Page 113 of Ominous: Part 1
I go downstairs and wait on the couch.
Eventually, I drag a stool to the pantry, grab the box of cereal, move the stool to the fridge to get the milk. I eat breakfast alone with the toy car.
I stare at the pool.
I see a rabbit with a white tail.
Mom doesn’t come down until the sun is high in the sky. By then, I’ve already stripped out of my clothes, changed into my swimming trunks, and the blood is gone from my hands.
When I blink,Eden is right in front of me, her eyes focused on mine. “What are you thinking about right now?” she asks quietly, and I shake my head, stepping back and pressing my palms to the counter, curling shaky fingers over the edge, trying to steady myself.
“Nothing,” I lie to her. The word comes out wrong. Too broken. I clear my throat and smile at her, but I know she can see it’s a lie. I reach for a diversion. “And you’re a filthy littleangel.”I take a breath. And another, hoping the lightness of my words reaches her.
A smirk pulls on her cherry red lips, but there’s still something of concern in her eyes, the way they’re narrowed just slightly.
I reach out and grab her by the collar of my shirt on her body, used to the way she cringes every time I touch her. Maybe one day I’ll give her a fucking reason to flinch.
But she’s not ready for that yet.
This time, my knuckles graze her collarbone, just above one of her necklaces, and I yank her close to me, letting her catch herself on her palms against my chest, her breath leaving her in a sweet little rush.
“Kiss me, Eden.”
I don’t think she’s going to listen, but she stands on her tiptoes, clawing at my shirt. She tilts her head, her eyes on my mouth, trailing up to my nose, then my eyes.
Come closer, baby girl. I won’t biteyou.
I hold my breath, waiting.
Her grip tightens on my shirt, her body pressing toward mine as I keep my knuckles just over her clavicle, her shirt fisted in my grip.
She’s just staring up at me, like she might find something in my eyes if she looks long enough. It’s almost hard to hold her gaze. I want to look away. It’s uncomfortable, thinking my thoughts might be transparent, even if it’s just with her.
Especiallyif it’s just with her.
She has to believe I am who I say I am.
She has to believe I can dogoodthings.
“You want me to kiss you?” she whispers, never looking away.
My body is hot, something worse than longing in my veins. “Yes.” I jerk her closer, her breasts against me, my thigh between hers. “Yes, I want you to fucking kiss me.”
She smiles, and despite this moment, when I want her, everywhere, every part of her, every fucking inch invaded byme,it’s still there.
The innocence.
And I realize what it is.
It’s not about her at all. It’s aboutme.She looks at me without wariness in this moment. Her guard is down, it has to be, because I can see a reflection of me in her eyes, what she sees when she looks at me, and she thinks, for right now,I’m good.
Then she… kisses me first.
Her lips are sweet like rum, and my hands come to cup her face, smooth beneath my fingers. She keeps her own tightly tangled in my shirt and I want them everywhere, but despite what good she might try to see in me, I think she’s still getting used to this. To me.
I know I’m still adjusting to her. Everything she does feels louder than anyone else, even though she’s not a loud person. It’s just her actions echo, and I can feel her even when she isn’t here.
I run my tongue over hers, and she smiles into my mouth. My teeth catch on her lips as she does, and she presses herself tight against me, knocking my back into the counter.
