Page 61 of Peep

Sage makes a fake gagging sound and proceeds to pour themselves a glass of wine.

What the fuck is going on? Have I woken up in another dimension?

“Hold on, I’m confused. How did you find me?” I ask.

“Contacted your mum and went for a little visit; lovely woman. Although a bit too chatty for my liking. We didn’t even have to try hard to get her to tell us where you were,” Sage replies while checking the fridge.

For fuck’s sake, Mum.

Well, there was only so long I could bury my head in the sand.

I reach the front door to find Anders on the drive, kicking my mum’s rose bush; she won’t like that—rather the bush than my nuts, though.

Slipping my trainers on, I risk approaching the wild beast.

“Sweetheart.”

Wild eyes shoot in my direction, icy blue irises almost invisible in his rage. “I will bite a fucking chunk out of you if you call me sweetheart right now.”

“Promises, promises,” I tease.

“No, Jahmar, no more jokes, no more games. Do you understand what you’ve put me through over the past two weeks?”

“You act like I didn’t suffer, too! That it didn’t fucking kill me to find out who your brother is.”

Anders releases a huff, and his shoulders sink in defeat. “I know, but I’m mad. So fucking mad about how everything played out.”

“I get it, sweetheart.”

He scowls at me but doesn’t move to take a chunk out of me—it’s a small feat.

I ease closer, shrinking my shoulders and making myself small so as to not spook him.

“Hey, guys, erm, don’t come in for five to ten minutes, ok?” Sage calls out.

“Make it twenty,” Cameron adds as Sage slams the door.

Great, strangers are in my house fucking, and I’m stuck outside with an angry cub.

A gust of salty air swirls around me, making me shudder. I look down at myself in my plaid pyjama bottoms and a thin t-shirt and watch as the skin on my arms pebbles.

Anders removes his long-black coat and holds it out to me. He aggressively shakes it at me when I don’t take it right away. I reach for it, almost afraid he’ll snap my hand off.

He’s left wearing a thick black jumper, black skinny jeans with rips in the knees and black Converse; never one for colour. He’s the human personification of a stormy night. Luckily for him, I don’t mind the rain.

I tremble as I wrap his coat around me, pulling the collar tight around my neck and inhaling deeply—it smells a lot like home.

“Let’s take a walk.” Anders twists on his heel before I can respond.

It’s dusk, gloomy as hell, and I’m in my pyjamas. Still, not even a hurricane could stop me from following him into the darkness.

I run to catch up with him, but he increases his pace.

He swings an arm out, and I slam into it. “I’m gonna need you to walk a few paces behind me because I’m not sure if I want to punch or kiss you, and seeing your pretty fucking face doesn’t help.”

“Fine.” I chuckle—he’s always so dramatic.

We walk for about five minutes before we reach a steep hill, which is littered with cute shops and cafes, leading down to the bay.

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