Page 26 of Ominous: Part 1
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I don’t trust myself, in my own skin. “Yeah,” I say, forcing myself to speak. “Yeah, goodnight.” Then I dart into my room, closing and locking the door behind me, although I’m not sure it’s a good idea. Sometimes, I don’t know if I should be alone with myself.
But I still hear them.The sirens are real.Unable to let it go, I wait until Sebastian’s door is closed. Then, my pulse pounding too loud in my ears, I tiptoe back into the hall.
They’re louder, here. The sirens.
With a shaky finger, I pull down the blind again, holding my breath.
At first, I see nothing but darkness. Nothing but night.
My stomach sinks, then I sweep my gaze to the right, further down Castle Lane.
Blue lights.Right there.Cop cars parked at the end of the street, in front of the last trailer, which on my last walk I saw was empty. Probably squatters.
But the cops, the lights… they’re real, aren’t they?
I release the blind, turning to stare at Seb’s door. No light slips through the crack underneath it.
I scurry back into my room, slowly closing and locking my door, not feeling any better than I did before.
I dive into bed, yanking the covers over my head.A distraction. I need a distraction.
I try to breathe evenly.
I imagine Eli. Dark green eyes, circled with black.
I clutch the faded silver of my sheets tighter, pressing my knees together, curling them up to my chest so I’m in a ball. Heat rises in my blood, and I think about him without his shirt on. His clavicle, his olive skin, dark hair,Adonis.
I’m chewing the inside of my cheek, stretching one leg out and angling onto my back again, my hand drifting from my sheets to my stomach, just under my sleep shirt, when my phone buzzes underneath my pillow.
My heart pumps hard.
I blink open my eyes as I reach for my phone, holding it over my head and dimming down the brightness, squinting against the screen.
An unknown, local number.
I widen my thighs, bringing one foot to the inside of my knee as I read his text.
Him: I’ll be there at eight.
Two emotions war within me, strange thoughts and I don’t know which one to cling to. Irritation he didn’t offer an excuse or an apology for waiting until this late to text me, and a dizzying sort of awe he didn’t.
I consider not texting him back as I save his number into my phone.
But before I have to make a decision, he’s typing again.
I smile, waiting, holding the phone over my head under the sheets.
Him: Then I’ll take you on a real date.
I roll my eyes, and another text comes through, my phone pulsing in my hand as it does.
Him: Bring your checkered bag. Put some clothes in it for a sleepover. Tell your parents you aren’t coming home.
Another laugh bubbles through my fingers, but even so, even thinking of all of this as a joke, I decide to indulge him. Talking to Eli is better than worrying over my brother. Overmyself.
Me: And where, exactly, should I tell my parents I’ll be?
His response is immediate and imagining him lying on his back like I am, one arm slung over his brow in his mansion-esque room, a fan tousling his hair, no shirt on, those bruises on his abs… it makes me feel feverish.
