Page 23 of The Very First Night

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he says before disappearing into the en suite bathroom.

I simply stare at the ceiling, giddy as hell.

TEN

KAT

After his shower, Elijah came back into the room and we finished the movie. He offered to take me home, said that it would be more comfortable for me, what with the air conditioning failing to cool the house. However, I could tell he wanted me to stay.

So I stayed.

Now, I lie in his bed, staring at the ceiling fan as it pushes hot air around. It’s nearly impossible to keep my mind from racing.

The more I try to recall the future, the less I know. While I’m aware I already lived it, it’s starting to seem more like a fading memory. Whatever murky future Elijah and I have, I don’t remember any of it. I know he’s important—that has to be enough for me to figure it out.

It has to be.

I squirm uncomfortably under his heavy arm, sweat trickling down the exposed skin on my stomach. The sound of his deep snores fills the room. I carefully shift out from under his dead weight, relieved to finally have some space to breathe.

So thirsty.

Elijah’s room is shrouded in darkness, but a faint glow from the streetlights outside seeps through the plastic blinds. Not enough light to see any detail, but just enough to be able to feel around in the dark with enough awareness that I won’t run into something.

Fuck.

Okay, almost enough light to not run into something.

After slamming my foot into the edge of the bed, I struggle to stay quiet as I putter around the room, trying to find something to throw on—although, given how soundly Elijah is sleeping, I’m not completely sure why I am working so hard to be quiet.

Feeling around in the darkness, I finally find his dresser shoved in the far corner. I pull out a pair of boxers and tug them on quickly. I could just put on my shorts, but the thought of putting on any kind of denim with my sweat-damp skin sounds like my own personal hell. I debate pulling out one of his shirts, but decide to just wear my tank top, choosing to forgo finding my bra in the darkness. I’ll be damned if I run into that fucking bed again.

I find my way into the hall, which is even darker than Elijah’s bedroom, and by the grace of God and luck alone, I manage to make it down the stairs with a death grip on the banister.

I take a deep breath before turning on the kitchen light. The old bulb flickers for a few seconds, then beams with a dim yellow glow. I blink rapidly as my eyes adjust to the sudden change in brightness.

Although I’ve frequented this kitchen countless times, I can’t recall ever seeing it in such pristine condition. The floors are spotless, the countertops gleaming, and the smell of disinfectant fills the air. It’s as if someone had just finished cleaning before heading to bed, evidenced by the drying rack overflowing with sparkling white plates and crystal-clear glasses. A sponge, still damp from recent use, clings to the side of the sink.

I grab a glass from the rack and rinse it, then fill it, relishing in the icy chill of the water sliding down my parched throat as I take a long, refreshing sip.

I don’t believe water has ever been this satisfying.

“What are you doing up?”

I nearly lurch out of my skin at the unexpected voice, jerking around and fully prepared to grab something sharp out of the cup of silverware drying on the counter. I reach for the handle of a steak knife, but as the velvety salvation of the black plastic lands against my palm, a much more masculine hand wraps around my own.

“Calm down, killer, it’s me…and I’m far too pretty to have steak-knife-sized stab marks all over my face.”

I twist around, finally connecting the voice with a face as Tanner comes into view.

He releases my hand as a chuckle breaks free, his infuriating smirk weirdly managing to quell my racing heart.

“Jesus Christ, Tanner, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Yeah, I gathered that,” he says as he tries and fails to bite back a laugh. “A steak knife? Really? That was your brilliant plan if somebody was actually coming up behind you to cause you harm? It would barely break the skin.”

“Not if I used enough pressure.”

“Yeah, maybe in a perfect scenario, but I could’ve gotten that knife out of your hand before you had a chance to even touch me.”

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