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

sure how much time passes. Hours,

cheap wine, and even cheaper food. But the

the disdainful look in Logan’s

Karl—keep playing in front

movies on the screen.

to myself as I

when I was so sure that I

it’s that I

tussles were had, insults were

were ignored.

culinary laughingstock. Hell, I might even

out of my own

I can’t even bear to glance at

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

I just want to hide my head

of wine finally

my head is enough proof. Groaning, I push my way

couch and shuffle into the kitchen, where another bottle waits

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

then, as I’m standing in the doorway with the second

scene on the TV, that I hear it: my

of my

just going to wallow in misery, or are you going to

forward?”

face, or a rush of

completely by surprise in my

slips from my grasp, wine splashing onto the

I curse out loud and nearly fall

the kitchen for a

warned me,” I say out loud as

knees and dabbing

“Now I’ve spilt

Abby?” My wolf’s voice is

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