Page 115 of Skeletons in the Closet

“Stay… Here.”

I studied him, squinting, trying to erase the blur. He wasn’t looking at me. Did he want me to spend the night? It seemed unfathomable. Not Diem. Did I really want to question his decision after the day I’d had?

No.

“Do you have something I can sleep in?”

He grunted and got up, vanishing behind the partition separating his bedroom area from the main living space. A moment later, he returned with a soft and faded T-shirt.

I pressed it to my nose and inhaled laundry detergent and a hint of Diem.

“It’s clean. I don’t work out in that one.”

“Toothbrush?”

“Under the counter in the bathroom.”

I put my glasses back on and stared at where he hovered.Loomed.

He looked away.

“Are you sure you want me here?”

A grunt.

“Is it because you’re worried I’m not okay?”

No answer.

“Is it because you want to fuck? I’ll be honest. I’m not sure I’m up for that.”

No response, but his neck took on a hint of color.

Chuckling, I heaved myself off the couch. “I love our chats.”

I used the tiny bathroom. It was fitted with a toilet and sink but nothing more. The vanity was made of painted wood, dull and peeling, hinges creaking. I found a toothbrush and paste. While brushing, I stared at my mangled face in the mirror. I looked like hell. My boss might send me home if I showed up at work like this. Clay Davenport was a particular man. But I’d burned through too many sick days as it was and couldn’t afford to miss more. If I lost too many hours, I’d never be able to pay my rent or car insurance. As it stood, I was considering going in the following day to make up time, even though it was Saturday.

I spat foamy toothpaste into the sink and rinsed, then I got closer to the mirror to examine the line of stitches across my forehead. They were ugly. I hoped the doctor was right about his skills. I didn’t want a nasty scar, especially where everyone would notice. I wasn’t strong and powerful like Diem. They suited him. They gave him character—although I wasn’t sure he agreed.

Back in Diem’s living area, I found him planted on the love seat, half-heartedly watching TV.

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” I asked, hoping he would say no because it was too small to stretch out.

“No. You can…” He motioned to the bedroom area.

“Okay. I’d stay up, but I’m beat, so I’m going to lie down.”

He grunted, refusing eye contact.

Giving up, I went to find his bed; a double mattress and box spring sitting directly on the floor, no frame. I crawled in and was immediately surrounded by Diem’s scent. Pulling the covers around me, I got cozy and listened to the soft hum of the TV in the other room, wondering if Diem planned to join me later or not.

Something told me not.

And I was right.

It didn’t take long to fall into a deep sleep.

The faint click of a door closing disturbed my slumber at some point in the night. I awoke with a start, disoriented and not placing where I was. At first, I thought I’d picked up a guy at the club and had gone back to his place, but then the previous day came back in a flash. I was at Diem’s. I’d almost died of carbon monoxide poisoning. My heart knocked heavily against my ribs as I sucked in a few clean breaths of air. Had I been dreaming? What had woken me?

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