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I grab my book bag and swing it over my shoulder, and I’m out the door in seconds. I need to get home. I need to just relax. I need to breathe! I stumble down the hall, and the moment the doors are thrown open and the cool night air is against my lips, I drink it down. I inhale slowly like my high school therapist taught me. Nothing else exists. Just the air in my lungs. Inhale. Exhale.
I’m okay. No one can hurt me. I’m okay.
My lashes lift, and I look up at the streetlight at the edge of the sidewalk ahead. It burns in the night. A quiet settles in. I’m alone finally.
“I’m sorry,” someone whispers at my side. I try not to startle at the suddenness of his voice and appearance. “I didn’t mean to make a big deal out of it.” The mustache guy from class scratches the back of his neck awkwardly.
Was I so focused on trying to be a normal human being that I didn’t notice him here at all? I grit my teeth. I need to be way more vigilant than that. I need to not fall apart. I need to get my shit together and stop acting weird.
“It’s fine.” I shove a smile in place and force it to stay there as he gauges my every reaction.
“Right. Uh. Are you... Are you with Rowan? Because I really like my nose, and I’d rather he not smash it into my skull just for talking to you.” His laughter is this edging, trickling sound like he isn’t really joking and is rather concerned for his facial features.
“I don’t know who that is. I think people are talking because I was at the game that night, and I was talking to Nathan before everything started, but whatever happened, it has nothing to do with me.”
His dark eyes study me for a long moment, his tongue slipping out as he licks his lips slowly before finally speaking.
“Right,” he whispers. His attention flicks over my shoulder then.Twice.
I spin and follow the worried trail of his gaze. A guy stands below the streetlight. He leans there casually, possibly waiting for a ride or his friends. The shadows obscure his features, but if I was alone right then and noticed him, I would think he was a bat-wielding serial killer. What kind of weirdo stands beneath streetlights in the middle of the night?
Killer weirdos. That’s for sure.
“Anyway...” I turn back and try to ignore how strange mustache man is acting now. “I have to get home.”
“There’s a party tomorrow night,” he adds in a rush before I turn away. “My roommate’s celebrating this week’s win.”
I nod. Cool. Cool. You know what would be cooler? If you told this story at your party. They’d love it. Get to the point, Mustachio.
“You should come.” His watchful eyes search my features, but I don’t immediately give him anything.
And then it occurs to me. He’s asking me out. Kind of. Is this how people ask each other out nowadays? What happened to courting? To gifts? To dates? To getting to know one another?
Going to a frat party is not my idea of a date, that’s for damn sure. Sounds more like torture. I’d rather sleep in a casket next to a cold body than go through that pain.
“Oh.” I take a step back, wrapping my arms around my stomach. “I don’t do parties.” And I won’t apologize for it either. God, the amount of people that will be there, pressed against each other and talking over each other. The ants start crawling under my skin again. “No, thanks.”
Going out, meeting people, it doesn’t end well. Not everyone is what they seem. And most are more dangerous than we’ll ever know. People get hurt and taken from us so easily. And this guy seems nice enough. Why pull him into something he won’t be able to dig himself out of?
“Oh, okay.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and stares at me, the moment growing awkward and uncomfortable between us. “Can I walk you home then? It’s late.” He’s lingering and trying so damn hard, it almost hurts to shut him down again. But I absolutely refuse to let a stranger walk me home. It seems too intimate a thing, and mustache here and I aren’t even on a first name basis.
“I’m okay. It’s just a few minutes’ walk from here. I live in the morgue downtown.”
Great, Atlas, you won’t let him walk you home, but you’ll tell him where you live?
I want to bite my tongue off.
His mouth opens but nothing immediately comes out.
“Did you say you live in a morgue, Wednesday Addams?”
I smile softly. This time, it’s genuine at the light teasing in his surprised tone.
“I meant I live in thebasementof the morgue.”
Wow, that sounds even worse, doesn’t it? I wonder if he’ll question my sanity. If I were him, I would. Why can’t I just be quiet?
“Like where they keep the dead bodies?”
