Forbidden Fate (Crowne Point 3)

Forget me.

“I don’t want your grilled cheese, Snitch,” I said, voice cold. “Stop thinking about me, forget about me, because I don’t give a shit about you anymore.”

Her head slashed over her shoulder, glare catching mine. “Poor, sad Grayson Crown. No one’s ever been kind to you, so you look at kindness with distrust. I don’t think about you, Grayson, I pity you.”

She walked away and I wanted her to turn back around, show me her face—show me anything.

But she kept walking.

Holy shit.

That glare, those words, that glimpse of the Story that always called me on my shit. It was like a drop of heroin in my blood.

I slid into the chair, gripping the armrest so I didn’t run after her, staring at the grilled cheese.

I couldn’t fucking eat it.

It was a couple hours before Lottie came back, and by then I’d slid into bed. Lottie sat on the edge, knees to her chest, her gown flowing around her body.

“Why is there grilled cheese?” she asked.

I don’t know why I had the urge to lie. I hadn’t technically done anything wrong.

“I think someone sent it up for you.”

“That’s strange…I hate grilled cheese.” She crawled to me, lying on my chest, still in her gown. “I’m sorry…about before.”

I eyed the cold sandwich. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about, Lottie.”

I don’t think about you, Grayson, I pity you.

Later that night I couldn’t sleep.

I stared at the floor, picturing Snitch before she’d crawled into my bed, into my veins. I missed Snitch. Missed her raspy voice in the dark. Missed her in my sheets. Missed her talking with me when I couldn’t fucking sleep.

I crawled into bed with Lottie, wondering if she could be that person for me.

“Lottie.”

She woke up sleepy.

“What? What is it? Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. I just…” It took a minute to work past the mental block. The part that says, You’re a pussy. Roll over. Go to sleep. No one gives a shit.

“Do you want to talk?” I eventually managed. “I hate steak. My favorite food is grilled cheese—”

She’d fallen back asleep.

I climbed out of bed and went rooting around the one bag I never let the servants touch, grabbing my journal.

Do you write everything in green?

One time Snitch had found this. She didn’t know what was inside, the importance of what she’d found.

I can’t talk to her. I don’t know how she’s dealing with all of the new attention, but I can guess, and I know it’s probably not good.

I couldn’t give her anything but this notebook.