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Chapter 10

Addie

The food in the fridge was spoiled.

Pulling the door open, I made a face as the pungent smell of moldy cheeses and meats assaulted my senses.

“That smells like shit,” Tommy said from behind me where he was going through a cabinet. My phone, staying at a solid 5% the last hour or so, was resting on the table, light facing up. I watched as Tommy held a can to the light, made a face, and then put it back.

“I hate cheese broccoli soup,” he muttered. I snorted.

“Is it the cheese part you don’t like or the broccoli?”

He gave me a look that said he seriously questioned my intelligence.

“Besides,” Tommy continued, pulling out cans and pasta boxes at random. “The soup requires milk.”

The only milk around was a chunky, off-white mess that I had immediately thrown outside. It smelt something awful, putting even Mr. Cheese to shame.

“Touché,” I said, turning back towards the fridge. I hoped that there would be at least one redeemable food item, but my search was futile. The only eatable or drinkable item I found in the fridge was a gallon of water that Tommy and I had both used to clean ourselves off. We probably should’ve saved the water for drinking, but both of us felt sick with the blood coating our skin. No, I would rather dehydrate myself than live another moment with flesh under my fingernails and blood smeared over my cheekbones.

“Yes!” Tommy suddenly yelled, voice triumphant. I turned towards him in surprise, only to see him lovingly holding a box of chocolate pop-tarts. He stroked the box. “Come to papa you nasty thing.”

“Talking dirty to food, I see?” I kept my voice light, attempting humor. In the last hour or so, color had steadily returned to Tommy’s cheeks, and his eyes no longer looked so despondent. There was still fear in his eyes, still self-hatred, but it didn’t seem to consume him any longer. I knew that he needed a chance to grieve, but I also knew that now was not the right time.

He was brave, I had to give him that. Stronger than me.

“Don’t diss my true love,” Tommy retorted.

“Are just pop-tarts your lover, or is it food in general?” I teased.

A door opening and closing cut off whatever Tommy was going to say.

In a blistering speed that surprised even myself, I ran towards my light and flicked it off. Darkness immediately descended.

Tommy let out a shaky breath, and his hand grappled to find mine. I took it, giving it a squeeze.

I tried to control my breathing as the footsteps came closer. The last thing I needed was a panic attack.

But I freaking hated the darkness. Hated it.

Instinctively, my hand curled around the knife in my waistband. If I had to, I would stab a motherfucker. Or kick him in the balls.

I was pretty good at that too.

The footsteps were coming closer, pounding against the linoleum tiles of the kitchen. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end...

And then the footsteps retreated. I heard the front door opening and closing, and then I heard nothing.

Tommy’s hand was a vise in mine.

I heard him suck in a breath as if to say something, but I gave his hand a moderately painful pinch.

Not yet, the eloquent gesture said. Wait.

“Who the hell was that?” Tommy asked, after we stood silently in the kitchen for fifteen minutes. His tiny voice wobbled over the words.

“I don’t know.” I fumbled with my phone, flicking back on the light. The kitchen was yet again bathed in a pale, yellow light.

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