Page 44 of Starve
“You’re leaving?” I sit up in my bed, aroused and frustrated. “You’re actually, literallyleaving?”
The grin Cairo throws my way tells me that he most definitely is, and I watch as he pulls on his jeans and the long-sleeved tee he came here in. “Yeah, I’m leaving. I have to go take care of this disquiet.” His eyes flick to the window again. “It’s better to snuff it out now, I suppose, than have to deal with the consequences later.” He doesn’t sound thrilled by the idea, and his voice is flat with disdain.
“You’releaving.”I repeat, still flustered.
Finally, Cairo stops, understanding what I’m saying, and smugness radiates from him. “What’s wrong, little bird?” he teases in a lilting tone. “Will you miss me? Will your fingers not be enough for you after last night? Poor thing.” He moves back to the bed to twine his fingers in my hair, and urges me up on my knees until I’m kneeling against him.
“Maybe this way, you’ll miss me,” Cairo purrs, showing off his fangs. “And next time I show up, maybe you’ll forget about your questions, hmm?” With that, he kisses me again, just enough to leave me panting when he lets me fall back onto the bed before turning and opening the bedroom door. He stays long enough to love on Moro, telling her what a good girl she is, before leaving so quietly I don’t even know what door he’s taken.
When I finally force myself up and out of bed, I remind myself that he is in fact the more dangerous one between us, and that I can’t put a hit out on the man/monster I let fuck me last night.
But only because I don’t want to go into debt to a hitman in this economy.
All I can think to do with my day is to get out of the house for a little while. With Moro in the car, I head back into town, deciding to get my food from the diner I missed out on yesterday thanks to panicking. “I’ll get you a hot dog if you don’t tear up my car or start a panic,” I tell Moro, sitting in the lot behind both Dr. Radley’s and the diner, only two spots away from where I parked yesterday. Given that it’s Saturday, I’ve convinced myself that Dr. Radley isn’t here. So she certainly wouldn’t be plastered to the window staring me down or anything quite so ridiculous.
Which means I’m safe to get my grilled cheese in peace, I hope. But it’s still difficult to force myself out of the car when she managed to set me off yesterday. Eventually, I roll down the windows for Moro, telling myself it’s not nearly hot enough to feel like a bad dog owner, and since I’ve called in my order except for the ice cream, I’ll only be gone for a few minutes.
Moro being in the car also lets me pretend that when I walk really fast across the sidewalk with a wary glance up at the window to Dr. Radley’s office, I’m speeding up for my dog’s sake instead of doing it to get away from my therapist’s potential prying gaze a little more quickly.
My food is almost ready, and I pat myself on the back for my timing. I already ordered Moro a hot dog, so my threats of her only getting it if she’d behaved are empty. While my fries finish, I order a dreamsicle shake like I’ve been craving, and it takes only another minute for them to hand me the bulgy, white paper bag full of fried, cheesy goodness.
Now, all I have to do is make the quick drive home and figure out what I want to watch while I eat. My few small freelance jobs can be done later, I tell myself,afterI’ve watched a few episodes of some questionably realistic court shows with high drama and not so high stakes.
But when I round the corner so my car is back in sight, I come to a stop. “Hey…” My words trail off, because the personstanding at my car window where Moro is barking isn’t a stranger like I initially thought.
It’s Hattie.
“Hattie?!” I yelp, unbelieving. I nearly drop what I’m holding, and only belatedly realize that Moro is acting like she is not a fan of the redhead from the asylum. She turns to me, looking at me with wide eyes, and suddenly smiles so much that it lights up her face.
“Fern!” She flies at me, practically knocking me down, and I barely maintain a hold on my food and milkshake while staggering back until my back hits a wall. “He said you were okay,” she rambles. “But I worried. He isn’t always truthful. Isn’t alwaysright.”
I have no idea what she’s saying, or how she’s here. She looks a little worse for wear, with dirt streaked across her face and her shirt needing to be washed three wears ago. But she’s alive and, from what I can see, unharmed.
“Do you mean Cairo?” I ask, confused, as she continues to hold me tight in her shaky embrace. “When did he tell you? How did you?—”
She draws back, her eyebrows pulled together as she searches my face. “Not Cairo. No, no he didn’t tell me.” She shakes her head. “He’s not my friend.”
“Then who’s your friend, Hattie?” She looks at me strangely, and again I look her over. She really does seem different, and a little more off than usual—which is really saying something. “Are you okay?”
“He said you were okay, and you are. He said you should’ve stayed with me. I told you to stay with me.” Her eyes narrow as she chastises me, but I don’t feel guilty about whatever she’s upset about. Then again, I barely have any idea what’s going on.
“Hattie, where have you been? Are you safe? I didn’t think anyone else survived.” Except for Cairo, but that’s a bit different,given what he is. In my mind, I was the onlyhumansurvivor. Until now.
She hugs me again rather than answering. Hattie rocks us back and forth, humming softly in her throat like I’m the one that’s unwell, instead of her. “It’s okay now.” She sighs contentedly. “You’re okay, like he said. Everything’s okay.”
“How’d you get out?” I ask, trying to match her strange calmness instead of bombarding her with anxious questions. “I came back for you. I was worried about you.”
“So nice to worry about me. But you didn’t have to. Tyler wouldn’t let them hurt me,” Hattie assures me.
Instantly I pull away from her, head tilted. “Tyler?” I repeat. “But how would he?”
A look of frustration crosses Hattie’s face, and she shakes her head. “No, no, he told me not to talk to you about that. So you can’t ask me, Fern,” she tells me, irritated. She backs away, hugging her arms to her chest.
“I’m sorry,” I say, confused. I take a step toward her, but she shakes her head, still backing away. “Hattie…”
My next step closer to her makes her tense, and my use of her name makes her turn and flee. I don’t chase her—because I’m not a crazy lady who’s going to chase acrazierlady through town—but I do stand where I am, confused. I resolve to get answers from Cairo the next time I see him, even if I have to do something drastic in order to pry the answers from his lips.
Chapter 18
