Page 16 of Fight Or Flight

Air.

I need air.

I pull open the door and quietly make my way down the stairs. I momentarily debate going outside, but I spot the alarm keypad next to the door and decide against it. The last thing I want is to wake anyone. It’s one thing to let a soon-to-be orphan crash in your house, it’s another when said orphan is a pain in the ass who wakes you up in the middle of the night because she’s freaking out.

Reaching the kitchen, I search the cabinets for a glass. I finally find one and make my way to the sink. With my hands trembling, I turn on the tap and fill the glass. I’m so focused on trying not to spill it, that I don’t hear the footsteps behind me.

“Fuck, it’s you.”

I jump at the sound of Eric’s voice and the glass slips from my fingers into the sink. Luckily, it doesn’t break, but it makes a loud clink. Holding my breath, I turn to face him. His words echoing in my ear.

Fuck, it’s you.

Standing in the kitchen doorway with a baseball bat perched high over his head, he stares at me with his mouth agape. My eyes zero in on the bat. Maybe he’s not as hospitable as I figured if he’s ready to whack me with that thing.

As if he suddenly remembers he’s holding it, he lowers it to his side. His eyes dart back to me and he exhales a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I heard something… and well, I didn’t think anyone else was awake,” he continues. “I thought you were a burglar or something. Anyway, I’m sorry.”

With all the chaos going on inside my head, I manage to nod.

So he’s not actually looking to beat me with a bat. That’s good to know.

The fact that he’s the one apologizing to me bothers me, though. He has nothing to be sorry for. This is his house, I’m just a guest who woke him in the middle of the night and scared him enough that he felt the need to grab a bat to defend himself and his home. The glass in the sink that I almost broke is his too. The bed I was just lying in—all his.

“I’ll leave you to it,” he mumbles, and this time I hear his feet pad across the tile. I turn around, ready to stop him from leaving, but my eyes catch sight of his bare back and instead of struggling to breathe, I struggle to find my voice.

How am I just realizing he’s shirtless?

Those butterflies I felt the moment I laid eyes on him return and I try to shake them off. I blame my reaction on the fact I’ve never been so up close and personal with a half-naked guy before. But I’ve been to the beach before, I even did a stint as a camp counselor last summer where plenty of male counselors paraded around shirtless on pool days. It never affected me the way staring at Eric’s muscular back is affecting me right now.

Shaking that realization from my head, I force myself to focus. A little voice sounds in my ear, warning me not to let him walk away.

Say something to him!

Thank him for giving you his bed.

“You’re not much for talking, are you?” I half blurt, half screech.

The question sounds accusatory even to my own ears and I flinch as a result, but then his feet come to a halt and those damn butterflies jump higher. He turns around and they soar. I struggle not to gawk at him, but my eyes have a mind of their own and slowly trail up his body, taking in the low riding sweats and his chiseled chest.

Your mother is dying.

Your entire life has been turned upside down in a matter of twenty-four hours.

You should not be swooning over a boy.

My cheeks heat just as they did when he first smiled at me, only he doesn’t smile now. He just stands there with a blank expression on his handsome face. Then he lifts his hand and combs his fingers through his mussed hair.

“I like talking just fine,” he says, breaking the awkward silence. “There’s bottled water in the fridge.”

I swallow.

I don’t think that’s the response I was hoping for, but it’s the only one he gives before telling me goodnight. He turns around and this time when he starts to walk away, I don’t stop him.

Eric may have given up his room, but he’s not happy about it.

As many times as I’ve said it and thought it, I don’t think I’ve ever felt it yet, but at that moment, standing in the dark kitchen, a sense of loneliness washes over me.

The only person I have is on her death bed.

---