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 world away

passes. Hours,

cheap movies, cheap wine, and even cheaper

look in

with Karl—keep playing in front of me,

movies on the screen.

myself

I was so sure

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

were had, insults were thrown, and

were ignored.

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

of my own

tonight. I can’t even bear

a chorus of sympathies that

I just want

bottle of wine

fuzziness in my head is enough proof.

the kitchen, where another bottle waits for

too, and make my way back to the living

standing in the doorway with the

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

back of my

just going to wallow in misery, or

forward?”

face, or a rush of cold wind on a

by surprise

wine

out loud and nearly fall onto the

into the kitchen for

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

and dabbing it into the carpet before the

spread. “Now I’ve spilt wine

concern, Abby?” My wolf’s

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