Page 119 of Under the Bed

I get up, fishing out a bobby pin I have lying around in my bag while trying to contain the anger bubbling inside me. I was supposed to be calm thanks to this. At the very least, level-headed.

The lock gives in, despite my rapid heartbeat and hot anger. I learned how to do that when I picked the one to my room when Dad would lock me in there for too long and I had to use the bathroom.

I learned it while I was crying.

I’m not crying tonight.

I’m on a mission, and that mission is?—

It’s—

I just want him to promise me he won’t kill people in public anymore, damn it.

Any shred of rational behavior has left my body. I’m past controlling it.

It’s impossible for me to get a handle on myself as I close the door behind me. My hand shakes with barely contained rage.

I have some sense left in me, though. Enough to lose my bag at the entrance of the small apartment. I walk around the rolled-up rug on the floor. Around the dead body.

Kaleb’s sleeping peacefully. Lying on his back over the covers in nothing but a black pair of briefs, hands crossed over his chest, as if he’s going to be put in a casket.

Not on my watch.

Death won’t separate us. Nothing will.

Unless I kill him.

If I could drag him back from the dead, I’d do just that.

Since I can’t, I go to him. Lose my boots and climb on the bed.

I straddle him, torn fishnets and all, wrapping one hand around his throat. I grip the knife in my pocket, and he stirs beneath me.

Golden eyes snap open, glimmering in the dark.

The world is nothing but a shadow at the edge of my vision.

My resolve is a distant memory.

All that’s left is him.

Kaleb. And he’s up.

“Fancy meeting you here, little sister.”

20

KALEB

My emotions rarely show on my face. They hardly exist, period.

I’m aware of what an anomaly I am.

Most people aren’t like me.

They tear up in movies. They laugh at jokes.

They sure as fuck talk a lot when they’re nervous or excited.

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