Page 43 of The Two of Us

Ambrose growls through clenched teeth, “Don’t you fucking talk to her. Don’t even look at her.”

The man’s laugh turns into a wet cough. “You were the one who came butting into our business, man. Let me talk to my girlfriend alone.”

He tries to pull Anya away, but she looks at Ambrose, the plea clear in her eyes.

“You’re not stepping a foot in that fucking house. Take your ass and leave before I call the cops.”

He pauses, waiting to see if he’s bluffing. Only when he realizes how serious Ambrose is does he release Anya.

His sinister smile raises the hairs on my neck. “Fine. No problem.” He leans into Anya’s ear and whispers, “I want my money,” before getting into his beat-up Toyota Corolla.

Anya avoids Ambrose’s eye contact, instead glaring at me with pure disdain. “You just love inserting yourself into people’s lives, don’t you?”

I crumple at the accusation. “I didn’t mean to cross a line, I thought he was hurting you.”

Ambrose lifts a hesitant hand toward Anya as if she’s a frightened animal backed into a corner. “Anya, let’s go inside.”

“I’m not going anywhere with her!” she shrieks, her eyes bloodshot and wild.

I wait for Ambrose to come to my defense, but he just stares at me, the dismissal clear on his face.

I nod. “I’ll let you two be.”

I walk back home with my tail between my legs, infuriated that I’ve let myself get involved. What the hell am I doing? I came here for one purpose. None of that includes getting mixed up with Ambrose again. I think back on what Laura told me and mentally kick myself for not heeding her advice. I take Otso by the collar and bring him back inside. He plops on the floor, staring at me in earnest before licking my toes. Even the dog pities me.

I make myself dinner—a sad recreation of Laura’s pork fried rice—and curl up alone at the kitchenette. The only sound comes from the ticking clock on the wall, its steady clicking putting me on edge. It’s too quiet and I’m afraid that before long, intruding thoughts will bulldoze their way into the forefront of my mind. It’s moments like these when my fingers ache to curl around a bottle of vodka.

But I don’t want that for me anymore.

I’ve never wanted that.

I brush my teeth and change into my pajamas before crawling into bed. I’m thumbing through my streaming app, looking for something with Julia Roberts in it, when I hear a thump at my window. I disregard it, typing My Best Friend’s Wedding into the search bar. The sound comes again, this time every three seconds and I realize someone’s throwing pebbles at my window. I jump out of bed, open the latch of my window and peer down. Ambrose is lit by the moon, his hands resting in his pockets.

“What are you doing here?”

His relaxed posture throws me off. Like we weren’t just in an extremely awkward situation a few hours ago. “I need to show you something.”

I don’t know why, but I’m annoyed. “I’m going to bed.”

“Meet me in the backyard in five.”

Hope flutters within me, and I stomp it down. My self-sabotage comes too easily.

“No.”

Ambrose begins walking away, his voice taking on a hard edge. “Meet me in five.”

“Ambrose, I’m not coming down there,” I whisper-yell. I no longer see his body. “Ambrose!”

I growl in frustration. I pull a ratty old crew neck over my tank top and change into a pair of sweatpants to shield myself from the cool night air. I creep downstairs, careful not to make enough noise that Otso thinks it’s time to come out and play. He has more energy than the Energizer Bunny.

The backyard is a sea of darkness—the moonlight the only thing illuminating my steps in front of me. Speck Lake doesn’t care much for streetlights. There’s hardly a need when everyone knows everyone and cares for each other so well. They don’t have to worry about monsters hiding in the shadows here.

I search for Ambrose’s silhouette. I finally spot him when I see him shift in the corner of my eye. His body looms in the dark, still and stealthy. I know every inch of this backyard, but his intimidating presence makes me feel like the intruder. I close the gap between us. “Is this where you kill me? Because if it is, I would have chosen a better outfit to be found in.”

Ambrose makes a sound that resembles a laugh, but without the ability to see his facial expression, I can’t be sure.

“What did you want to show me?”

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