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Wincing, I turn around. “Sure.”
He stares on in his usual psychotic manner, leaning casually against the wall, but there is very little casual about him. His intensity scorches my skin to the point that I think he might leave permanent burn scars soon.
I’m sure if he’d overheard me, he would make it known. Casper isn’t one to shy away from conflict, especially with me.
I pour him a glass, then watch as he takes a sip. It’s a massive let down when he doesn’t make a face. We’re not drinking fine wine or eye-wateringly expensive champagne here. This is the fiver a bottle stuff, and I expected him to spit it out in disgust.
It takes me a few more seconds to realise that we’re now standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring at each other. He doesn’t even look away when he drinks.
“Do you really think we were almost targeted?” Freya asks.
I jolt and step back, picking up my own glass.
Casper shrugs. “That’s for the cops to worry about now. If you were, it’s unlikely they’ll come back.”
He’s acting laid-back, but he wouldn’t insist on staying the night with us, and he wouldn’t have been so obsessed with getting into the house if he wasn’t worried. I’d call him out, but he’s currently being civil.
It’s nice. Easier.
“Ainsley, I don’t like you being here alone over Easter break. Look what’s happened tonight. You’d be home alone,” Freya says.
Casper scowls, no doubt thinking I’m an idiot. It’s a look I’ve become accustomed to, so it has no effect on me now. I take another sip of my drink.
“Are you really not going home all Easter break?” he asks.
“No, my aunt and uncle are going on holiday, so I’d either be alone there or here. This is my home.” And I’m paying rent on it, so I’m sticking around. “Aren’t you going to your parents’?”
If I lived in his house, I’d go home at every opportunity. I get that he wants the full uni experience, and living with your parents doesn’t quite cover that, but he could live in a separate wing of that place and not see them for months.
“You’ll be home alone for nearly three weeks?” he asks, his voice tight, pissed off.
It’s a repetitive question, something he also does occasionally to really drive the point home that I’m being ridiculous.
“Yeah, why?”
“I feel like you’re the only one who could stand your family long-term, yet you’re the only one staying here. Your aunt and uncle are awesome,” Freya says.
“Yeah, they are. Well, they raised me, and I never felt anything other than loved and cared for. I think they needed me as much as I needed them.”
“What happened to your parents?” Casper asks.
Right. He’s still here. Overshare. Fuck.
“Um…”
I assumed he knew this, but I guess my friends haven’t told him the story.
He’s asking how they died. Because that’s the only acceptable reason why a child would have to go and live with other family members, right?
They ugly truth is that some parents simply don’t want to raise their children.
Casper waits patiently, and he seems genuinely interested—something I’ve never seen from him before. He doesn’t tell me not to worry, and he doesn’t apologise for prying into something so personal like normal people would, but he watches me with some expression that isn’t hate or irritation. Whatever it is has my pulse thudding and the walls closing in. My kitchen has never felt smaller.
“My dad’s been in and out of prison all my life, and the official story is that my mum couldn’t cope with me.”
He doesn’t react at all, just continues to stare on until I feel like I can’t breathe or look away. He’s sucked all the air out of the room, and he’s the only one with an oxygen mask.
“What’s the real story?” he eventually asks.
