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Ihave no idea how I managed to fall asleep, though I know that any rest I did get was fitful, at best.
And I definitely slept with a knife. Which, admittedly, is my plan going forward from here on out. And maybe carrying one around as well, if I can get something that’ll go in my bra, amidst mybosomlike I’m an assassin.
Though, in retrospect, I’m not sure how one quickly gets a knifeoutof their bosom.
The moment I open my eyes and the sight of the cloudy sky outside my window sharpens in my mind; I know something’s wrong. My hand tightens on the kitchen knife in my fingers, and I suck in a breath as my ears filter through the sounds of my apartment.
There’s someone here with me.
Worse, they’re not trying to bequiet, so I’m pretty sure they’re doing something in my kitchen.
I don’t know what to do. My heart pounds in my throat, and I’m pretty sure I canfeelthe blood rushing through my veins.
Is it one of the Lost Boys? The tattoo on the back of my neck burns at the thought, but I’m not sure who else would have the audacity to come into my apartment uninvited. I also know that I can’t keep lying here, half-feigning sleep and just hoping that they’ll go away.
The person makes the decision for me. Footsteps sound on the faux wood of my apartment, stopping at the foot of my bed moments after I close my eyes and let my grip relax somewhat.
“I know you kicked Isaac out and all.” The lightness of Ezra’s voice is unmistakable. “And I’m sure you’re a little upset about the tattoo, which looks great on you, by the way. I got to see it last night, a little.”
My eyes open because it’s obvious Ezra knows I’m awake. I doubt he’d talk to someone he believes is unconscious.
“Get out,” I tell the window, my fingers again tightening around the hilt of the blade reflexively.
“Yeah, so…” He sucks in a breath. “I didn’t like wake you up or anything about it, but the whole reason I’m here is that you’re making some dangerous life choices, sleeping with a knife like that.”
I sit up to look at the chestnut-haired man. He’s shorter than me by an inch or so, and while his build is more lithely muscled than Isaac’s, he’s very close to being what I would callskinny. Not that it detracts from the grungy cuteness he’s got going on. His face is open and sweet, light green eyes earnest as he twines his fingers in front of his legs.
“Why do you look like that?” I ask, gesturing to him with said knife. “Like you’re nervous or uncertain.”
“Oh. Is it not disarming for you? I thought it would make you feel more comfortable if I were more like this. But…” He shrugs, and it’s as if the mask falls from his face as he does. Ezra straightens, his hands going to his pockets, and the way he holds himself changes right in front of my eyes.
It’s as if he’s a completely different person.
“I’m not very good at being, well, empathetic,” he admits, though his eyes still hold some of the wide earnestness from before. Is that just a part of him? Theonlypart of him that is real in this façade of his own making? “So I’ve been learning. Arlo helps me mostly. But I still laugh at all the wrong things, and I don’t know how to comfort people.”
We stare at each other because I don’t know what to say, and it feels like he’s waiting for an answer.
“Anyway.” Ezra runs a hand through his chestnut hair that flops across his forehead. “When I came in, you werecuddlingthat knife. I thought you’d stabbed yourself, actually, and if that had happened, then I’m sure Isaac would absolutely murder me. He’s really fond of you. But you know that.”
I gaze down at the knife in my hand, surprised by his words. Had I really done that? I’d gone to sleep with my hand on it, sure. But I’d made sure it was nowhere near my body. My brain doesn’t comprehend the bits about Isaac because I still have no idea how to handle that. Any of that.
“So I moved it, and you. You’re kind of clingy when you sleep, by the way. Kind of made me want to press the knife tip against your skin, just to see what kind of sound you’d make.”
Thatsnaps me right out of my thoughts. I stare at him, my own eyes wide, but he doesn’t react. “What?” I demand.
“What, what?” he parrots back to me.
“Oh, my fucking–What youjust said. That’s…not something I ever want to wake up hearing.”
“Well, I wasn’t going tohurt you. Notpermanently,” he scoffs, throwing his arms up in the air likeI’mbeing the unreasonable one. “Come on. I saw you get that tattoo. You were about three steps fromlikingit. I bet Icouldmake you like it.”
“You’re fucking psycho,” I tell him patiently, feeling like maybe my brain has completely disengaged with this conversation.
“Thank you for noticing,” he replies dryly, rolling his eyes. “What was your first clue? Could you take a survey for me so that I can know how to improve in the future–”
“Bite me,” I say, shoving the blankets up and sliding to the foot of the bed to stand.
He beats me there, his body trapping mine where I sit and his hand snaking outward to grab me by my long, messy black hair. He’s meaner than Isaac and twice as quick to tighten his grip until I’m gasping and tears prick at the corner of my eyes.
