Page 21 of Scaredy Cat
He really is insufferable, and a gaming addict who will probably never move out of my parent’s house. At this point, I’m pretty sure he’s going to be a permanent fixture there, and definitely will be inheriting the house.
Good for him. I have my own.
“Fuck off, Persy.”His snarl is a bit more vehement than I expect, and it causes the small smile to melt off of my lips. God, he reminds me so much of our dad it’s unreal. He gets more and more like him every year, I’ve noticed, and I miss the little boy who used to joke around with me as we explored and hiked together.
But Evan hasn’t been that brother in a long, long time.
“I don’t think so.” Truthfully, I don’t have anything planned for my birthday. I never do. But the idea of going home and sitting through a birthday party with my family as the guests, knowing they’ll just harp on my job, my house, my choices, and anything else they can find to get at me with, sounds like absolute torture. “Madison and Brynn are?—”
“Whatever.”The way he cuts me off makes my throat burn with the urge to snap at him.“Look, Mom just wanted me to ask. I don’t know why she couldn’t ask you herself or whatever. Guess you pissed her off last time you came home, so she’s holding a grudge.”He speaks so candidly about our mom’s narcissism, but I suppose that’s the benefit of being the favorite child. He rarely has to deal with her tantrums or her outbursts.
Maybe that’s why he hasn’t had the urge to move out, even though he’s only two years younger than me and, having finished high school, is doing absolutely nothing with his days.
“Okay, well, this has been…something special.” I bite my lip, worrying it under my teeth. “Have you done anything cool lately? Anything like?—”
“I gotta go. I have a tournament today. Even though I’m just a substitute, I’m pretty sure they’ll let me play a round. Anyway…”I hear him get up from his gaming chair that’s seen better days, and distantly I wonder when Mom and Dad will buy him a new one.
It’s not like he has a job to pay for one on his own, after all. Only the money he sometimes wins from e-sports tournaments.
“Yeah. Okay, uh…Good luck? You’ll have to tell me—” He cuts me off by hanging up, and my stomach twists unpleasantly.
God, I miss the little boy who gripped my hand with his chubby fingers and followed me into the woods for an adventure. I miss his sweetness, and the way we used to be best friends.
I miss the brother I used to have.
Staring at the phone does nothing for my mood, and I let out a soft sigh before tossing it back onto the coffee table and grabbing my laptop. My blog started out as an escape from the real world, from my family, and from how distant I felt from them for years. But now with it being my job, my full-time career, and my source of income…it feels a little less like an escape.
“Do what you love,” I mumble, running my fingers through my hair. “Or whatever.” I know if my mom were here, she’d leap at my moment of weakness to lecture me about this not being a real career, and how it won’t last forever.
In my post, I left out the details about my unwelcome encounter at Dusk House, seeing as it felt like something that wasn’t a part of the show, and as I scroll through the commentson my post, I barely read them. Haunts like this one always get less traffic—especially from my audience—but I still know I have some parents in the Chicago area who follow my blog looking for somewhere to take their kids or the less-horror-inclined members of their families.
They still have the witch’s workshop?
I heard their fog machines were on the fritz last night.
How did my blood taste?—
I blink and stare up at my ceiling, not reading the rest of the comment. Don’t I already know who it’s from? Aren’t Ifully awarethat I have a stalker who apparently has a fixation with seeing me afraid? Taking a breath, I tell myself that I’m not going to freak out, no matter what the rest of this comment says. I doubt it’ll be friendly. I know that last night I was almostafraidof him, and he’s definitely bragging in my comments along with insulting me for it.
“You’re fine,” I murmur. No matter how he insults me, I can handle it. Slowly, I drag my gaze back down to my screen, hating the way my stomach twists in unwelcome anticipation.
I never do well with mean comments, even though I like to think I hide my delicate feelings pretty well.
How did my blood taste on those perfect lips, Scaredy Cat?
That’s…not what I’m expecting. I even read it again before noticing the replies to the comment, which I click on before I can stop myself.
You met her?
Holy shit—this is so romantic.
@Scaredy.Cat do you know him???
Those also aren’t what I’m expecting. Romantic?Really?
…Yeah, okay, I can see it. But I’m definitely a problem, and I don’t need convincing to find romance where thereisn’tany. This is just a guy wanting to prove a point, trying to get his name on my blog and to be different. Or to be a jerk, I don’t know.
It can’t be anything more.
