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

drown myself in a world

sure how much time passes. Hours, maybe. I feel like I’m caught

and even cheaper food.

look in Logan’s

Karl—keep playing in

movies on the screen.

I whisper to myself as I

must look pathetic now, especially when I was so

just that I lost, either; it’s

swapped, tussles were had,

were ignored.

a culinary laughingstock.

out of my own

there tonight. I can’t even bear

I know I’ll be barraged with a chorus of

want to

point, the bottle of wine finally empties. I don’t

fuzziness in my head is enough proof. Groaning, I

into the kitchen, where

open, too, and make

standing in the doorway

a romance scene on the TV, that I hear it: my wolf’s voice,

of

you just going to wallow in misery, or

forward?”

a slap to the face,

It takes me completely by

slips from my grasp, wine splashing onto the

curse out loud and nearly fall onto the tile

kitchen

I say out loud

return, falling to my knees and dabbing it into the carpet before the

“Now I’ve spilt

concern, Abby?” My

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