I stroke his head once and leave his room.
I reach his door. Without knocking, I twist the doorknob. It turns.
I don’t know how safe he thinks his house is, leaving his door unlocked. Or perhaps he just doesn’t fear death at all.
I enter. The white light hits my eyes, sobering me slightly. But not enough to turn around, walk out, and do the sane thing: sleep in Bruno’s bed.
He sits up and looks at me, the question clear in his eyes: What am I doing here?
“I had a nightmare.”In which you were eating me.
I move to the switchboard and turn on the dim, warm light, switching off the white. I don’t know how he can sleep under that glare, it feels like the sun is right above your head.
The warm light chases away the little logic I’d regained, and I’m back in the same state I was in when I entered.
I walk to his bed and slide under his covers. He watches me, silent.
“I hope you don’t mind me sleeping here.”
“I do.”
I make a sad face. “I’m really scared. Just let me sleep here for five minutes.”
“Don’t you have Bruno?”
I shift closer to him. “Bruno isn’t strong enough to fight the monster in my dream. I was about to die.” I use the line he hates, and his face instantly pinches into a frown.
He turns, reaching for the nightstand. Only then do I notice—his gloves are off. I catch a glimpse of the skin on the back of his hand. It looks wrong. Burned.
“What happened to your hands?”
He pulls the glove onto his hands and looks at me. “My uncle burned them.”
My eyes widen. “What kind of asshole uncle does that?”
He lies down beside me, leaving a gap between us.
“The asshole kind.”
I frown at the lack of emotion on his face.
“Don’t you hate him?”
I tilt toward him, one arm tucked under my head, the other resting on the bed between us.
“I killed him a decade ago. Threw him into a fire, pulled him out alive, skinned him, and dipped him—”
I press my fingers to his mouth.
My eyes are saucers. “I don’t need that kind of description.”
I slide my hand from his lips, letting my fingers linger against their softness, then place my hand on his chest.
“I’ve never even watched someone kill an ant. I don’t like details of violence.”
His heart thuds under my palm. I feel the echo of each beat between my thighs. His eyes burn into mine.
I let my hand wander over his chest, tracing the contours of muscle. Gradually, I trail lower across his abs, feeling the hard ridges beneath my palm. I’d pay any amount to see this man naked.
