38

Rita

I can't sleep. I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. Scar's room is across the hall from mine. I can picture him doing the same thing, in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. I glance at the clock—it's barely past eleven.

There's a sound in the hall. A creak, a door opening. My heart races as I sit up on an elbow. The apartment's usually so quiet, except I hear footsteps coming toward my room. I'm about to call out when there's a soft knock.

"Rita?" Scar's whisper. "Are you awake?" The knob turns, the door opens.

He's standing there. White t-shirt, black boxer-briefs. Staring in at me with that look like he wants to hold me down and feast on me.

I sit up, hair spilling down my shoulders.

"Couldn't sleep," I say stupidly.

"Neither could I." He takes a step forward but hesitates. "You know we shouldn't."

"I know," I say quietly. "But we can anyway."

"I want to so fucking bad it's killing me."

"I want it too."

"Every night I lie in my room, thinking about you." He comes closer. "Abou