“What an idiot,” he mutters. “Don’t listen to him.”
I watch him. Ben looks… heavier tonight. Like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. He doesn’t react when I slip my hand into his, aside from an inhaled breath. “What are you doing?”
“Come on,” I tug on his fingers, nodding down. “I have some ice for that hand.”
Ben follows me quietly, but his hold on my hand is tight.
“You shouldn’t be walking home on your own,” he says finally. “Someone should walk with you.”
Someone that isn’t him, he means.
Because he’s leaving.
“I don’t have anyone else.”
He glances at me. “Nobody?”
Silently, I shake my head. “You?”
He inhales again. “I have an older brother. He’s not here, though.”
“So it’s just us.” I pause as we reach my doorway. It’s wide open tonight, whoever left last not even bothering to push it closed to give the illusion of security. “Are you coming up, Benjamin Bennett?”
I turn to him. He’s staring at me as if it’s the last time he’ll ever see me, and I brace for a repeat of the night before.
“Yeah,” he whispers finally, and my heart leaps in my chest. “I’m coming up.”
6
Ben
This apartment block doesn’t feel safe.
The broken door was bad enough, but as I follow her up, my eyes move from the trash tossed into each corner of the communal stairwell to the broken light that flickers overhead.
I understand why Emmy carries her umbrella with her, even though the skies are clear tonight.
She glances over her shoulder, embarrassed. “I’m on the third floor.”
Nodding, I follow her up the concrete steps. Thumping music comes from behind a battered-looking door, the crying of a child behind another. Emmy’s feet speed up until we’re outside her front door.
She wrestles with the key. “It always gets stuck.”
Emmy kicks the bottom half, and the door swings open. “There. There’s a knack to it.”
My lips tilt up as I step inside. “This is nice.”
The space is undeniably Emmy’s. Light emanates from every corner, courtesy of more than a few lamps dotted around. A cozy-looking patchwork rug covers the worn wooden floor, set in front of a comfortable-looking green couch with cushions scattered across it.
Stacks of books make up the majority of the rest of the room. Across from me, my eyes linger on a small bamboo shelving unit, and I step closer, curious. “What are these?”
“Oh.” Flustered, Emmy disappears into the small kitchenette behind the couch.
“I collect random things,” she calls out to me. I hear the opening of a refrigerator as I lean down to examine her collection.
Possibly an understatement. I frown at the ridiculous dog statue. It looks as though it was put together by a five-year old. And the doll… I back away rapidly.
It’s watching me.
