“Is that where the stick that was once up your ass went?”
“You’re going in the trash too.”
“Will you join me?”
“Absolutely not. Stop talking and take this damn ferret.”
I grab the ferret and then look at Ellison. “I think you need to get naked or she’s not going to let go.”
He shrugs out of the jacket she’s holding on to and then leaves. Pocket Lint doesn’t want it now that there’s no promise of flesh. She spits it out and then looks around, seeking out her next victim… although, strangely, her favorite victim is Ellison.
I brush my teeth while Pocket Lint romps around on the sink counter and then punctures a hole in my tube of toothpaste like she’s up against a mighty enemy.
By the time I’m done, Ellison is leaning against the wall in my bedroom. He’s wearing sweats and a long-sleeved shirt, likely to spite me.
He waves to the bed.
“You joining me?” I ask.
“No.”
I grumble about that and consider what it’d take to convince him to join me, but what’s the fun in convincing someone?
I flop onto the bed and look up at him expectantly. “What happens now?”
“Now you go to sleep,” he says before he whips the blanket over me and promptly exits the room.
I sigh, wondering if any of that was worth this. Like really? That’s all I get?
I’m reluctant now that the idea of dreaming has hit me, but the exhaustion takes over. It feels like seconds after I fall asleep that my elder is there and I’m drawn back into that darkness.
“You know it was lies. You really think that girl is happy? She knows how to fake emotions; it’s one of the first things you’re taught. She knows how to make you think she’s innocent. She’s going to hunt you down, just like Eve’s brother did. She’s going to take and destroy. You slaughtered everyone she knows, after all.
“Are you going to kill her like you killed me? Like your own mother? Look at what you did to me. Look?—”
I jerk awake when I sense someone entering the room.
“Hey,” he says quietly.
I look over at Ellison, realizing that he woke me up before the nightmare could get worse. “I was just getting up.”
“You’ve been asleep an hour.”
“Plenty of sleep.”
He throws back the covers and climbs in. Then he grabs my head and shoves it against his chest. I’m not quite sure if it’s supposed to be romantic or a torture technique, but I love it.
“I’ll be here to wake you up if your dreams turn bad.”
“I was getting up.”
“You’d rather get up than lie like this?”
“No,” I mutter against his chest. “I very much like my face planted in your pecs.”
“I assumed you would. Now sleep.”
“We could have sex.”
