That night, Spencer snuck into Ashley’s bed, careful not to irritate Ashley’s cut with her teeth or desperate lips. She had awoken early, in time to make it back to her room before her uncle got up to make breakfast. She had sat up for hours, staring at the log ceiling, replaying her scene with Ashley in the flour, knowing and believing that Ashley’s blood would forever flow within her veins, protecting her from harm, watching over her when she slept.

Her alarm clocked beeped, and Spencer’s mind stumbled awkwardly out of the dream. It was 9pm on a Tuesday. She was still pretty sure of that fact. Her headache had ceased and she rose carefully from the bed, aware that the sudden rush of blood from her head would irritate the bug, causing it to thrash about wildly, driving pins and needles into the sensitive and vital mush that flopped around inside. She sniffed once, her eyes resting on the trashcan.

Her legs felt thick and heavy, as if she were attempting to wade through water, the metal receptacle, with each step, slowly scooting out of her reach. She dropped to the ground, her tailbone absorbing most of the impact. Her legs circled the can, her slender shaking hands clutching it from sides, tilting it upside down, the particles and fragments of ash trickling to the floor. It lay in an oddly organized pile, a few recognizable letters still visible in Ashley’s handwriting. Spencer ran her fingers through the carpet and over the mess, as the pieces blackened her fingers and palm. She rubbed the material into the pads of her fingers, desperately wanting to scoop it all up and smear it into the pores of her face, her desire for this love worn like a mask. That way no one would know that the bug was inside, eating away at her thoughts.

Ashley had thought it was working…that Keats’s poem was right. But, neither Ash nor Hildner, nor Spencer could prophesize this. Spencer could not give Ashley what was deserved. The pain that controlled her mind had seen to that. This was no angst-ridden love poem, or some fucking Romeo and Juliet-like tryst. And Spencer wanted Ashley, more than she wanted the goddamn moon. But, this thing in her brain wouldn’t let Spencer have her. It wanted Spencer all to itself. There was no sharing allowed.