Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

Chatper 251

Abby

My apartment is dark when I finally get home tonight. It still smells faintly of

fresh paint from the new coat that my landlord put on, but I can still sense the

lingering scent of smoke, too.

I decide to avoid the harsh glow of the kitchen lights as I plop the wine glass

that’s been tucked under my arm onto the counter island, followed by the bag of

takeout food that I picked up on my way home.

It’s still warm, the grease beginning to seep through the bag as the faint smell of

garlic and onions permeates through the air. On any other night, I might be

delighted to dig in; but honestly, I have no appetite tonight. Even the thought of

Enter title…

food makes me sick after everything, after all of the failed dishes. But I know I

need to eat, and if I don’t, I know I’ll regret it later.

For a moment, I dig through my cupboard for a plate and some silverware, but

eventually decide to opt out of the plate.

The cork gives a subtle pop as I open the wine. No glass, I decide. Not tonight. I

take a swig straight from the bottle, the sharp taste of alcohol momentarily

cutting through the numbness. It’s a start.

I crash onto the couch, the plush cushions a welcome comfort after being on my

feet all day. The TV flickers to life with a soft buzz a moment later, and I navigate

to drown myself in a world away

Hours, maybe. I feel like

cheap wine, and even cheaper food. But the

disdainful look in Logan’s eyes,

kiss with Karl—keep playing in

movies on the screen.

whisper to myself as

now, especially when I was so

even just that I lost, either; it’s that I

tussles were had, insults were

were ignored.

be a culinary laughingstock. Hell, I might even

out of my own

bear to go there tonight. I can’t even bear to

I’ll be barraged with a chorus of sympathies that will only

I just want

wine finally

head is enough proof. Groaning, I

the kitchen, where another bottle waits for me

pop that open, too, and make my way back to the

standing in the doorway

romance scene on the TV, that I

of

going to wallow in misery, or are you

forward?”

the face, or a rush of cold wind on

completely by surprise

bottle slips from my grasp, wine splashing onto

fibers. I curse out loud and nearly fall onto

the kitchen for

out loud as I grab

my knees and dabbing it into the carpet before

spread. “Now I’ve

really your main concern, Abby?” My wolf’s voice

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