I let out a labored breath and lean my back against the door. Every time I start to let go, reality comes rushing back. The moons light the small space between the door and the railing, the sky so clear and calm above us, it feels unsettling after the vicious skies of Sonnet.
“Your stone?” Eli asks.
I stare at him. Maybe I can make sense of this man if I look hard enough.
“For unlocking the door,” he adds.
Oh.“My key,” I correct. Recognition rounds his eyebrows, long ago memories that collide with my world. “But I don’t have it.”
He cracks his knuckles and punches his fist through the smallwindow, glass scraping his arm, shards falling to the floor inside. Once again his skin is unscathed.
“You broke two glass windows and still aren’t cut.”
“That’s not enough to make me bleed.” He clears away the remaining pieces blocking the window. “Even with you near and weakening me.”
“I thought magic didn’t work here.”
“Having tougher skin isn’t magic, it’s part of what I am. The border only blocks gifts from working and keeps magical creatures from crossing over.” He hoists himself up on the ledge and jumps through the small window into my room.
Four seconds later the door handle jiggles. Then harder.
I smile. “What’s it like to be the one locked inside?”
“Your door is defective.”
I try not to laugh too loud. “Open the deadbolts.” All six of them. They take the same key, but they made me feel safer anyway. I couldn’t escape the violent deaths in my head, but I could try to prevent a real one.
“The what?” he asks through the door.
“The knob things above the handle. You have to turn them.”
Metal slides and clunks into place. Six times. He opens the door, panic fading from his eyes.
Darkness surrounds us, only interrupted by the moonbeams slipping through the door and window. “The light stones won’t work here either because they’re made from gifts,” he says, as if preparing me to spend hours in the dark with him.
I flip the switch beside the door, and a dim wall light flickers on, causing his head to snap around the room nervously. He slams the door shut.
I peruse the familiar space, barely a ten-by-ten foot room. A single door on the opposite wall leads to a bathroom, which is spacious considering the otherwise tight quarters. My sheetless mattress takes up a chunk of the floor, along with my maps and supplies scattered about in front of the television, which also sits on the floor. Haphazard stacks of books and movies serve as an obstacle course to the bed.
My clothes are piled—not folded—on cardboard shelves I wedged inside my dresser. It had drawers at some point, but not by the time itgot to me. A few boxes of cereal take up the top surface of the dresser, as close to a kitchen as I have. Paint peels from the empty walls, and a perpetual leak drips from the corner. The aroma of coffee wafts through the air ducts from below, mixing with the thick scent of stale cereal and books.
Home… but not anymore.
Eli locks every deadbolt carefully and proceeds to explore as I take off my boots and socks, the old beige carpet scratchy on the soles of my feet. He experiments with the light, flipping the switch off and back on, then loops around the edges of the room until he reaches my bed, looking much too big for the small space. His giant boot lands on the corner, bouncing forcefully as if checking its firmness. The springs creak. He moves on to my makeshift shelves, shuffling through my clothes.
He holds up a pair of blue underwear, inspecting and stretching it between his thumbs. “Where’s the rest of it?”
“It’s a thong. That’s how it’s made.”
“For better access?” He squints at it as if trying to imagine it on my body. “It’s not like the one I took.”
“Put it back. What are you doing?”
He stuffs it in his pocket. Then four more. “Stocking up.”
I hate how he makes me laugh. He looks up at the sound of my suppressed snort. The way his stare burrows into my soul has me speaking simply to keep my heart from opening doors I must keep shut. “So all six of us will sleep in my bed?”
He dismisses my sarcasm. “No. We get the bed. They get the floor.”
