I mean, not answering was kinda mean, right?
It’s not like he could come over to talk to me. It was a bright and sunny day. Because of course the damn weather was mocking me by being so warm and happy and… gaaah.
I was being an ass, wasn’t I?
I could’ve just woken him up.
Instead of freaking out and coming up with the craziest of all scenarios, I could’ve just fucking talked to him.
Like the adult I liked to pretend I was.
Someone knocked on my door.
I rolled my eyes.
I swear, if I accidentally let a fucking salesman into the building, he’d regret it in a second. I definitely wasn’t in the mood to talk about my internet provider or whatever. And no, I didn’t want to subscribe to the local newspaper.
But hey, at least I’d have the opportunity to let off a bit of steam.
I ripped open my apartment door, a tirade already on my lips, ready to go off, when I realized that the person in front of my door was no salesman, no delivery guy, and not a neighbor in need of a cup of sugar.
It was Eric.
“Holy shit,” I said, taking him in. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
He looked like he was about to rob a liquor store—wearing a hat, dark tinted sunglasses, and a scarf he’d securely wrapped around his head so there was almost no skin visible.
“I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice thick and laced with pain. “Can I come in?”
I blinked, staring at the strip of bright red and fucking blistering skin visible on his face. So… sunlight did absolutely hurt him. Fuck.
I rubbed away a painful pang in my chest as I just kept staring at him.
His hands looked even worse than his face. There were blisters all over, the skin already flaking off in some places. He looked like he’d tried carrying a burning wood log.
Just to get here.
Because I’d refused to take his calls.
Fuck.
“Come in,” I growled, grabbing him by the front of his coat and pulling him through my apartment and into my shoebox-sizedbathroom. I kicked the door closed behind us. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I shouted at him, pointing at his hands and his face. “You’re allergic to the fucking sun. You have no business being out today. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
Eric was holding up his hands as if he wanted to calm me down, but winced as he saw the extent of his injuries and quickly lowered them.
My heart was pounding so hard I couldn’t fucking hear anything above the blood rushing through my ears.
Okay.
So he hadn’t been kidding about not being able to handle sunlight.
Another mark in the “likely a vampire” column.
“I need to talk to you,” he reiterated, his words coming out strained. “You didn’t answer my calls.”
“So take a fucking hint!” Yeah, I might’ve shouted right into his blistered face, but he deserved it.
Eric shrank away, his back hitting the counter. There really wasn’t much space for him to go.
