The Re-invitation.

(SLADE'S POV)

I walked away from her, my hands shoved deep in my pockets. The sound of her voice—that sad, defeated tone—was still echoing in my head.

"I don't think I fit in with you and your friends."

She had said it like it was a fact. Like she had already accepted that she didn't belong. That she never would.

It made me want to punch something. And even more so because I know it’s my fault.

I made it to the front door before I stopped. My hand was on the handle. I could leave. I could go to the party. I could forget about her and the way she looked at me like I was just another person who had let her down.

But I didn't move.

I stood there for a long moment, staring at the door. Then I turned around and walked back.

She was still on the couch. Still reading. But I noticed the way her eyes weren't moving across the page anymore. She was pretending.

I didn't announce myself this time. I just stood in the doorway, watching her.

"You're a terrible liar," I said.

She jumped again, nearly dropping her book. "What are you still doing here?"

"I changed my mind."

"About what?"

I walked toward her, stopping just a few feet away. "About leaving you here alone."

She stared at me, her blue eyes searching my face. "Why?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't. How was I supposed to tell her that the thought of her sitting in this empty mansion by herself, feeling unwanted and alone, was making my chest ache?

"Because I'm not a complete monster," I said instead.

She laughed, but it was bitter. "Debatable."

"Ouch." I pressed a hand to my chest like she'd wounded me. "That hurts."

She rolled her eyes. "You've called me worse."

"I've called you worse." I acknowledged. "And I've done worse. But I'm trying to change. So shut up and let me try."

She blinked. "What are you talking about?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Look, I know I've been an ass. I know I've said things I shouldn't have. Done things I shouldn't have."

She was quiet for a moment. Then she asked, "Is this your way of apologizing?"

I considered the question. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"I'm not good at apologies. Never have been." I sat down on the other end of the couch, keeping some distance between us. "But I'm trying."

She stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "Why? Why are you trying now?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

I couldn't tell her that she was the first person in years to make me feel something. That when I kissed her, I felt alive for the first time since my mother disappeared. That I was terrified of how much I wanted her.

"I don't know," I said finally. "Maybe I'm just tired of being angry."

She studied me for a long moment. Then she said, "I'm not going to your party."

"I know."

"And I'm still mad at you."

"I know."

"And I don't trust you."

I flinched at that. It stung more than I wanted to admit.

"I know," I said again, my voice quieter.

She sighed and leaned back against the couch. "So what do you want from me, Slade?"

I turned to look at her. The girl who had broken into my room four years ago. The girl who had written me a poem I still kept hidden in my nightstand. The girl who had somehow wormed her way into my chest and refused to leave.

"I don't know," I admitted. "I just know I can't stay away."

Her eyes widened in surprise.

“Well I can’t stay away and have fun when I don’t know yiu are having good as well.” I said with a shrug as I hit my own tongue for letting my tongue slip.

“I-“ I started to say but he interrupted me with a deep groan that told of a lot of frustration.

“Why don’t you just come please come on, come on in and see if there’s a chance you’re going to like this party?” I urged.

Her lips parted and then closed. Then she sighed deeply.

“Fine. I’ll go get changed and come along.” She surprised me by saying. She dragged herself up from the couch and started walking into the house.