Page 13 of Writhe
He hesitates, like he’s weighing whether he should tell me. Then he says, “Theo.”
Theo.
I roll the name around in my head. It suits him. Feels warm. Familiar, even though I know I’ve never seen him before.
I take a sip of the water, letting it cool my throat before I ask, “Why are you in here?”
His eyes flick away. He doesn’t answer right away, his fingers twisting the hem of his sweater tighter. Then, softly, he admits, “Same reason as you, probably.”
I let out a sharp breath of laughter. “Doubt it.”
His gaze lifts again, cautious. “And why’s that?”
“Because I belong here.”
He studies me for a long moment, his lips parting like he might say something, then closing again. Finally, he says, “So do I.”
I should tell him to leave.
My room isn’t a place for strays, and I don’t have the patience for people who whisper like they’re afraid to take up space. But Theo doesn’t feel like the others. He’s not begging for attention, not pushing me to talk. He just sits there, silent, watching me like he’s trying to figure me out.
It’s annoying.
But it was not annoying enough to make me want him gone.
I stretch my legs out, the cold floor seeping into my skin through my thin socks. “You gonna stare all night, or are you actually gonna tell me why you’re here?”
Theo shifts, tucking his knees up toward his chest. The movement makes him seem even smaller, like he’s trying to fold in on himself. His fingers tremble slightly as he picks at a loose thread in his sweater. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “I guess I never really belonged anywhere else.”
His voice is soft, barely above a whisper, but there’s something underneath it that catches me off guard. A sadness that feels . . . familiar.
I exhale sharply. “That’s not an answer.”
He looks up at me then, his lips twitching with something that isn’t quite a smile. “Neither was yours.”
A bark of laughter escapes me before I can stop it. Shit. He’s right.
I shift, resting my elbow on my knee, tilting my head as I study him. Up close, I can see the hollowness in his cheeks, the sharp angles of his jaw. He looks sickly pale under the harsh fluorescents.
“You don’t talk to many people, do you?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Not really.”
I hum, tapping my fingers against my knee. “Then maybe you should be honest with me.”
His brows knit together slightly. “What do you mean?”
I lean forward, just enough to watch the way his throat bobs as he swallows. “You slipped into my room, gave me food, and now you’re sitting here looking likeyou don’t know what the hell to do with yourself.” My voice drops slightly, a lazy smirk curling at the edge of my lips. “What do you want from me, Theo?”
He tenses, his shoulders stiffening. I can practically see his mind scrambling for an answer, for an excuse, but he doesn’t give one. Instead, he just holds my gaze. And then, quietly, he says, “I don’t know.”
I don’t know why that answer makes something in my chest tighten. It should be pathetic, but somehow, it’s not. Somehow, it makes me want to keep him. I sit back against the door, fingers trailing over the empty plastic wrapper in my lap. “You’re weird,” I mutter.
Theo lets out a breath of laughter, the sound barely there, like he’s surprised by it himself. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”
For the first time in days, my stomach doesn’t ache as much. And for some fucked-up reason, I think I might let him stay. Theo stays longer than he should. I know it, he knows it, but neither of us move.
The room is quiet, the kind of silence that fills the space between breaths, stretching thin over the hum of white noise. I should be questioning him, should be asking how the hell he got in here, why he’s suddenly so interested in me, why he gave me food like he knew I was starving.
