Chapter 32
Emmett knew something was wrong the moment he opened his eyes. He was lying on the floor of his bedroom with a bitter, ferrous taste in his mouth. He must’ve fallen out of bed, bit his tongue. But he’d fallen asleep at Aaron’s. How had he gotten here?
He pushed himself off the floor, entwined in the comforter he’d dragged off the mattress. The carpet came into focus, reddish-black and gluey.
Blood.
It caked his arms in frantic smears, darkened his shirt—he could feel it crusted on his cheeks: raw and scratched and painful to the touch, like injuries incurred during a struggle. An assault.
His pulse quickened as he clambered to his feet.
A cry of horror flew from his mouth as if attached to a yanking rope: the room.
Blood was smeared across the sheets, scabbed over the doorknob and the overturned lamp he must have fumbled when he came in.
He had come in looking like this, sometime in the night.
He had no memory of it. Last he recalled, he was lying in Aaron’s bed chewing over the call with his mom, craving meat. Human meat. Then falling asleep, for he could remember the sick, horrible, hungry dreams that followed. At least they had felt like dreams.
What have I done?
The doorbell rang. Tubbs and Bella went crazy as someone banged at the door. The police, come to arrest him. Panic wrenched through him. He was trapped.
He paused, hearing Lizette’s voice. She shouted at the dogs to shut up and answered the door. Emmett cracked his bedroom door, listening.
“Hey—”
“Is Emmett here?” a voice said. It was Aaron.
“I thought he was at your place,” Lizette said.
“He must’ve left in the middle of the night. I woke up and he was gone.”
Shit. Aaron had come looking for him. He mustn’t find Emmett like this. Thinking quickly, he darted down the hallway into the bathroom and locked the door.
His reflection in the mirror gave him a jump scare. His mouth and chin were caked with dried blood, reminding him of Tanya Swygert’s mug shot.
“I think he just went into the bathroom,” Lizette was saying.
Emmett ran the shower, began to undress. His body was covered in bruises—a reddening welt on his ribs, fingerprints on his clavicle. He threw the bloodstained clothes into the tub and stepped in after them.
Would Aaron wait for him to get out of the shower? What if he decided to hang out in Emmett’s room?
The shower spray splashed off his skin, dribbling reddish-brown water down the curtain liner and shower tiles, drumming the clothes at his feet. Blood pulsed out of them, snaking toward the drain.
A knock at the bathroom door. “Emmett?”
“I’m in the shower,” he called back.
“I’m coming in.”
“No—”
The door swung open. Fucking broken lock.
“Are you okay, what happened last night?” Aaron started to draw the curtain back; Emmett’s hand flew to it, holding it in place.
“Huh? Oh yeah.” Tone casual to dispel any suspicion that something was wrong. “Sorry, had to come home. Couldn’t sleep without my CPAP.”
“Your what?”
“My machine. For my sleep apnea.”
Aaron paused. “You should’ve said you were leaving.”
Emmett’s foot depressed the sodden shirt, squeezing out the last few wisps of blood. “D-didn’t want to wake you. Sorry, meant to text you when I got back, but I passed out cold.”
There was a silence behind the shower curtain. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay.”
Emmett breathed out silently, relieved. Then he said, “I have to head to the store pretty soon. It was sweet of you to come by.”
“Sure. You going to give your notice today?”
“My—?” Emmett started to say, then remembered the museum job. “Of course. Yeah, I’ll tell them today.”
“You don’t need any company in the meantime, do you?” Aaron’s tone twisted up with a smirk, and again he tugged at the shower curtain. Emmett stopped him.
“Sorry. I’m late as it is. I’ll text you when I’m off.”
“Can I at least get a kiss?”
Emmett suppressed a groan. He rubbed his face clear of any remaining residue, then, moving to the end of the shower, stuck his head through the gap between the curtain and wall.
The air was cool against his face. Aaron, handsome and hazy in the steamy bathroom, smiled and came toward him. Emmett closed his eyes.
The curtain flew from his grasp with a swish.
Emmett’s eyes blinked open. Aaron’s smile faded as he stared down, his hilarity replaced by a stark, dawning horror.
“No,” Emmett exclaimed. “I can explain. It’s not what it—”
He broke off, realizing it wasn’t the state of the shower Aaron was staring at. His eyes were fixed on Emmett’s stomach, the wrinkled bag of excess skin he’d been so careful to hide.
“Jesus Christ!” Aaron said.
Before Emmett could form a response, the curtain swished back over him like a censure. A banishment.
The water was still running as Aaron rushed out of the room.
A moment later, the front door slammed shut.