Page 57 of Property of Necro
“So tell me about these women.”
“They were a bunch of old, lonely hags who lived together for at least a couple of decades. They were big in our local church and believed children should be seen, notheard, which worked for a while. I did as they asked and kept my mouth shut. Even when they started the sick shit. I didn’t question it. I figured they knew best.”
Is he…
Bile rises up my throat as I stutter. “You’re sayin’ they…”
“Yeah.” He huffs. “That’s exactly what I’m sayin’.”
“And they cut off the tip of your pinkie finger.”
“When I’d gotten too big for them to boss around and stopped givin’ into their sick role-playing shit, they slammed it in a car door. They acted like it was an accident, but it wasn’t. They were mad I didn’t want toplay.” He air quotes, and my stomach turns over at the thought of what kind of play they wanted from him.
As wrong as it may be, I wanna ask what they did to make him this way. I want every last detail, down to the stuffed animal he hugged, to get through the worst. Mine was a purple pig named Hope, who wore a tutu. The more I know about a person, the more I understand how they tick. The demons a person carries make up the ugly, scarred underbelly of our consciousness. But it’s none of my business why Coffin is the way he is. He’s not a job. He’s not my boyfriend or friend or anything to me, really. Not that I even know what that feels like. I’ve never been in love, and I’ve never been in a relationship with anyone of my own free will. But I’m happy to listen to whatever he says, either way. This is the first real conversation I’ve had with this man outside of slinging insults and the occasional fuck, which hasn’t happened since the day of his return. Tiffany has been fulfilling all his needs. Notthat I care.
Nope.
Not at all.
A companionable silence falls between us. I don’t know what possesses me to rest my head on his bare shoulder and absentmindedly rub the tip of his missing pinkie, wishing I could crawl inside his soul and glue all his broken pieces back together again… but that’s what happens.
It all makes sense now—his disdain for women. Perhaps I’d hate men, too, if my first taste of pain came from them. But my mother beat my uncle and his friends to it. Ted was just the icing on the cake.
Whether Coffin knows it or not, we’re kindred spirits.
Two shattered souls fated to be alone. To die alone. To never love or be loved.
That is our curse.
Chapter
Nineteen
Standingin the open doorway of Rot’s bedroom, Coffin tosses my purple Crocs, which I swore I’d never see again, into the middle of the floor. They land with a thud and bounce apart as he lifts his chin at me, sitting beside Rot on the bed. “Put ‘em on and come with me,” he says, then turns around and leaves, not giving me a chance to ask why.
Unsure of what to do, I look to my companion and the tablet propped up between us in the middle of the mattress. We’re about halfway through watchingDeadpool.
Tapping the screen, Rot pauses the movie and leans over to peck my cheek. “Go on.” He flicks his gaze to the open doorway, urging me with his body language to get up.
Anxiety bubbles in my gut like Pop Rocks. I don’t trust Coffin as far as I can throw his big ass, which is, basically, not at all. Refusing to fall in line like a good little puppy, I rub the edge of the sheet between two fingers to centermyself. “This isn’t where I die, is it?” I ask, my voice wobbly from nerves.
Rot knocks his forehead into my shoulder playfully. “No, Red.” He sighs.
“Those are my shoes.” I nod at them, sitting in the middle of his room, inviting me to put them on.
“Yep. That’s them,” Rot comments, grinning half-cocked like he thinks I’m cute and ridiculous. Or that’s how I read it. I’ve been around him enough to know his expressions. Well, most of them. This one he uses when I ask silly questions or make equally silly comments.
“Will I get in trouble for wearing them?”
The skin between Rot’s well-kept brows creases, and his nose crinkles when he tosses me a frown. “Why would you get in trouble?”
“Because I… well… I don’t know. Rules.” I fumble over my words, far too anxious to think straight with the looming Coffin situation, or whatever you’d call it.My imminent death?
“Do you follow any of the rules?” Rot asks.
“Yes.” I follow most of them, actually. I don’t cause trouble unless flinging yogurt at Coffin’s chest this morning counts. I do wear clothes, which I suppose is against the rules. I’ve yet to see Tiffany in a stitch of clothes since she arrived. Alright. So maybe I follow half the rules. That should count for something, right?
Snorting as if I’m full of it, Rot’s face morphs into a grin far too naughty as he leans down and licks the exposed tip of my pierced nipple. Gasping in mock outrage, I swat him away, and he chuckles, throwing the covers off my lap. “See. I warmed ya up. Now go.” Shoving my hip, he scoots me closer to the edge of the mattress.
