Page 18 of Running Feral

He cuts me off, his voice cold and dispassionate. As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he pulls back from me. Tobias swipes at his face with the back of his hand, even though he never actually cried, and stares over my shoulder for a few seconds before attempting to clamber off my lap. His ankle almost gives out on him when he tries to stand, but he grits his teeth and catches himself, even though it’s not necessary.

“I told you, you don’t have to babysit me. You can go do your job.”

“Do you want to come with me? You can hang out behind the bar and keep me company.” I want to reach for him again, but we’re clearly in thecoldpart of his hot and cold reactions. Not that I blame him for it, after what he’s been through.

He exhales, giving me a world-weary expression that doesn’t fit his delicate features. The ones that make him look evenyounger than he is sometimes, if he didn’t always look so fucking exhausted.

“Where Eamon will be waiting for me? No, thank you.”

“You don’t know that. He probably has no idea where you are.”

Tobias shrugs, flicking his gaze around so he’s looking anywhere but at me.

“Can I take a shower?” he asks.

“Of course.” At least there’s less chance of him falling asleep in a shower like he did in the tub. “Help yourself to anything you need.”

“Thanks.” He looks at me one last time before heading for the bathroom. “I’ll see you when you get back from work.”

Once again, I’m left with a knot of discomfort from the interaction. I keep feeling like he’s drifting away from me, but the closer I try to keep him to me, the harder he seems to fight.

There’s nothing I can do about it now. Work first, Tobias after.

Anxiety about it all the way through, I’m sure.

Chapter Seven

Ithought once Gunnar left, I would feel less uneasy. It seemed like a logical assumption.

It’s uncomfortable to invade someone’s space. I don’t really know him. I feel guilty about taking advantage of his kindness.

Not to mention having to navigate the way I’m ping-ponging between wanting to run as far away from him as I can or wanting to grab him and kiss him and lay out all my suffering at his feet. It’s exhausting. And he never asked for any of this.

Guilt pulses through me at a low, steady voltage while I take a shower. I don’t know why I decided to do this. I didn’t need a shower. I just needed to get away from Gunnar so I could clear my head and escape his forlorn, pitying looks. But now I’m wet, cold and half-washed, while my ankle is throbbing so much, I feel a genuine urge to cry.

No. This situation is already embarrassing enough. If I spend all my time weeping about it now that I’m safe and lucked into someone taking care of me a lot more than I deserve, I’ll never forgive myself.

Instead, I focus on rinsing off as quickly as possible, then half-hopping, half-collapsing out of the tub. I sit on the toilet while I towel off, which is sweet fucking relief, and then give myself a breather before facing the monumental task of getting dressed again.

It’s when I’m finally sitting still that I hear a noise. Nothing much, just a faint scratching from somewhere out in the apartment.

My blood buzzes in my veins, and I can already feel my sense of self disconnecting from my body. Like I’m preparing for whatever’s coming. Like I know that it has to be more than just a noise.

He found me. It’s the only explanation.

I have thirty seconds of sluggish inner debate between trying to quickly dress and prepare myself or just sitting here, resigned to my fate. Ultimately, I settle on something in between.

With leaden movements, I pull on my borrowed sweats and the hoodie I slept in. It still smells a little like Gunnar, and that hint of his warm scent grounds me back in reality. Possibly more than I would like, right now. If what I think is about to happen is, in fact, happening.

I allow myself a sigh before slowly pushing open the bathroom door. My footsteps are whisper-soft because of muscle memory, even with my fucked-up ankle. I hate that my body continues to thrum with fear through it all, although I don’t show it externally. It feels like I should be acclimated to this by now.

Once I’m out of the bathroom, I look around for whereverheis. Lurking in the shadows maybe, ready to scare the shit out of me for his own amusement. Or standing in the middle of the apartment like he owns the place, and it’s a done deal that I’ll be leaving with him. No questions asked.

But there’s no one here.

I explore further, moving slowly and silently, pain throbbing higher and higher up my leg with every careful step. There’s no one in the kitchen. There’s no one in the open-concept living area, and nowhere for someone to hide. The bedroom is the only room that’s really separated, but it’s empty, too.

There’s no way an adult human could fold themselves up into Gunnar’s tiny closet, but I look anyway. When I tease open the door, there’s a single moment where my brain screams at me that this must be it. He mustbe in here, because he isn’t anywhere else. It’s enough that I almost think I see him.

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