Page 67 of See Me

TiMOTHy. He sprouts giant wings and flies toward me.

Mothman? Is my student Mothman?

I can’t breathe. I swat at my face, finding it covered.

I can’t breathe. It’s dark. It’s hot.

I’m not restrained, so I fight.

You’re not getting me, Mr. Mothman.

I push and pull at the covering over my face. A stronghand circles my wrist. I jab a foot out and hear an ‘oof’when it connects.

My ankle is ensnared, unable to break free. “Stop fighting me.”

“Never!” I scream and thrash, trying to claw my attacker. “If I’m going down, your DNA will be under my nails, you twisted fluffing psychopath! You won’t get away with this!”

His full weight lands on me but I can’t grasp anything. Did he put me in a bag? I can’t get his DNA if I’m in a bag. He circles my wrists and pins them to my sides with his knees. I can’t even see his face.

Do I want to see his face? Honestly, I’m kind of curious if he at least has real wings. I guess I’d like to know that before I die.

“Ella, Christ, stop.”

I still.

He knows my name?

They say most victims know their attacker. Am I friends with Mothman? I guess you never really know anyone. I mentally catalog my friends wondering who it could be. If the wings are retractable there’s no way I can narrow it down.

A burst of fresh air hits my face and the lights blaze to life above me, piercing my eyes and making my head pound. I shield my eyes and blink until I can focus.

“Luca? You’re Mothman? I guess it makes sense. I’ve seen the wings on your back. I’m guessing the tattoos are symbolic.”

He crawls off of me laughing. “You’re a fucking handful, you know that?”

I scoot away from him. “Is that why you put me in a bag?”

He roars a laugh and scoots off the bed. He’s wearing only a pair of gray shorts and his skin shines with sweat. He stands and turns toward me and the smile slides off his face when he sees me huddling up near the headboard. “Ella, I didn’t put you in abag. You were tangled up in your blankets and fighting like a wildcat to get out.”

I slowly inch to the opposite side of the bed. “Why are you half naked and sweating?”

“You got up mid-day and turned the furnace up to eighty-five degrees because you were shivering. I tried to reason with you and convince you to just get a heavier blanket. So now it’s sweltering in here and I just had to fight you to help you out of your blankets.” He runs his hand through his wet hair and grins. “Did you call me… Mothman?”

I slide off the bed, never turning my back on him and inch toward the bathroom. “Are you… Mothman?”

He keels over laughing and now I know he’s a sociopath. They always laugh, right? Incapable of empathy, no social skills, aggressive, irritable. He ticks every box.

He puts his hands up in some attempt to placate me. “Ella, you’re sick. You have a fever. You probably had a bad dream, okay?” He moves to the bedroom door. “Why don’t you go take a cool shower.”

I look around the room. There are medicine bottles, tissues, and a thermometer on the nightstand. I push my hair out of my face, then look at Luca and a vague memory of him giving me medicine resurfaces.

He stops in the doorway. “You okay?”

I close my eyes and rub my face. “Yeah, just a little confused.”

“I’m going to run home and take a quick shower and then I’ll make you something to eat.”

I nod and lean on the doorframe. Tuesday circles at his feet and I smile. “Can she…?” I point to the kitten.

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