Page 93 of Ominous: Part 1
He responds immediately, and I imagine him lying on his side, too, head propped on his arm, his shirt off, his shorts low on his hips, showing off the skull and crossbones tattoo.
I don’t see his bruises in my head.
I pretend he doesn’t have them.
I pretend no one wants to hurt us. And in my head, as he texts me back, he laughs out loud, freely. He’s happy, despite our mini argument.
Him: Do you feel safe with me?
My stomach lurches. I think of slapping him, my veins full of nerves and anticipation. I think of him pressing me against the wall in the library after I shoved him first. I’m not skinny, but even still, I’m so much smaller than him. He could’ve done anything to me.
I would have let him.
You trust me with your body?
Me: Yes.
Butterflies swarm my gut as my heart pounds, and I wait for him to reply.Trust me with your secrets.The sigil is burned into my brain, alongside my intention.
But the three dots don’t pop up on my screen, and I think of the shadows beneath his eyes, half-hoping he’s sleeping, and selfishly wishing he isn’t. Not yet.
I put down my phone and roll out of my queen bed, heading toward my backpack on the opposite wall. I squat down and pull out my medicine, shaking out one pill. I toss it down dry, pushing the bottle inside my bag and zipping it up. I tiptoe back to bed in the darkness, swallowing my meds. Only the faintest hint of moonlight splays through my closed blinds at the head of my bed.
I dive under my covers again, grabbing my phone and feeling a jolt of pure happiness when I see he’s texted me again.
Him: Good. I’d never let anything happen to you. I’m not a fucking murderer.
I laugh at the “fucking” but I think it’s just to stop from trembling all over at the other part. The second sentence.
Me: I want to know this whole story.
I start to grow hot under my blankets, but I don’t throw them off, like this kind of conversation is meant to be in secret, hidden away from the rest of the world.
Him: Wow, just skip right over all the sweet shit I said.
I laugh out loud, unable to hold it in any longer.Me: Stop trying to distract me. I see through your bullshit.
Him: I know. It’s why I like you, baby girl. Get some sleep for me. We have an entire day together coming up soon. You can ask me whatever you want then.
Then he sends another message, before I can recover from the last one.
Him: How many people have you kissed, before me?
My face grows so hot, it feels scorching. Inside my head, my pulse taps out a loud drumbeat. He’d only ask if I wasn’t good. If he knew he was the first. He’d only even think to question it if I sucked at it and oh my God, I can’t text him back, not tonight,shit,what did I do wrong, maybe I used too much tongue or—
Him: It was the best kiss of my fucking life.
I think I’m going to pass out. My fingers are shaky, and I want to turn my phone off and flip over and go to bed and wake up in the morning hoping he never asks this question ever again.
But I don’t. Because another part of me, falling in love with him too fast, wants him to know the truth.
Me: None. Before you.
I close my eyes tight as I sit up, unable to keep lying down, my heart galloping as hard as it is inside my chest.
My phone vibrates.
I squeeze my eyes tighter. Take a deep breath. In, out, in, out, just like Shoreside’s nurse told me to do after the incident.
