Chapter 18

I went home in a mood dangerously close to a funk. It was wonderful to have received the book and the opera ticket, of course, but I would have liked a little more personal contact. Probably I was just being selfish — who knew what claims the Devil had on his time? — but I'd found myself craving even an email or a phone call the way a junkie craves his next fix. Not good, not good at all. I'd thought I was maintaining some sort of equilibrium — barely — but that seemed to have changed suddenly. Why?

Because you let him hold you, you idiot, I told myself. Before that, it was safely casual, despite his claims of wanting to kiss you, but after you realized what it felt like to have his arms around you, it wasn't so easy to push him away, was it?

So had I irrevocably screwed up? Had I passed the point of no return? And did I even care?