It’s probably cold by the time I snatch one off the counter and walk down the hall.
His door is closed, not a bed spring or creaky floorboard to hint at what he’s doing in there.
The plate doesn’t make a sound with how slowly I bend over and set it down, fingers hovering on the edge even after its safely on the ground.
My jaw ticks.
“I know that you’re brooding…”
I let go of the plate and stand, tucking my hands deep in my pockets.
Fuck.
Kit
Bill is getting choked out by a deranged Pennywise on screen, but I’m the one that feels like I can’t breathe. Brett snorts next to me when Richie starts listing off all Bill’s transgressions.
“Crackhead house,” he snorts, whispering. “Come on, Richie boy, fuck. Him. Up.” My best friend tosses another handful of popcorn in his mouth, oblivious to my panic.
I never should have agreed to come. I hate scary movies. But it’s the twins fifteenth birthday, and Brett sweet talked our parents into buying us tickets.
My skin feels like it’s too tight. Too itchy. My scalp tingles around my ears. The surround sound seems like it’s getting louder by the second.
Nothing feels real.
The screen blurs around the edges, and my eyes snap shut.
That’s somehow worse.
I nearly jump out of my skin when a warm arm wraps around my shoulders.
“Youokay, kitten?” Bowen asks.
I don’t have enough energy to lie. I just sit completely still, trying to drag breaths into my burning lungs.
That arm pulls me closer, and I realize the armrest between our seats is pushed up. He drags me over closer to him with an arm wrapped around my neck until my face finds his warm neck.
“Do you want to leave?” he murmurs next to my ear. I can feel his voice vibrate through his throat. I press my clammy forehead against his neck and shake my head.
He ruffles my hair and takes a deep breath. “Breathe, Kit. I got you.”
My breath hitches. Maybe if I hold completely still, I can trick my body into believing I’m sleeping. Or dead. And it will give up and leave me alone for five damn minutes. What good is stewing in memories or unleashing pent up emotions on a dead guy?
I’ve been lying here for a while though. No such luck.
The truth?
Every step between us back on the porch that Bowen wouldn’t close, and Icouldn’t?Each was a cut over my jagged scars, and now I’m here, gutted open with all my vital parts exposed.
I’m wrecked. Plain and simple.
There is no pushing it out of my mind. No run. No number of miles that could stitch me back together right now. I don’t even want to try.
I miss him.
God, how I miss him.
I slide off the bed like a wet noodle, groaning, when my phone vibrates on the hardwood. Not sure how it managed to find itself on the floor, but I snatch it up and press my back against the hard bed.
