THE DEATH OF EVE

EVE

I hated him.

I hated myself.

I hated  Xavier.

I hate EVERYONE.

I wanted to leave, and I wanted to leave right then.

My mind was made up. So I grabbed my suitcase from under the bed—Xavier’s bed—and started stuffing my stuff back in. I couldn’t take it anymore.

Space.

I needed space.

From him, from the curse, from the madness. I needed to leave. As soon as my suitcase was packed, I slipped on a new hoodie.

Call me chicken, but I didn’t like whatever was going on with Xavier and I. It was getting dark outside, so I figured I’d go back home for a while—no time to look for a hotel. I’d look for a place tomorrow.

I rolled the suitcase down the stairs, but a wave of sweet, tasty chicken hit me hard, and I started salivating.

No. No food.

I hit my stomach as it grumbled, frowning. No food.

Xavier and Sebastian looked up at me. Confusion ran through both of their expressi