Na Rae Park Novels & Stories

The walls tick as they cool. She is not Mia. He knows that. He keeps almost saying the other name anyway. Rae. Black cropped top stuck to her spine. Gold hoop warm from her skin. A mouth that argued with the support act and won. Same voltage. Same way of standing like the room should adjust. Kenji watches her throat when she drinks — the lift, the swallow, the shine of it — and has to look away because the ghost is in the gesture, not the face. “Don’t look at me like I’m someone else,” Rae says.

I hear a loud gulp coming from his throat as he hungrily gawks down on me. I look down and see my shirt is open wide, only covering my hard nipples, leaving my wet cleavage on display. I immediately close the shirt, feeling too much exposed. I hear a low growl. Ryan’s hand grips my neck forcefully, I feel myself standing on the tip of my toes as he lifts me up from my neck. "Ra- Ry-an." He lowers his head to my level, I see his eyes have gold in them. Gold burning in fire. His eyes give a distinct bipolar look, like he can’t decide if he wants to rape me or punch my face.