Watching Ethan.
Watching whatever fucked up invisible game she thought she’d invented.
Ethan shifted his weight and cleared his throat. “You’ve got a nice house.”
Is this what happened after making out? Small talk?
“Yeah,” I said, trying to get my bearings.
Silence.
He filled it immediately this time, and I watched his lips as he spoke, seeing little wells of blood where I’d bitten him. “So…what do you do?”
“I paint.”
“Oh.”
More silence, as the images of all my beautiful works came into my mind. So many times I’d coated myself with my paint.It all spoke to me. Cold paints were sad. The warmth of blood in paint was a happy thing. It sounded like laughter.
“I mean, that’s cool. Artists are fun.”
He kept talking, and I shook my head, trying to comprehend what he was going on about.
Was he trying to impress me?
My stomach twisted, but something felt…
Wrong.
Not bad.
Wrong.
Like I’d been reading the script backward.
Melodie finally spoke up from her vantage point, causing me to frown. “What do you notice?”
“I…”I frowned harder. “He’s…”
Ethan had stopped talking.
Both of us looked at him, and he shifted again.
“He’s trying really hard to get my attention now.”
Melodie’s smile widened, and she nodded. Ethan began to protest, but I looked at him more sternly, and he stopped.
“Keep going,” Melodie said.
“He’s…”
“No.” Melodie shook her head. “Stop guessing. Observe!”
“I’ve barely spoken to him, but...”
“Correct,” Melodie chimed. “But you diddosomething, didn’t you?”
“My body talked?”
