Page 33 of Surface Scratch
Her expression remained stoic as she stared at her dad, like she was bored with the battle of wills they were starting. She rolled her eyes.
“Fine, but I’m only doing this once,” she huffed. Her blank eyes shifted to Caleb’s face. “Caleb, I am very sorry for trying to feed you to Marcus. It won’t happen again.” She reached into the top of her shirt and withdrew a phone, setting it gently on the island and sliding it to him. “And I’m sorry I fucked up your phone. I put your old SIM card in there.”
Caleb stared down at the device, the protective plastic still stuck to the screen, still trying to process the shockingly blasé attitude she had while apologizing for trying to kill him. “Are you serious?” he asked, picking up the phone gingerly and turning it over. It wasn’t like the cheap knockoff brand he’d before. It was a real phone—a new one, too.
“If you try to get up and hug me, I will bean you with the frying pan,” she said sternly. She picked up her plate. “Dad, you have to open the dock door for the beer delivery in, like, five minutes. Apparently, they won’t let me sign for deliveries anymore because someone caught wind that I’m underage.”
“I remember a time when kids your age could buy cigarettes and liquor for their parents,” he said.
“Ugh, I do not have time for old-man stories. I’m going to go eat in my room and get ready for work,” she said, shoveling a pile of eggs into her mouth as she walked past them.
“I love you too, sweetheart,” Marcus called after her.
“Five minutes! Don’t forget!” she yelled from the hallway.
Marcus chuckled and rested his chin on his hand. “How bad is it?”
Caleb picked up a piece of blackened bacon and put it in his mouth. The meat crumbled almost immediately, turning into a charred paste on his tongue. He winced.
“I’ve had worse,” he said, putting it back down on the plate. He instead took a bite of the eggs. Those were a bit better—desperately in need of salt and pepper, but he wasn’t going to complain. Not when he had a shiny new phone staring at him. “She’s been calling you ‘Dad’ a lot more than I’m used to.”
Marcus nodded against his hand. “She gets like that when she’s feeling sentimental,” he said. “But don’t bring it up to her, she’ll put scorpions in your shoes.”
Caleb coughed in surprise, slapping a hand against his chest to make sure he wouldn’t aspirate. “Is that something she’s done before?” he wheezed.
“Oh yes, to me, several times.” Marcus laughed. “She orders them online.”
Caleb rubbed his face. “That’s terrifying.” He laughed, scooping another bland forkful of eggs into his mouth.
Marcus leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead. “I’m going to go sign for that delivery, you stay here and eat,” he told Caleb. “I’m going to have Tariq manage the floor tonight so I can be here with you, if you want to stay again, that is.”
Caleb twisted his fork in the pile of eggs. “If you don’t mind,” he said, looking down at the food. Why was it so embarrassing to admit he wanted to spend another night there?
Because spending the night means you want have sex with him, the same guy who almost killed you a few days ago.
“I’d be delighted to have you stay another night,” Marcus said, planting a chaste kiss on Caleb’s lips.
Caleb sat on the same leather couch he had woken up on a month prior, flipping through his new phone’s features. Marcus had gotten dressed in his usual work attire of a blazer, dress shirt, and nice black pants to go meet the beer delivery driver a while ago, leaving Caleb alone in the penthouse apartment with just the vague sound of Ophelia’s music thumping from her bedroom.
Being alone seemed like it was the last thing he needed in that moment. It gave him time to dwell on the questions that were picking away at the ignorant bliss he was allowing himself to float in. Like what might happen to him if Marcus lost control again? Or the other nagging questions in mind: how many people had Marcus killed? How well did he know Vincent? Why did he kill Ophelia’s parents? How old was he really?
Part of him still felt like he should be pushing back against the whole vampires-are-real concept, too. The most obvious deduction would be that Ophelia and Marcus were both insane and pulling him into some sort of homicidal delusion, but he couldn’t deny what he had seen. Yesterday he’d watched Marcus’s eyes change and his teeth turn to fangs, and the fact of the matter was, he was up and walking around as though he hadn’t been impaled by three sharp objects. He hadn’t seen Marcus without a shirt, but he imagined there wouldn’t even be a scratch where the bolts had pierced him.
It didn’t matter much, though. Instead of his intermittent dreams being plagued by flashes of pain and terror from the alley confrontation like he’d expected they would be, every single thought that filled his unconscious mind was of moments he and Marcus had shared together. Tender, loving, occasionally drifting into erotic. He had woken up to an erection that ached in a way he had never felt before and seemed to take an hour to go away.
His sexuality had always been something he was aware of, knowing he preferred the same sex at a young age, and neither his brother nor his mother ever gave him any flack for it. But the more… technical aspects had seemed to be locked away by his psyche, all his mind’s bandwidth taken up by crippling anxiety and the task of caring for his mother. He knew it was abnormal for someone his age to be so lacking in the romantic aspects of their life. But he seemed to be making up for it at lighting speed.
Maybe that’s why you’re so willing to overlook the bloodthirsty monster thing. You’re thinking with your dick.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. He shot to his feet, ready to open the door and greet Marcus, but faltered as he reached for the knob. Marcus had a key. Why would he be knocking?
Another fast series of knocks came from the other side. “Hello? ’Phelia? It’s Tariq, let me in,” the voice called from the other side.
Caleb yanked the door open. Tariq would be a sight for sore eyes. His mouth hung agape at the sight of the man in the doorway. The figure wore a knee-length winter coat that was zipped up to his chin, black mittens, and a black ski mask beneath his hood, the look completed with reflective aviator goggles that made him look more like something out of a comic book than a DJ.
Before Caleb could react, the man rushed forward and wrapped his arms around him, lifting him off the ground. “Oh my fuck. Caleb, you’re alive, thank goodness!” he cried, his voice muffled behind the mask.
Oh yeah, it was definitely Tariq. Those bear hugs were unmistakable. “OW, Tariq, hi. Down please,” Caleb wheezed.
