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What’s his room like anyway? I’ve never dared go up there, and the one time my uncle asked me to fold a load of laundry, none of Kaleb’s stuff was in the lo
ad, so even then I didn’t have an excuse to go into his room like I do Noah’s.
I graze my thumb over the dreamcatcher.
What was he thinking when he carved all this stuff? He must’ve thought of me.
He spent time on this. A long time.
I stare at the notches, absently walking over to my floor-length mirror as I thread the end through the buckle and slip my wrist through the hole.
I yank the belt, pulling the rest of it through the buckle and feeling the cool leather tighten around my skin.
Something rises up my throat, almost like vomit but almost like my stomach and how it’s flipping, too. My chest rises and falls in shallow breaths.
I look in the mirror.
The belt fits like a cuff on my wrist, the slack hanging, and I stop breathing, the image of Kaleb grabbing it and tying it to his bed above some girl’s head flashing in my mind.
He yanks the strap, her body jerking, and I whimper.
Jesus. I shake my head and take it off, tossing it back on the bed.
I’m not old enough for that. And…I have two wrists. He only gave me one belt. Nice little scare you tried to give me, Noah.
I shiver again, looking over at my fire. Out of wood. Great.
I drop my blanket on the bed and hurry down the hallway, jogging down the stairs. I’m not going into the shop. It’s too frickin’ cold.
The fire in the great room still crackles, and I hurry over to the stockpile next to the fireplace.
But I can’t resist.
I turn around and bend over just slightly, letting the heat warm the back of my thighs. I face my fingers to the flames as well, wiggling them and basking in the heat.
I tip my head up and see Kaleb sitting in the high back leather chair not three feet away, watching me.
A shotgun lays across his lap, and he holds the neck of a beer bottle in his fingers.
I straighten, the hair on my arms standing on end. “Is everything okay?”
He slouches a little, his long legs bent ninety degrees at the knees as the firelight flashes across his bare chest.
“I know you understand me,” I say. “I know you can nod. Or write or something. Why don’t you want to talk to me?”
The light makes his eyes glow as he watches, and I frown.
He acts like an animal. He just eats and sleeps and…
The shop door opens and closes, and I pull my eyes away from Kaleb to see Noah, walking through the great room.
He looks over at me as he also carries a shotgun.
“Can’t sleep, either?” he asks.
I watch him check the locks. “It was cold,” I reply. “I came to get more wood.”
Why are they both still up? And armed? I thought we were safe.
