Page 21 of Rot

Why? Don’t want to talk to strangers?

A small laugh left me. I wasn’t worried about strangers. Strangers should be worried about talking to me.I’m not afraid of strangers.I hoped I wasn’t being too weird; I really wasn’t used to talking to a boy like this.

You thought about what I said? I can show you a good time here. We don’t have to go anywhere, if you don’t want. We could just hang out.

I thought back to what Elias had told me, that Jordan and anyone else who might show an interest in me only wanted one thing: to get between my legs. Was that really so wrong, though? Maybe I wanted someone there, just like Elias had wanted some physical relief and found it between Dana’s legs. How was it any different?

Instead of texting him back, I rolled off my bed and peeked out into the hall. Elias’s room was closed, but the bathroom door was also closed. I heard the shower running; meaning he was in there and not in his room.

He’d been so adamant in me not seeing Jordan. I wanted… well, I wanted to rub it in his face. See if I could rile him up again by doing it. I wanted to see how angry Elias could get. Maybe it was wrong, but it’d be fun, at least.

I wandered over to his room, pushing inside. Without making a peep, I shut the door behind me and walked to his bed, running my hand above the comforter—unmade, of course, because someone like Elias didn’t give a shit about keeping his room in order.

Hmm. I wondered if Elias kept any secrets here.

Figuring why not look, I dropped to my knees and bent to search under the bed. It was pretty barren, honestly, save for one thing shoved all the way under the bed, against the wall. It looked like crumpled clothes, but just to be sure, I crawled beneath the bed and grabbed it, pulling it out with me.

It came, and I sat there on my knees, staring down at what looked to be an old shirt. It was bundled up in the strangest of ways, almost like it was covering up something long and skinny. When I grabbed it, I could feel something hard in its center; it wasn’t just all fabric.

My fingers worked to unroll the shirt and reveal what lay within, and when I saw what it was, my breath caught. Not because of the object, but rather, what wasonthe object.

An arrow. A hunting arrow, I had to assume. My fingers grabbed it, and I held it up in the light of his room, studying it. The shaft was discolored; you’d never know why, unless you looked at the tip. Its steel was stained red.

Something in me twisted, my heart skipping a beat:blood. This arrow was stained with blood, like it had been in something… or someone.

Before I knew what I was doing, I was rolling it back up in the shirt and stuffing it far beneath the bed, right where I’d found it. I got up and wandered over to the window, staring out at the backyard, trying to calm myself.

I shouldn’t be excited, but I was. The rot in me had to know whether that was animal blood or human blood—and if it was human, was it his father’s or someone else’s? And if, say, it did belong to his father, was it an accident Elias blamed himself for, and therefore he’d kept it as a reminder of how he’d failed and killed him?

Or was it a memento for a choice he’d made when he was out hunting, alone, with his father?

Suddenly Elias was so much more interesting to me. He wasn’t just the angry cousin; he was someone I needed to know more about. I needed to know the truth. And, I couldn’t lie, I was excited about it. I didn’t think I’d ever been more excited about something in my entire life.

I could only blame the rot for that. My fascination with death had begun at birth.

Elias’s door opened, and I heard a low, “What the fuck now?”

I turned around, still leaning my back on the window, watching as Elias walked in. His main focus was on me, but just for the quickest of seconds, those eyes darted around his room to check for anything out of place—and they did land on his bed. Or, rather, on the floor next to his bed.

Checking for the arrow.

I’d come to rile him up about Jordan, but now I wanted to rile him up about something else. I said, “What exactly happened to your dad?”

Elias frowned at me. His black hair was damp, falling over his forehead in a mess. He wore a tight black shirt, his shoulders rising up and down with slow but heavy breaths. He was anything but calm as he stared at me from across the room.

“You can tell me the truth. We’re alone in the house.” I pushed off the window, walking over to him, stopping when I stood less than a foot in front of him. My head angled back as I gazed up at him. I could smell his soap, a manly musky scent that wasn’t so awful to inhale, honestly. He smelled kind of good.

His voice came out low and deadly, “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hatred radiated off him, the tension so thick between us you could cut it with a knife. At his sides, his hands flexed to fists, then relaxed, then flexed again. Over and over as he visibly struggled to remain calm.

“I want to know what happened to him,” I spoke, my voice coming out just as low as his… except mine didn’t sound dangerous. It sounded… sultry, almost? I didn’t know. It came out like that on its own.

“Get the fuck out of my room,” he growled out.

“No.” The lone word left me, a challenge, and Elias took it as one.

He reached for me, his hands no longer hanging at his sides. Those hands curled around my arms, spinning me around, and within two seconds, my back slammed against the door.

How was I supposed to leave when he was basically pinning me to the door? Silly Elias.

---