QUINN
It’s nearlypitch black in my room when something wakes me from a dead sleep. The only light is a sliver peeking through the closed window shutter; a faint glow cast by the sidewalk light outside.
I pull myself from my sleepy haze and I feel the weight of someone boring a hole through my flesh with their gaze… which is impossible because I am alone.
I fumble for the lamp on my worn, wooden nightstand and yank the chain. The bulb flickers weakly before dimming to nothing.
The thought enters my mind that maybe the eyes I constantly feel are actually there and not a figment of my overactive imagination; that whoever fucked my dad’s shit up might have their sights set on me now.
It would be just like him to drag me into his shit from the grave, though I don’t know what reason anyone would have for taking it to that level now that he’s not around to feel the hurt of it.
Not that he would have—hurt over the loss of me, that is.
Fumbling in the darkness, my fingers wrap around my phone at the same time the door swings open, causing my heart to come out of my throat.
Kruz flips on the light switch, her long dark curls bouncing around her petite frame. “Why are you already in bed?” She’s nonchalant, her big brown eyes sparkling with curiosity, completely unaware that she nearly sent me into cardiac arrest.
I take a shaky breath and close my eyes, focusing on each frayed nerve ending in my body as I will myself to calm the fuck down. “Why do you feel the need to burst into my room without knocking?”
She closes the door and leans against it, crossing her arms over her chest. “What’s the point in having a key if I don’t use it?”
I eye her incredulously. “You abuse the privilege.”
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes and pushes off the door. She walks toward me and plops down on the bed beside me.
“I was napping,” I reply, tapping my phone screen to check the time. It's just a little after seven, but I realize I've dozed off longer than I intended. I can’t believe I fell asleep and wasted most of the evening. “Shit.”
I scramble off the bed as Kruz tucks her legs underneath her, her tight dark curls bouncing with the movement. “Have somewhere to be?”
“Kronk. Wanna come with?” I pull on my boots and grab my flannel from the hook on the wall.
She gives me a look of pure disgust, her nose scrunching adorably. “I can’t believe you walk up that hill for fun. To the cemetery, no less.”
“Correction: Kronk thinks it’s fun. But it is peaceful up there. A nice reminder of our transient existence.”
She rolls her eyes. “Most of us don’t want to be reminded of ourtransient existence.” She says the words like they’re offensive.
“Memento mori, bitch.” I flip her off and pull open the door.
She flops onto her back. “I’ll be waiting for your return.”
“Let me know if Ophelia shows up while I’m gone,” I say with a smirk. She’s easy to spook and like all good friendships, ours revolves around light mutual bullying.
She pops upright. “Why do you always go there?”
“Because you’re an irrational scaredy cat and it’s funny.”
She scoots to the edge of the bed and slides off. “Well. I’m not staying here now.”
“Oh grow up. I’m here alone all the time. It’s fine.” I don’t tell her I’m starting to wonder myself.
Her Converse shoes smack against the stone floor. “Don’t care. I just wanted to ask if you’d come with me to a victimology of violent crimes talk in the morning.”
“Sure.” I pull the door open and gesture for her to exit first. “I could probably use it.”
“CRIM still have you down?”
“My brain is a veritable melted pile of goo, but I beat the shit assignment into submission and turned in a less-shit version of it just a few hours ago.”
