Page 41 of Ominous: Part 1
Maybe a little fear. I imagine grabbing his throat, twisting the choker, the leather cutting into his skin. A rush fills my veins. My nerves seem to subside.
But I simply press the button on his car, killing the engine.
The purr and the music drops, wrapping us in silence.
Still close to him, the console digging into my ribs, my face inches from his, I repeat, “You already used all of your questions.” I start to lean back in my seat, retracting my hand, when he grabs my wrist.
A shudder runs through me, his fingers cold on my hot skin.
I freeze, and now it’s my turn to be afraid.
“All those things you think I think about you?”
I clench my teeth with his reference to the first question. I don’t want to ever speak of it again. I liked how he didn’t comment on it, and I don’t want him to start now. But he doesn’t give me a choice.
He closes the space between us, leaning down so we’re eye level.
I want to pull back. I want to yank my arm from his grip, but I don’t think I could, and I don’t even try.
“Only the first one was true.”
Then he releases me as suddenly as he grabbed me, straightening in his seat and opening his door after he swipes his phone and his keys from the console.
“Are you scared to die?”
For a moment, the question echoing in my head, I can’t move, my limbs heavy and my mind numb. But he comes around to my side and opens my door, offering me his hand.
It’s what I need to think again.
I don’t take his offer, but I get out of the car, his arm still braced on the door, bringing us close to one another. I have to look up at him, a smirk on his face, but I don’t feel intimidated.
“Fuck.”
“How would he kill you?”
“Only the first one was true.”
He didn’t judge me. And before I can stop myself, when I know I should just leave it alone, I say, “If you didn’t know, I think you’re attractive too.”
He stares at me a moment longer. Then his smile pulls wider, becomes more genuine, and he drops his hand, stepping back, shaking his head with the smallest laugh.
He might’ve been asking the questions, but I feel like, in this moment, I won the game.
Eli
She looksdown when she reaches the kitchen island, her fingertips gliding softly over the marble. Neither of us speak. I didn’t tell her where we were going but I’m sure she’s figured out I live here, despite the lack of personal touches in the areas of the house she’s seen thus far.
As I watch her, I think of Dad and I this morning. Our fight, the shattered glass.
I wonder what she’d think. I want to tell her, but it’ll sound as if I’m looking for pity, and I don’t want her pity.
I just want her tohearme, like I heard her in the car. All the things she might not have said in the confession about getting fucked and hurt and…Fuck.
I wonder if she’s a virgin, if all these things are fantasies she’d actually hate, because there is a huge gap between what we think we want and when push comes to shove, what wereallywant. I wouldn’t care either way, but she’s jumpy when I touch her. Paranoid, almost, no matter the cool front she puts on.
I press my knuckles to my mouth to stop from moving, speaking, interrupting this moment when she peeks into my life and decides what to think of it all.
She pauses, drifting her slender fingers on the countertops, frowning as she watches where her green nails touch the marble, as if she’s concerned her touch will cause it all to crumble to dust.
