I stop scratching and force my hand down to the side. “Yeah. Fine.”
“Well,” Bee concludes, “this is uncomfortable.” She sits up with a lowgroan and stretches. “Why the hell are you lying here on the floor?”
“Because there’s nowhere else to go.”
She shoots me a pitying look. “You can talk to me. You know that, right?”Do I know that, though? I’m not so sure. “I know you’re pissed at him,Wren, and you have every right to be. But he is making an effort —”
“‘An effort’?” I laugh deliriously, pulling my legs up to my chest. “This?This bullshit? This isn’t ‘effort.’ This is his way of controlling andmanipulating me. You heard him the other night—I’m nothing more than awalking, talking incubator to him. Actually, scratch that: preferably
