Chasing His Kickass Luna Back by Jane Above Story

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

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

of cheap movies, cheap wine, and even cheaper food.

look in Logan’s eyes, the

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

movies on the screen.

I whisper to myself as

especially when I was so sure that I would

it’s that I was humiliated

swapped, tussles were had, insults were thrown, and

were ignored.

a culinary laughingstock. Hell,

out of my own

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

a chorus of

worse. Right now, I just want to hide my

wine finally empties. I don’t remember finishing

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

and shuffle into the kitchen, where another bottle waits for me

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

in the doorway with the second wine bottle to my

I hear

back of my

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

forward?”

to the face,

me completely by surprise in my

my grasp, wine splashing

I curse out loud and nearly

into the kitchen for

out loud as

return, falling to my knees and dabbing it

“Now I’ve spilt

Abby?” My wolf’s