“From?” I probe.
“Well.” He pauses briefly to think. “From anyone before, actually. It’s usually weirdo, freak, or some shit like that.” He shrugs unbotheredly. “I guess the dark clothing and tattoos don’t exactly help matters.”
“Just because you look the way you do doesn’t automatically make you a weirdo or a freak.” My eyes soften slightly at the thought of people calling him those kinds of names, and I don’t like it. Nor do I understand why I care so much.
I should be on high alert with the man standing in front of me, but for some reason… that feeling of fear… doesn’t exist. I don’t know this guy at all, and the fact that I have my father’s body wrapped up in white, blood-soaked cotton sheets beside me—as well as the fact I’m standing in front of a freshly dug grave while this lunatic laughs—is wild to say the least.
“I wasn’t laughing at you though, I promise.” He crosses his arms, still resting his broad shoulder against the large oak treea few feet from me. I had a feeling someone was watching me tonight too, and yet I ignored it.
Typical Heather.
“Who’s the corpse?” He jerks his chin towards the body beside me.
“Father,” I respond nervelessly. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that if he was going to call the cops on my ass, he would have by now, that’s for damn sure. But I still have to ask, “You gonna call the cops on me?”
“No,” he answers with lightning speed, almost as if he knew I was going to ask the question.
I narrow my eyes at him. “So, what are you even doing here then?” I make a circular gesture with my hand. “Whatever your name is. Standing around watching me—”
“—Bury a body in a random graveyard where I just so happened to be burying one too?” The smirk creeping up the corner of his mouth does something to me in that moment. It’s a simple action, sure, but nevertheless, it’s one that creates a stampede of butterflies swirling in my gut.
“I call bullshit.” I cock my hip out and rest my free hand on it. “No way.”
“Honestly, I swear.” He raises up both hands in submission before offering me his finger. “Pinky promise.”
I roll my eyes and huff out an exasperated breath. Which is so fucking stupid because for all I know this guy might want to kill me and bury me in the same grave I’m about to put my father in. “Yeah, for some reason, buddy, I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t need to overcompensate; my dick’s big enough as it is without the unnecessary need to lie.”
I snort at that, lowering my knife. “Prove it then.”
He smiles broadly before saying, “By showing you my dick?” With a playful glint in his eye, he shrugs and begins walking towards me, both hands moving to the buckle of his black belt,and I groan inwardly with annoyance because I walked right into that one. “I mean, if that’s how you want to start this thing between us, I can—”
I quickly correct myself before he can continue with the end of his sentence. “No, asshole, your body.” I huff when his grin grows even wider. “Thedeadbody, smart ass.”
“Ah. Right.” He clicks his fingers playfully, winking in my direction. “Are you sure about not wanting to see my d—”
“Yes. Jesus.”
There’s something about this guy that looks awfully familiar, and for the life of me I can’t figure out what it is. I mean, I don’t think I’ve seen him before, and I know for a fact he doesn’t go to my school, because I would remember someone as handsome as him.
So, what is it?
“Do I know you?” I question, tilting my head to the side.
“I don’t know, do you?”
“You look… familiar,” I respond, stepping over my father’s corpse and circling to the right so I’m away from the open grave. Still keeping my wits about me to keep myself safe.
As he begins walking towards me, I raise the knife again. The steel tip glinting with the pink hue of the moonlight as he makes his way closer to my father’s corpse. He doesn’t stop, even with the threat of me stabbing him.
“You should put that away,” he tells me, raising two fingers to the side of the knife and angling it away from his face before he steps past me. “You could take somebody’s eye out with that thing.”
I jerk my head back in shock, frowning at the way he just ignores the threat to his life like that. I mean, my father isn’t exactly my first kill—there was that girl at my last school that pissed me off—but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t kill emo boy too if given the chance.
“And why don’t we put this” —he crouches down, pushing my father’s body into the eight-foot hole in the ground with a grunt— “here to keep it hidden from prying eyes. Yes?” He rests his forearms on his thighs; his hands draped haphazardly over his knees as he looks up at me with another one of his brilliant smiles.
Those eyes are killing me.
