He stares in the mirror for a while trying to decide what to do with my hair. Good luck, buddy. My hair is a fighter, and I love it for that. Composed of the wild blonde curls that take over my entire head, this entity does not respond well to brushing, straightening, humid environments, or the occasional salty glare. Eventually, Kit decides to tightly braid a few strands along the right side of my head, letting my part lean toward the right so the unbraided section of my hair is taking over most of my head.Goddammit. It looks good.
Kit checks my phone. It’s ten p.m. I prefer to be in bed at this time of night if I’m not out investigating. He doesn’t bother to grab a purse or wallet as he leaves. He walks past my car in the parking lot of my apartment complex and keeps walking up the hill to exit the complex. He takes a right once he gets to the main road and then left once he gets to the parking lot of the grocery store on the street. This is a grocery store I frequent, mostly because it’s open twenty-four hours. Easy to stop in at after a hunt.
There are a surprising number of cars in the lot for the late hour. He approaches a car and yanks on the door. Locked. He keeps trying doors on different cars until he finally reaches a carwhere the door opens. It’s a bright-yellow Audi.
Kit crouches to reach his body under the steering wheel and, with more strength than I naturally possess, shoves his nails into a small opening and easily yanks down a panel, screws flying out, exposing wires. The car is stationed under a fading streetlamp, offering hardly enough light for me to see what he’s doing. Kit is faring fine, however. Again with his fingernails, he strips some of the wires. He’s going to get me electrocuted. He twists the wires together. The dash lights flash on at that, followed almost instantly by the overhead lights. He strips another wire, and this time swears as his entire body twitches. I’m hit with a sharp, sizzling pain as an excruciatingly bright light bursts in my void, fading as quickly as it appeared.
“Did you just get us electrocuted?” I hiss.
“It was a little shock,” he grumbles.
He takes the wire he just stripped and touches it to the twisted end of the other wires. The ignition starts, and the car sparks to life. Kit chuckles to himself, secures the wires, and climbs in the driver’s seat. He closes the door behind himself and revs the engine a few times.
I shake my head. “I cannot believe you hot-wired a car when you are fully aware that Ihavea car.”
He adjusts the rearview mirror so I can see his face. Him staring at me through my eyes.Hate it. Hate it. Hate it.
“What’s the fun in that? Plus, this car is so much cooler than yours. No offense.”
“Offense taken,” I snip. “If you get me arrested…I don’t know what I’ll do, but I will find some way to make your life miserable.”
“Good luck with that.” He fixes the mirror and says, “We’re not going to get arrested.”
If hewasalive at some point, he was definitely a white man. (I say as a white woman who frequently breaks and enters without consequence. Pot meet kettle.)
“You know,” he comments as he puts the car in drive, “you seem to be adjusting rather well.”
My hands form fists. “I am notadjusting—I’m surviving. I’m making do with my situation. I willneveradjust to this.”
“Time will tell.” He slams on the gas, speeding off toward the main road. He pulls onto the street and takes off, I swear, fifty miles over the speed limit of fifty.
“Slow down!” I screech, hand bracing on the window.
He cackles in my voice and his laugh. “No!” He turns the volume on the radio up as high as it can go.
I cover my ears with my hands. “I cannot believe you stole a car!”
“Technically, I’m borrowing it!” he shouts over the music, making a sharp turn that causes me to tumble out of my chair.
I get up and fall back in my seat with a failed attempt to conjure up some noise-cancelling headphones. Part of me wishes I would have remained unconscious and unaware of what was happening. I’m glad he doesn’t have complete free rein with me, but I feel like my sanity would have a better chance of staying intact if I was blissfully in the dark.
Kit screeches to a stop, making my chair tip forward then fall back, hardly pausing to put the car in park before he leaps out of it.
Oh god.I recognize where we are. At a club. Mysister has dragged me here before, and I am not looking forward to being here again. The last time I was here, I spent most of the night in the corner avoiding prowling men. It’s not like I’m against having a good time, I just was planning on spending the night dancing with my big sister and she ditched me to grind on one of the more attractive and less creepy men in the vicinity. Which, whatever.
“We arenotgoing clubbing.”
“Oh, but we are. Come on. Let loose. Have fun. You need it.”
I can already hear the music pumping out from the building. There’s a long line outside the club, but Kit bypasses it without even a pause. When he approaches the bouncer, a large man in a tight black T-shirt, I expect him to stop us, but he waves us through. How did Kit manage that? I know I look good tonight, but I’m not hot enough to bypass club lines. I’m just not.
The club is dark, lit mainly by blue lights on the ceiling, and the music is so loud I can hardly hear the actual music, just feel the beat. He approaches the bar. I’m not sure what he’s expecting to get—he didn’t bring any money. However, I don’t have to wonder for long. Not even a full thirty seconds passes before a man approaches, offering to buy him a drink. Okay.I knowI am not that hot. Maybe he’s working some Hell magic. Or maybe it’s the confidence he’s bringing to my body. Goddammit. Does this mean if I was more confident, I could have been getting free drinks all this time? Fuck that. I don’t believe that.
Kit is handed a vodka soda.
“Vodka soda?” I comment. “Boring choice.”
In the void, he responds, “I wanted to ask for a Slow and Gentle Screw Against the Wall, but I didn’t know if the bartender would know how to make that drink or if he would think I was offering. Though, if you want me to offer, I can. He’s hot.”
