Page 58 of Scaredy Cat
“Mhmm.” He buries his face in my throat. “I’m a murderer. Probably a serial killer, if we’re going by numbers.”
Unthinkingly, I whack his arm. “That doesn’t make this better.”
He just snickers and kisses my neck, his hand still moving on my opposite shoulder. “Can we go back to sleep? You can be upset and freak out in the morning? Throw a flashlight at me again?”
“Youbrokethat flashlight with yourface.”
“You have others. And I’ll get you a new one.” Somehow, no matter that I should have a lot of problems with the whole arrangement, he has me tucked in my bed and under my blankets in record time. Shiloh pulls me against him, body curled around mine almost protectively, and when he exhales against my hair, I feel the tension leave my body.
“Good night, Scaredy Cat,” he murmurs. “Sweet dreams.”
23
“Your mother’s calling.”
Immediately I come to full wakefulness, only to groan and shove my face under my pillow. The movement dislodges Arugula, who stumbles off of it, but I’m frustrated enough that I only feel a little bad.
“Tell her I’m dead.”
“She wants to video call, and I don’t know how I’d prove that.”
My next grumble makes Shiloh chuckle. He smoothes my hair back from my face and sits down on the bed behind me to pull me out from under the pillows. “Come on. It’s your mom. It can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, it can.” But I sit up and glare at the sunlight outside, noting that it’s probably close to when I normally get up if I know how to judge time by the position of the sun. “Okay. Do I look okay?” Shiloh’s raised brows are answer enough and I groan before taking the phone from his hand. I’ve missed three calls from my mom, all of them with a video request involved so I let out an unhappy breath before calling her back.
The camera pops up, showing me that I look pretty dreadful, and I don’t look up from the phone as Shiloh gets to his feet tomake his way towards the bathroom. It occurs to me after he’s closed the door that falling asleep had made me miss out on a lot of opportunities to try and get that towel off of his waist. Hell—maybe if I’d been up earlier, I could’ve seen him naked, if I were so lucky as the towel coming off in his sleep.
But now, I’ll never know.
My mom’s face appears on the screen, causing my heart to sink in expectation. The calls are never fun, and I wish I could get back the feeling I used to have as a teenager when I was excited over my mom calling. She looks up at me, seeming tired, and behind her I can see the light streaming through the kitchen window.
“Hey there, hon,” my mom greets with a smile. “Did I wake you up? Did you oversleep?”
I fight not to roll my eyes. While my mother has always held me to the standard of getting up early like she does, somehow that same expectation was never passed onto my brother, who I’m willing to bet is passed out in his gaming chair covered in Doritos and body odor.
“Uh, yeah. Sorry.” My phone shows me that it’s only seven, and that alone is enough to send a bolt of irritation down my spine. I make my own hours, for one. And also, she has no right to judge me when I make more than Evan ever will. “How are you, mom?”
“I’m good, I’m good. Your dad’s been trying to get the yard mowed for the last time this season. With all the rain we’ve been having, he’s barely able to keep up with it.” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes fondly. “You know your dad. God forbid the grass go an extra few days and getshaggy.”
That brings a small, genuine smile to my lips and I cross my legs up under me before leaning back against the head of the bed. “Are you guys doing the trunk-r-treat at the church thisyear?” With Halloween pretty close, I’m sure they’ve already got everything figured out.
She huffs a sigh before answering. “Well, I’d hoped so. But your brother doesn’t want to help.” He never does, so I’m not sure why this is some kind of revelation. “I thought if you came down for your birthday we could do it. But Evan says you don’t want to spend it with us this year.”
Ouch. That stings more than it should, given that the only reason I don’t want to go home is to avoid the kind of lecture I know I’ll get about my job. Or the lack of one, according to my parents. While it’s okay for Evan to sit and rot in his bedroom, I’m not allowed to. I’m expected tomakesomething of myself, though my current job apparently doesn’t count.
“It’s not that,” I’m quick to say. “Really, it is so not that. My friends have plans and they’ve been looking forward to it all year.” God, this is a lie, but I don’t know what else to say. “And because it’s Halloween, and?—”
“You don’t have to lie.” My mom’s smile is full of pathetic valor. Like she’s soldiering on through wounds inflicted by others, when the only reason she’s ever a victim is because of her own narcissism. “Really, Persephone. If you don’t want to spend it with us this year. That’s okay. I know we’re not cool like you. I’m sure it’s boring to come back here when you have all those places to party in Chicago.” She laughs ruefully, though it’s a put on tone. “I’m not sure what I did to end up with a party-loving daughter, though. I didn’t think I raised you that way.”
Bile rises in my throat, and I don’t glance up when the bathroom door opens. From the corner of my eye I can see Shiloh clothed, which is a relief and a disappointment, but probably more of a relief given my situation. I’m not sure I could hide my drool if he was strolling around here with everything out.
“I’m not lying.” I sigh, and run my hand through my hair. My shoulders are achey again, like she’s actively putting more and more weight on them the longer she stares at me on the other side of the phone. “And you know I don’t like to party, Mom. I never have?—”
“I find I don’t know much about you at all anymore,” she sighs. “So I don’t know what you like. You never tell me. Well.” She rolls her eyes and her frown deepens. “All I know about you now is that you’re just obsessed with horror and scary things. That’s what your blog or whatever is about, right? You know I think the online blogs and content are fads that won’t be in style much longer.”
I bite my tongue around the retort that the internet is, unfortunately, forever. “Well, I’m doing really well,” I try to say. “I’m keeping up with things, and?—”
“I hope you’re setting money aside,” she interrupts, as if I wasn’t talking. “For when this goes under. And you can’t plan for Madison to take you in again.”
