*A combination of righteous fury and the need to disappear as quickly as possible gets her through the noisy crowd, past witches in glittering high heels and cigar-smoking wizards--but by the time she emerges into the chilly relative quiet outside Club Soixante-Dix, hurt and shame and the whole rest of the night have caught up to her. Still, being beautiful and obviously miserable has its perks: within seconds, she’s secured a gold-tipped cigarette from a mustachioed wizard and stalked off to a quiet bit of wall to have her sulk.
But sulk isn’t even a strong enough word for how legitimately upset she is. As she watches the little curl of smoke rising into the night air, arms wrapped around her, teeth gritted, Amrita’s honest enough with herself to admit she doesn’t know what she’s even doing out here. Perhaps he’ll come out and apologize, the way he did yesterday after Esmerelda. Perhaps he won’t notice she’s gone. She’s not sure which she even prefers, or what she’s supposed to do now. Maybe she’ll simply leave and let him and stupid Damien and stupid Rose sort it out, a prospect that’s more and more tempting by the second. But she’s not sure whether she dares, exactly--all that she’s sure of is that she is chilly, and a bit drunk, and on her third cigarette of the evening, and considering whether what’s left of her dignity can stand a bit of public waterworks.*
But sulk isn’t even a strong enough word for how legitimately upset she is. As she watches the little curl of smoke rising into the night air, arms wrapped around her, teeth gritted, Amrita’s honest enough with herself to admit she doesn’t know what she’s even doing out here. Perhaps he’ll come out and apologize, the way he did yesterday after Esmerelda. Perhaps he won’t notice she’s gone. She’s not sure which she even prefers, or what she’s supposed to do now. Maybe she’ll simply leave and let him and stupid Damien and stupid Rose sort it out, a prospect that’s more and more tempting by the second. But she’s not sure whether she dares, exactly--all that she’s sure of is that she is chilly, and a bit drunk, and on her third cigarette of the evening, and considering whether what’s left of her dignity can stand a bit of public waterworks.*
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