Page 9 of Creatures Like Us
“Uh-huh. Well, what did you give me?” I feel groggy as hell. Zombie mode, and not in a good way.
Noah just looks at me, resting his forearms on his knees. He’s wearing a studded belt and black jeans along with a long-sleeved black shirt. No band print, though he looks like he’d enjoy the most hardcore Norwegian black metal.
“Are you thirsty?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Hungry?”
I shake my head again, but then I remember that if he has to fetch me food, he’ll have to leave me alone, and leaving me alone means I’ll have time to figure out an escape plan, so I start nodding enthusiastically.
“Yeah, I’m hungry, actually. Starving.”
His upper lip does the most minuscule uptick—more of a grimace than a smile, and his white teeth gleam in the darkness.
“I’ll be back.” He stands up and gives me a final glance over his shoulder. Is he wary of leaving me alone, or just hesitant to let me out of his sight? The latter is creepier, so in my mind, I settle for the former.
“Are you sure this isn’t some Buffalo Bill bullshit?” I ask.
“Buffalo Bill?”
I fidget with the chain. “You’re not gonna?…?fatten me up and wear my skin as a suit, are you?”
“I told you I wasn’t going to hurt you, didn’t I?” he says, but with his toneless way of speaking, it doesn’t do much to reassure me.
His heavy boots thunk on the stairs as he leaves. When I’m alone, I start looking around with more urgency, trying to find some tool to get my wrist loose. I get up from the bed, but the chain doesn’t let me get far. There’s a shelf on the other side of the room. A couple of abandoned chairs in the corner. Other than that, I can’t spot anything of use.
My head starts spinning, and I sit back down on the bed with a sigh. Maybe I should give the guy the benefit of the doubt. Besides that, I’m so tired, and I feel so awful?…?I don’t even know if I’d be able to escape in this state, even if I tried.
He hasn’t hurt me yet, after all. Rather the opposite, really—he saved me. If he hadn’t found me and brought me here, I’d be dead by now, unless someone else had found me. It sure wouldn’t be Lilith; she’d be busy fucking that guy?…
A groan tears from my throat, and I squeeze my eyes closed.Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.
I always do this; I like anyone who likes me. Lilith swept me into her world, and I didn’t protest—too lost in the pillowy land of drugs and parties. Asherland, where there are no worries in the world, where you just go with the flow. Where you let people kiss you with no protest, even if you don’t like them. You just like them because they likeyou.
The thing is, I actually happened to like Lilith. Most of the time, anyway?…?When I was high, anyway?…?Yeah, maybe she wasn’t that good of a person, but who is? I’m sure not. My brother and my parents have made that clear.
I bury my face in my knees, feeling unmoored and unlike myself. I don’t know how much time has passed since my last hit, but I can tell I’m going to go into withdrawal soon. Fuck, if I can’t get any opioids, I at least have to get some weed. Noah doesn’t look like a smoker, though you never know.
One of my teachers in high school—an old lady with a limp—smelled like weed all the time, and I caught her on the school grounds once after class.
“I won’t tell anyone if you let me have some,” I said, grinning as I pointed to her joint.
She laughed and gave it to me. She always seemed to like me, unlike the other teachers, who despised my restless ways and unfocused rambling in class.
I was always more interested in talking to my friends than doing schoolwork, which made the contrast with my brother painfully obvious. Ethan being only ten months older and us looking like twins to boot, the teachers treated us like we were the same person. Of course, I could never live up to my brother’s studious ways, so I didn’t even try, and my parents always focused more on him anyway.
The eldest. The heir.
They bought him piano lessons, a private tutor after school?…?Whereas I bounced around friends’ houses and played video games until late into the night.
I squeeze my eyes shut again.Don’t think about it, don’t think about it…?It’s so fucking hard not letting the thoughts in when I’m sober.
When I’m high, nothing bothers me. I can be the life of the party, not caring what anyone thinks. Hell, I’mnicerwhen I’m high. When Lilith caught me sober a few times before we got our hits in, she complained about my downturned mouth and curt tone.
Some people are just better humans when they’re high on their favorite drug, and is that so bad? My life is a mess to begin with, and at this point, I need my drugs to feel good. Or just to feel normal; I don’t really know.
I won’t do it all my life, mind you—I can quit when I want to, but there’s no fucking way I’ll let some weirdo kidnapper call the shots.
