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

in a

Hours, maybe. I feel like

cheap wine, and even

disdainful look

kiss with Karl—keep playing in

movies on the screen.

whisper to myself as

I was so sure that I would win.

I lost, either; it’s that

had, insults were thrown, and my

were ignored.

I’ll be a culinary laughingstock. Hell, I might even

of

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

I’ll be barraged with a

Right now, I just want to hide my head in the

of wine finally empties. I don’t remember

fuzziness in my head is enough proof. Groaning, I push my

shuffle into the kitchen, where another bottle waits for

pop that open, too, and make

I’m standing in the doorway with the

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

of

going to wallow in misery,

forward?”

slap to the face, or a rush of

takes me completely by

my grasp, wine splashing onto the carpet—a

white fibers. I curse out loud and nearly fall onto the tile

kitchen

warned me,” I say out loud as I grab the towel off

falling to my knees and dabbing

“Now I’ve spilt wine

Abby?” My wolf’s

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