I roll my eyes. "Yeah, okay."
"Are you the kind of friends who get each other off or the pointless kind?"
Ignoring him, I dig out my room key and turn it in the lock. "You can go now."
"No way. I want to see your…" Dax pauses as I gasp, covering my mouth with both hands. "…room."
"What is that?!" I shriek, eyes watering. "Dax, what—" He covers my mouth and pushes me inside the room, slamming the door closed behind us. "Shhh…you can't scream like that, Saige. You can't draw attention to yourself. Be quiet, okay?"
The entire room has been torn apart—drawers turned out, clothes strewn across the floor. But that's not what draws my eye.
Blood and entrails stain my slate-grey sheets, with something small and dark in color at its center.
I nod, tears stinging my eyes, and Dax removes his hand and approaches the bed.
"It's a squirrel," he says plainly. "Do you have a garbage bag?"
I point to the cabinet beneath the television. Dax grabs a bag, shakes it out, and then rolls up my sheets and blankets with the dead squirrel in the middle before tossing it all inside.
"Stay here," he says. "I'll be right back, okay?"
He ties off the bag, leaving me alone in the room. A warm breeze catches my attention, and my eyes move to the cracked window. I climb up onto the bare mattress and slam it closed.
Dax returns a few seconds later on his phone.
"Yeah." He waits, listening. "Okay…I got it. We'll be back in like…ten minutes." He ends the call, and then turns to me. "Pack a bag, Ripley."
"What?"
"You can't stay here. Not until we find out who's doing this. Pack some clothes, your books, whatever shit you need on a daily basis."
"But…I don't want to stay with you."
"Elias figured you'd say that, and he told me to remind you that you don't really have a choice. If this is connected to the other night, then it isn't just your problem, is it? We'll figure it out, and then we'll take care of it."
"Maybe we should just go to the police."
"No."
"I won't tell them about you."
Dax sighs, tossing my suitcase onto the bed. "Keep talking like that, and maybe you'll disappear, too. Maybe your mom. Is that what you want?"
"Dax…"
"Look, Saige…" He closes the space between us, threading his fingers into my hair and cradling my head in his hands. "I don't want to be like this with you, but if there is someone else who knows whatyoudid, then they might know what we did, too. And if you think about it, doesn't it make you feel safer to know that you have someone like me on your side? Someone who is willing to do…anything?"
He tugs at my hair, forcing me to look up at him—at all 6'3" of him. He could snap my neck right now if he wanted to; he wouldn't even break a sweat. But that's not how he looks at me.
He looks at me like I'm his, but not like a lover—like a pet. In my head, a scene plays of a little boy in front of a pet store saying,Don't worry, Mom. I can take care of it, I promise.
I'm going to end up like that squirrel.
A slight smile plays on his lips before he wets them with his tongue. "That wasn't a rhetorical question."
No,I think. No is the answer. Nothing about Dax makes me feel safe.
But I know better than to say it right now. After everything, I still have stronger survival skills than that, so I nod.
