His expression clouds, but then he shakes his head. “Yeah. Nah. She’s a witch. I didn’t notice at first cause she was pretty hot, but then after we had sex and I told her I wasn’t really looking for a relationship, she got mad—”
I fold my arms across my chest. “Imagine that.”
To his credit, he gives me an apologetic look. “What should I do? Lie? Anyway, I told her, and she just leans right over, grabs my hair, and pulls out a whole chunk. Like yanks out a big fat tuft and stands over me chanting or some shit. Then while I was still working out what the fuck was going on, she grabs a lighter and sets it on fire. Dropped it on my carpet and it left a big fucking hole. So now I’ll lose my deposit, but that’s not the worst part. She got her clothes and left and the house stunk after, but I didn’t think anything much of it. Only a few days later I was coming out of the gym and this truck comes around the corner like crazy and runs right into me. I went flying over the hood and landed on the other side, and I swear to god I heard the most horrible cracking sounds. There’s blood everywhere, but I can move, so I get up. I was dizzy, but the truck driver didn’t even stop. He just screamed off down the street. There was no onearound. I was so mad, I tried to run after him and get his licence plate, but he was too fast.”
I frown. “Right, but you got up and now you’re fine.”
“Am I?” Adam runs a hand through his ’90s style undercut. “Because I don’t feel fine. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. And I don’t have a heartbeat. I mean there’s nothing. I checked. I even went to the pharmacy and used one of those blood pressure machines. Nothing.”
“Why haven’t you been to a doctor, you idiot?”
“Are you kidding me? Do you know what they’d do to me if people found out I’m a zombie?”
“You’re not a zombie,” I say instinctively. He has a point, though. I can imagine all sorts of scientific experiments people would want to conduct.
“Check my pulse.” He grabs my hand and brings it to his neck, which is cold to the touch. He’s holding my hand in completely the wrong position, so I adjust, but no matter how much I search, I can’t find a pulse.
I frown. “Give me your arm.”
Adam holds out his arm. His skin looks pale, and the veins are like dark rivers beneath. Shaken, I gesture to his shirt. “Take off your shirt.”
He yanks the shirt over his head, and I put my hand over his heart. Or over the place his heart should be. I wait for a really long time, but there’s still nothing. Only the smooth, firm shape of his pecs beneath my fingertips.
Ugh, he always did have really nice pecs.
I pull my hand away. “Put your shirt on.” Closing my eyes for a moment I try to clear my mind of the suspect thoughts that are now threatening to take over. I let out a long sigh. “OK, let’s say you’re not crazy. Let’s say something happened and I don’t know what it is yet. What do you expect me to do about it?”
He looks at me with big, blue, mournful eyes. “You gotta help me, Jen. Can I hide here with you until we figure out what to do?”
I leap up like I’ve been burned, putting space between us. “Absolutely not!”
He shocks me by dropping to his knees and clutching my legs. “Please, Jen. If I go back home, my roommate will one hundred percent work out there’s something up. No one can know. Please. Just for a few weeks—”
“A few weeks!”
“How about a couple days?”
I stare down at him. This is not happening. The guy who walked out of my life to pursue bigger and better opportunities seven months ago is begging to sleep on my couch. He’d better be begging to sleep on my couch, cause he sure as hell isn’t sleeping in my bed.
He looks so desperate. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this.
“Ugh! Fine, but my sister is coming to stay in ten days, so you have to be out of here by then.”
“Aw, thanks, Jen. I knew you’d help. You really are the best.”
TWO
Jen
I wake up to a chorus I had hoped never to hear again reverberating through my living room and roll over, grabbing a pillow and stuffing it over my ears. The lead singer of The Chainsmokers is annoying even when I haven’t just woken up. When Adam starts to sing along, I lose my temper.
Flinging the pillow aside, I throw back the duvet and stalk into the living room only to find him with his feet up on mybrand-newsofa, casually browsingmylaptop. He looks up with a smile. “Good morning. I was going to make coffee, but you’re out of milk. Sorry.”
I blink. “There was plenty of milk.”
“Yeah, there was, but I accidentally left it out on the counter last night.”
A new song starts playing, and it’s so loud I can barely think. “Oh my god. Turn that off.”
