch on his wrist before he stood up and grabbed the little box.

"What is it?"

Before I could close my mouth, darkness enveloped the room. The light evaporated, and the streetlights that usually illuminated the neighborhood at midnight stopped working.

"Is it a blackout?" I asked, leaning out the window. There wasn’t a speck of light except for the stars in the sky. "Dante, my God. What…"

I turned around, my pupils dilating at the sight of a small lit candle atop a tiny cake. Dante stood with one hand in his pocket and the other holding what appeared to be a birthday cake.

Birthday.

Oh, my God.