Heartbreak Read Free Page A

one that isn’t so serious. The one who isn’t about death. The one who isn’t dangerous. “I just want to know something about you. Something real.”
    “Then tell me something real about you, Hannah. That’s my price.”
    “Okay.” I play with the bristles on his chin, distracting myself. “My mom killed herself.”
    Surprise registers in his eyes. “That’s heavy.”
    I look away. So much for keeping things light. “Yeah, well, it’s real. Now you tell me something.”
    “Eugene,” he mutters.
    My gaze snaps back to him. “What?”
    “My name is Eugene Blue.”
    I can’t help it—I laugh. It’s dangerous to laugh at a boy like this, one who’s killed, one who admits it without even looking guilty. But the corner of his lip turns up.
    “Can I call you that?” I tease him.
    He tries to look stern. “Not if you want me to answer.”
    It’s a little piece of him, his name, something only for me. I nuzzle his chest, and he lifts my chin. His eyes are serious. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
    I swallow hard. “Thanks.”
    He leans forward, and his lips touch mine. He doesn’t move them or push his tongue inside. We stay like that, lips against lips, breath mingling.
    When I pull back, he touches his forehead to mine.
    “Why did you do it?” I whisper.
    This time he doesn’t make me spell it out.
    “Because he called me Eugene,” he says with a straight face.
    It’s wrong, but I laugh. He is the only boy who makes me laugh. “For real though.”
    His expression gets hard. “It’s real simple. The people outside—the judge and the jury. They don’t know what it’s like. It’s kill or be killed, and fuck if I’m going to let anyone touch me.”
    My breath catches in my throat. I wish I had that kind of conviction.
    I wish I had that kind of strength.
    “Why aren’t you in jail?”
    He shrugs. “I’m a minor, and there were mitigating circumstances. That’s what they call it—mitigating circumstances.”
    “Oh,” I say, not really understanding.
    “They’d been kicking me around, and it was documented by the caseworker. So it got labeled self-defense. I just have to keep my nose clean until I’m eighteen. Then I can get out of this shithole town. And I’m never coming back.”
    I look down, drawing circles on the gray T-shirt he wears, feeling his steady heartbeat underneath. He wants to get out of this shithole. Of course he does. “Oh.”
    “Do you think I’ll hurt you?” he asks softly.
    “No.” I swallow past the knot in my throat.
    His smile sends a shiver down my spine. “Then you don’t really know me.”
    The truth is that I don’t know him that well. He asks a lot of questions about me—about my history and my foster homes, about my favorite movies and what kind of ice cream I like. Casablanca and mint chocolate chip.
    He doesn’t talk much about himself. All I know is that he’s been kind to me, protected me, even without taking what is due.
    “No,” I say, stronger now. “You’d never hurt me.”
    “I want to.”
    He’s just teasing me. Testing me. That’s what I tell myself. Or maybe he’s just punishing me for asking him directly about the rumors.
    “I don’t believe you,” I say. My voice sounds braver than I feel.
    “No?” He studies me lazily, from my arm slung over his chest down to my leg bent over his knee. “You have no idea what goes on in my head at night. The things I dream about doing to you.”
    My breath catches. “Like what?”
    His look seems to strip me bare—past clothes and nakedness, to the core of my being, where I’m both frightened and excited by his words. “Like bending you over and taking you from behind. Like tying you up so I could do anything I want to you.”
    That heavy beat is my blood rushing faster. He’s strong and violent—he doesn’t even hide that. And I’m tangled up, my limbs entwined with his, caught in a spider’s web. “What makes you think I would let you?”
    The corner of his mouth tilts