Page 17 of The Gloaming

In the chilly kitchen, I hopped between cupboards, looking for more painkillers as Tom fiddled with the thermostat. When he noticed what I was doing, he slid a bottle of cocodamol across the worktop.

“So, you fell?” He watched me struggle with the child-safe container as I sat at the table across from him.

“Honestly,” I replied, grasping the lid in my teeth while tugging a lumpy cushion out from beneath me with the other hand. “No vamp involvement whatsoever.” It popped open and spilled sugary pills over the counter.

“Right. You just… fell. Nothing to do with the fact you vanished for hours after—”

“Through the floor of the old lodge, actually.”

He stared at me, shoving two pieces of bread into the toaster without looking at them. “You’re kidding. The same floor I specifically told you would collapse if you kept—”

“If you say ‘I told you so,’ I will throw this cushion at your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, holding up both hands. “Though I did. Tell you so, I mean.” He dodged the cushion with ease. “How are you not—?”

“Dead or smashed to bits? Smart question, Chowdhury.” I heaved my injured ankle onto the chair between us, throwing back the pills.

The toaster pinged, and Tom’s dark eyes followed methoughtfully as he crossed the room to grab a plate and put more bread in. “You know, you’re oddly durable. Have you noticed? I mean, most people don’t treat falling through floors like it’s a minor inconvenience. You’re like a human rubber ball.”

Of course I’d noticed. Most people didn’t heal cracked ribs and broken bones in a fortnight. But saying that sort of thing out loud made me feel… well, insane.

“Pass the first aid box?” I asked instead.

“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” he continued, ignoring me. But he reached under the sink and tossed the box over anyway.

“Hmm?”

“Yeah. Because when you break it down, what would be the point of your heightened senses, and the vamp stuff, if you didn’t have the strength to do something about it?”

I pursed my lips, concentrating on the tub of antiseptic cream and tweezers I’d dug from the jam-packed box. A little more rummaging, and I produced a mirror and cotton swabs.

“I mean, Jon was great at martial arts, but he couldn’t take you in a fight.”

I cleared my throat. “I’m not planning on testing this theory if that’s what you’re after.”

“Fine by me,” he smiled tightly. “But you still need time to heal. Rest. Call Maggie and ask her to cover.”

I tugged down the skin beneath my left eye, and swabbed antiseptic across the shallow cuts there. “And your motives are honourable, right? Nothing to do with wanting to spend more time with her?”

“We work together, that’s a good enough reason.” His smilewas smug as he grabbed the tweezers from my hand and took over, removing the remaining splinters. “But she’s got family visiting at the weekend, so we moved our date to tomorrow.”

I wiggled my eyebrows at him. “Nervous?”

“I thought I would be.” The tip of his nose turned red. “But I really like her, and she’s already heard my stupid jokes and knows my bad habits. That’s got to be a good start.”

I smiled and nodded. He deserved someone in his life after everything that had happened lately. Though I hated to admit it, I was sort of jealous – but that wasn’t my path, and I’d accepted that. I danced too close to the darkness to bring anyone over the edge with me.

“So long as I get the juicy details afterwards.” I winked at him. “That is if you’re not too busy.”

The smell of burnt toast filled the room, and I stood to remove it before it got worse, laughing with Tom. Maggie would be perfect for him.

???

Despite his transparent motives, Tom had a fair point about taking time to heal. I made my way through four mugs of coffee before I noticed the caffeine wasn’t waking me up in the slightest, so after he left for Jolt, I climbed back into bed and slept the day away. Cocooned in the warmth of my duvet, it was a relief to forget the world for a while. Even to forget the heavy feeling in my chest that hadn’t lifted since we’d heard about Jon’s death.

Everything was still stiff and sore the next morning, but atleast I could move more easily. An ultra-hot shower helped loosen up my limbs, and I made a vague plan of how my day could go as I ran conditioner through my hair, dried myself off and headed upstairs.

Technically, my work room was a loft space my landlord had glorified in the hopes of adding another bedroom to the house and bumping up the rent. He’d installed windows at either end of the steep, angled roof, and fitted some plasterboard with access into the eaves for insulation – but that was about as far as he’d gotten. I could only get in using the pull-down ladder from the hatch in my bedroom ceiling, which took more effort than usual with a dodgy ankle. Still, I managed it.

---