IT WAS LATE—late enough that Leda wasn’t even sure whether Watt was still here. She circled the fringes of the party, clutching a pineapple cocktail so tightly that her fingers had hardened into claws around it. She hadn’t even wanted this drink, but some passing waiter had handed it to her, and Leda quickly learned that there were even more waiters walking around with pitchers, refilling her fluted glass every time she took a couple of sips. She’d begun to revise her opinion of the stuff. It might be sickeningly sweet, but at least it was never empty.
She reached up and touched her hair, which was falling in sweaty curls down the back of her neck. The old familiar fear was prickling at her again, the panic that no matter what she did, she would never be pretty enough, clever enough, enough enough. And on top of it was the newer, even sharper fear that someone would learn what she’d done on the roof and her life would come crashing down in a million fiery pieces.
She wasn’t sure why she’d gotten so upset earlier, except that Watt had been acting genuinely nice to her, and she knew it all must be an act because he hated her. How could he not? After everything she’d done to him, drugging him and tricking him and blackmailing him into attending this stupid party, he must wish he’d never met her in the first place.
Like always, the thought of that night—of Eris—made Leda feel cold all over. It’s not my fault, she reminded herself, but she knew deep down that the words were a lie. It was her fault. She’d pushed Eris; and now she was at a party, alone and unwanted, and maybe that was what she deserved anyway.
“There you are,” she exclaimed. Watt was standing alone, hands behind his back as he studied one of the weird modern art installations near the exit.
“You told me to back the hell off. So I did,” Watt pointed out logically.
Leda bristled a little at the reminder of her earlier words. “I noticed you didn’t leave Avery alone,” she said snidely.
The dig didn’t elicit the reaction she’d hoped for. Watt just shrugged and offered her his arm, not angry at all. “Can I take you home?”
Leda glanced around. The party was beginning to slow down: most people still here were either too old or too young for Leda to care about, including several freshmen from school who were clearly thrilled to be at a bar without an age-scanner. Her parents and Jamie had left over an hour ago. Leda tilted her head at Watt, still inexplicably determined to piss him off.
“You can take me home. But don’t get any ideas,” she warned.
Watt chuckled, not answering.
When they finally pulled up to her apartment, he walked around the hover and chivalrously opened the door for her. Leda brushed past him and stormed up the stairs without a backward glance. She felt like the flexiglass from that damned fishbowl they’d been partying in, holding back an endless muddy torrent and about to burst from the pressure.
“Good night, Leda.” Watt started toward the hover. Before she’d even thought about it, Leda was calling him back.
“I’m sorry, where do you think you’re going?”
Watt turned around. “Home?” he asked, as if it was a trick question.
“You don’t leave until I say you can leave.”
She watched in delight as the last vestiges of Watt’s self-control snapped and he stormed up the steps to her, his hands clenched in anger. “Seriously, Leda, you need to stop. What more do you want from me?”
What she wanted was an outburst, a reaction—something that she could push against. Watt was the only person in the world who knew what she’d done and would actually call her out on it, and she was sick of him playing nice when they both knew he would rather play dirty. She put her hands on his shoulders and shoved him.
Watt stumbled backward, clearly shocked by the physical contact. Finally. It felt good to do something.
The silence roared in her ears. Watt stared at her without blinking. “You’re despicable, you know that, right?” he said slowly.
Leda didn’t care. She was suddenly so sick of pretending, of making her whole life one massive charade where she went to school and to parties as if nothing at all was wrong. No one even knew her anymore.
Except Watt. He knew the unfathomable things she’d done, had seen the gaping black hole inside her, and for some reason that knowledge didn’t bother her.
“Congratulations, Watt, you know all my deepest, darkest secrets.” Her voice was low and throaty. “But guess what? I know yours too. Because we’re the same, Watt, you and me.”
“You and I are nothing alike.” He stepped close, his face right up next to hers, his breath ragged. “Go to hell, Leda.”
The entire world was spinning, and then it was still; and without Leda knowing how it had happened, Watt’s lips were on hers.
She pulled him forward, his hands tangled in her hair. Leda felt like her whole body was one exposed nerve ending. She tried not to make any noise as they stumbled into the hallway, but it didn’t matter; her parents’ master was on the third floor, and they wouldn’t expect her to bring home a boy anyway. She’d never done it before.
When they fell backward onto her bed, Watt hesitated. “I still can’t stand you,” he told her. His dark eyes danced with something she couldn’t read. She reached behind her back to unfasten her dress, feeling like a primordial, vengeful goddess.
“Like I said before, I can’t stand you, either. Now shut up,” she told him, and put her mouth over his.
Watt’s skin felt warm and oddly reassuring against hers. Leda clung wordlessly to him. It was glorious and dangerous and utterly without compassion. Watt could never find out how much she needed him right now, she promised herself: the strong clean lines of his body, the strong solidity of him, the bitter press of his anger pulling her back from the edge of the vortex. Holding her demons at bay, for just a little longer.