Page 12 of My Roommate from Hell
“I’m just messing with you, man,” he interrupts before I can answer. “Just tell me this, am I hot?”
My walls are up now, and I don’t want to answer with the truth. I don’t know what kind of game he’s playing, and admitting that yes, I do find him, at least superficially, extremely attractive, feels like a bad move. I’m still getting a read on him, and it seems like there’s a good chance he’s a douchebag.
“To some people, maybe.”
The elevator arrives, the doors opening with a chime.
“But not you?”
“Objectively, sure, but you’re not my type.”
“Huh. That’s fair. Ready to go?”
As we go into the elevator he mumbles something under his breath that sounds alarmingly like “liar.”
CHAPTER FIVE
As we reach the bottom floor in the elevator, I remember the protesters. I’ve easily dodged them, but I doubt they would enjoy an appearance by the very person they are there to rally against.
“There are protesters out there,” I say.
“I’m aware.”
“Maybe we should sneak around the back,” I suggest.
“Why?”
“It might get ugly. They’re pretty riled up.”
“I’m not afraid of humans. It’d take an army of you to kill one of me.”
“Really?”
“Why do you sound so surprised?”
“No reason,” I say.
“You’re lucky I’m such a confident person, because if I wasn’t that would’ve hurt my feelings.”
I follow him out of the elevator. If anything, it looks like the protest has gotten even larger and more hostile than it was this morning. Zarmenus doesn’t seem even slightly concerned as he goes straight out the front door. I follow him out and find myself standing next to a demon in front of a crowd of hundreds who all hate him and very much want him removed from the campus.
Zarmenus lifts a hand and waves at the protesters. A few cameracrews and news vans are nearby, filming us. Am I going to be on the news? I’ve been on TV once. I was on student council, and was interviewed after a news team ran a story on my school. Mom brings out the video whenever relatives visit.
“Hey, everyone,” says Zarmenus. “Cool signs.”
I shove my hands in my pockets to try to stop them from shaking. The crowd starts to boo, and people wave their signs like they’re pitchforks. If there wasn’t a small army of campus police and security nearby, I’d be worried they would rush forward in an attempt to swamp him. On the other hand, some of the protesters have gone pale with fear at being in Zarmenus’s presence, and are muttering prayers under their breath.
“Let’s go,” I say, and I head to the side of the building, hoping to avoid the crowd.
There’s a blur of movement, then a crunching sound. It takes me a second to figure out that someone has thrown an egg at me, and it missed my head by maybe an inch to splatter on the wall behind me. I turn and spot the person who threw it. We lock eyes, and he reaches down to grab another egg from the carton.
Zarmenus steps in front of me.
“Don’t,” he says, speaking to the protester.
The man is shaking, but he still picks up the egg. He moves his hand back and goes to throw.
“I saiddon’t,” commands Zarmenus. And it’s not his voice I hear. It’s many voices, all somehow unified. Their tone is deep and beastly.
