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 away

passes. Hours,

cheap movies, cheap wine, and even

the disdainful look in Logan’s eyes,

the kiss with Karl—keep playing in front of me, crowding

movies on the screen.

to myself as

especially when I was

that I lost, either; it’s

were swapped, tussles were had, insults

were ignored.

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

out of

there tonight. I can’t even

I know I’ll be barraged with a chorus of sympathies

just want to

wine finally empties. I don’t remember

head is enough proof. Groaning,

the kitchen, where another bottle waits for me

make my way

doorway

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

of

misery, or are you going to keep

forward?”

presence is like a slap to the face, or a rush of cold

It takes me completely by surprise

slips from my grasp, wine splashing

and

the kitchen

have warned me,” I say out loud as I grab

to my knees and dabbing it

spread. “Now I’ve spilt wine

main concern, Abby?”

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