AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He snickered again. This time I was too scared to enjoy it. Too quick for me to process, his thick arm curled around my waist and drew me into his side, his clean fragrance with a hint of citrus enveloping every one of my senses. I stiffened, zero idea how to proceed in this situation. I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable, didn’t want him to feel that because he was here in my bed, he owed me anything more than friendly comfort. Mal clearly had more control of his faculties than me, because his hand shifted to my bare shoulder, exerting gentle pressure until I relaxed into the crook of his arm. His chest bobbed rapidly beneath my cheek, revealing he wasn’t as unaffected as he appeared. I opened my eyes to watch it.
Up. Down.
Up. Down.
Up. Down.
With his free hand, he searched behind him until he found the thick blanket hooked over the headboard and settled it over both of us.“Better?”
I grinned stupidly behind the cushion.“Yes.”
“Good,” he grumbled, back to growly Mal in an instant. But I swore when I felt a hand smooth down the back of my hair, it was shaking. I tucked myself closer.
After a minute of silence, I asked,“What’s happening now?”
“Sally’s being chased back to the gas station.”
“Why’s she going there?”
I felt his huff all the way to my toes.“Because everyone in a horror movie is an idiot.”
“Mal?”
“Yes?”
“Am I irritating you?”
He sighed.“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes!” I grinned again, glad for my concealed expression. Despite the circumstances, I was enjoying this far too much. The close proximity. The grumbly rumble in his chest. It was a soothing balm to every jangled nerve.
“Mal?”
“What?”
“Why do you own this movie?”
His chest rose and held.“I don’t know.”
“Do you watch it once a week?”
“No.”
“Have you killed? Are you likely to kill again?”
“That’s it—” He started to rise and I flung my arms around his waist, clinging to him.
“I’m sorry… I’ll be quiet. I promise. Please stay.”
His body solidified for a heartbeat, before he lowered himself back against the headboard. This time, he didn’t fully relax—it felt more like a pretence of relaxation, an imitation of what he thought his body should be doing. I kept my arm tight around his waist, and my cheek slid to the hard plane of his stomach. He didn’t point it out. Neither did I.
As we settled into the remainder of the movie, his hand curled over my shoulder, so low, his fingers tickled back and forth over my drumming pulse. I didn’t point it out. Neither did he.
Sooner than I would have liked, the credits began toroll, plunging my bedroom into near darkness. I hadn’t watched a single minute of the second half of the movie and at some point—likely irritated by my body continually flinching against his—Mal lowered the volume on the television and started whispering commentary here and there. I suspected he was purposely missing out some of the more gruesome parts, and at times straight-up bullshitting, because just before the end, he’d said,“Leatherface is dead. Sally and Franklin got away.” That didn’t exactly add up if there were five sequels in existence.
As the names trailed across the screen, I felt the precise second he became aware of the close press of our bodies. I was half in his lap by that point. His left leg had found its way beneath the sheets and my right leg was curled around it, bare toes pressed to his jean-covered calf. The rough drag of his fingertips across my collarbone ceased and he cleared his throat. He was going to leave. I scrambled for any way to keep him just a little longer.
