Page 74 of Ominous: Part 1
“You fantasize about drowning someone, then you tell me your mom is dead and get angry about it, about to walk off,” I stab my hand in the general direction of the bookshelves, my arm trembling from anger and rejection, “and now you think we’ve gone too far when what’s really happening here is you aren’t good at communication and—”
“Just over two weeks.”
I drop my hand, my knees shaky, and I have to grip the ledge of the table. He doesn’t back up, his hands in his pockets as he stays down on my level.
“We’ve known each other two weeks.”
I know that.I know that.I understand, on some biological level, my hormones are out of control and Eli is really, really good looking, and he’s smart and he says all the right things, and he’s rich, and he has a future I could never be a part of. He drives a fast car, and he does it well, and he tells me all this shit I want to hear. IknowI’m falling too fast, and it won’t ever last, but I don’t need it to.
I need until graduation.
I only intended to survive this year. To get good enough grades to go to a good enough school to get far enough away from my limited life so I could pretend to be something I’m not and maybe attend a decent grad school and become a professor and write a book, and maybe it would all be very mediocre, but I wouldn’t live in a trailer and I wouldn’t lug around cleaning supplies all day only to come home at night to a man who is ugly and ill-tempered like Reece.
I don’t believe Eli will be in any of that future. No college, no grad school, no professorship. He belongs in none of my realities, but he’s here. Right now. And he makes me feelsomething.
Something scary and alive and irrational, but something more than going through the motions.
Now, he’s telling me it was all a very temporary dream.
“Let’s just slow down, okay?” He sounds as if he’s trying to pacify me. He arches a dark brow, and I hate how it makes him look sowise,like he knows what he’s talking about. I hate how he smells so good, and how when he’s this close, I can’t think of any good rebuttal. “We skipped all of the small talk and jumped right into homicide and when you dive into the deep end so fast, you’re likely to drown.”
I narrow my eyes. “Not if you know how to swim.”
This makes him stop in his tracks, and I can tell he wasn’t expecting me to say anything. Neither was I if I’m being honest. He straightens, and I catch my breath as he runs his tongue over his teeth and looks up at the ceiling.
“I need to go.”
“You’re lying.”
He sighs, and for the first time, I glance at the circles beneath his eyes as he keeps them trained above me. Dark blue, like a bruise. Like the color probably spattered over his chest right now. I think of the photo of him on my phone, and I have a feeling tonight I’m going to be grateful I took it. “I’m not. I promised my dad I’d be home for dinner.”
I shift on my feet, wishing he’d invite me and knowing he won’t. “Okay.” I’m not going to beg him to stay.
He gives me a smile full of pity before he turns around to gather up his stuff. Mainly, the water bottle we were sharing, and his phone, face down on the table, it hasn’t gone off once. “I’ll see you tomorrow in class.” He looks as if he wants an answer, phone now in hand as he waits.
I hate him walking away. I don’t know where that leaves me. Was this all in my head? Like with Nic? All overhyped? Am I naïve? Is he?
There’s no more imaginary conversation between us. His body language betrays nothing except for slight impatience that he’s still waiting for my response.
I decide not to give him one. Arching a brow in the only dismissal he’ll receive, I then drop down into my seat as elegantly as I can, like his movements from two weeks ago in this same library.
I can feel his eyes on me for long moments as I pick up my pen and pretend to ignore him. But he says nothing before he finally walks out, my question about his mom long forgotten.
16
Eli
Ten minutesafter I leave the library, when I’m joyriding on the highway, I see the cop, and I know he clocks me, but he doesn’t bother coming after me. We both know he’d never catch up. Still, I watch in the rear-view mirror for long seconds, eyes off the road as I do, and I don’t fucking care about that. Who I hit. If I swerve.
I just don’t care.
When the police car disappears from view, I pick up speed, glancing at the speedometer.
I could lose my license for this. I could lose my fucking car.
Dad would get me out of it, because Dad doesn’t want anyone to know just how big of a fuck up his son is, does he?
“You missed your appointment.” His voice through my speakers, connected to my phone, is full of concern.
