I was hoping they’d wash off. I was hoping they weren’t real.
I take off my clothes and wash every inch of my body. Every cut and scrape. There’s a first aid kit next to a stack of toilet paper that has a dozen or so Band-Aids inside; I use them all. The bathroom even had a bottle of dry shampoo that I spray on every strand of my hair.
There’s a soft pink terrycloth robe hanging on the back of the door that I slip over my shoulders and cinch tight at my waist. From the look of the makeup bag, there had to be a woman who lived here, and I pray she wore the same size as me.
I ease the bathroom door open and look out into the hallway.No aliens.
A small bedroom down the end of the hall hosts a teenager’s room. The closet inside contains clothes for someone a little bigger in size than me, but beggars can’t be choosers and my clothes are stained in blood.
I take a few extra shirts and pants and hit the rest of the rooms in the house.
The entire home is as tidy and kept as a museum save for the eerie traces of some small moments of life when the world just stopped. A half-eaten gourmet sandwich lies in the middle of a dish; green fuzzy mold spreads itself over the top of it. Clean clothes are freshly folded on a table in the laundry room, waiting to be put away, and a half-empty cup of tea sits on a lone table near a back window long ago forgotten about when our visitors arrived.
Ourvisitors. I really don’t know anything about them. I don’t know where they came from or what they want—only that they’re here and mostly everyone else is gone.
Quietly, I open the door to where I left one of those visitors. My pack full and belly aching for the food I found.
A comforting warmth and bright glow from the fireplace hit me as soon as I slip inside.
“Find food?” Rune rumbles, the undertone of hunger biting through his words.
“Maybe,” I say, narrowing my eyes and slinging my bag off my shoulder. It hits the floor hard, sharing the secrets of my bounty inside.
His eyes zone in on the bag then back to me.
“You cleaned up,” he says, his lips pulling up into a smile. His gaze drops down to my neck and the bruises there sting more now that someone else is seeing them. I brush my hair over the front of my shoulders to hide them.
“You made a fire,” I answer, crouching down and pulling open the pack. I grab a protein bar and toss it in his direction. His hand darts up, quicker than humanly possible, and rips open the wrapping. The speed of his reflexes startles me, bringing me back down to reality. This isn’t someone you trust. He’s not someone to let your guard down with. Stop being friendly to him.
I move closer to the fire and warm my hands in its glow. I take a protein bar for myself and slowly savor the flavor when it fills my mouth. My stomach rumbles thunderously, screaming out how long it’s been empty.
He chews noisily, tugging the blankets and sheets off the bed.
Our eyes meet for a second and dart away. Does he think we should share the bed?Like, next to each other?
We eat in silence.
When the fire is down to embers, I pull out an extra blanket from the closet and curl onto the corner of the bed. The room is bathed in a dim orange glow, and even swaddling myself with the blanket isn’t enough to ward off the cold.
I groan softly as exhaustion starts unraveling and fraying my thoughts. I wonder where Claire is. I hope she’s not hurt.
Next to me the mattress dips down. I swear the blood in my veins turns sluggish and heavy, as if drunk.
He makes no sounds. I can barely hear his breathing. But I can feel the heat of his body. The bed is small, less than a Queen-size, I think. His arm brushes softly into mine but he yanks it away as if he’s touched fire. Even though my eyes are closed, I squeeze them tight. The thought of him being this close to me is confusing. Instantly, I’m well aware of the hard planes of his muscles, how they dip and curve and move just under his skin. I’m aware of his scent; it’s somewhere between leathery and metallic. And I’m very aware that I could have died so many times in the last twenty-four hours, but he hasn’t let me. He even rescued my backpack for me.
The springs underneath our bodies creak harshly as he recoils away from me. My chest hitches almost painfully. I clutch my hands together, trying to ease the burn. My thoughts shatter into thousands of pieces and the only feeling that remains is being somehow less than dirt to this thing lying beside me.
The rejection stings and I’m horribly confused by it. What is so wrong with me that something would be so utterly disgusted when our arms accidently bump into one another?
The emotional overload drains me, and the room sort of fades to nothing as sleep pulls me under.
