Page 97 of Heathens

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Despite the warning, I take another step, the cool tile keeping me light on my toes.

Quiet.

Careful.

Can he hear my heart beating?

Shh.

How could he not?

The tension in the room is so thick, it strangles me. My fingers tingle and I feel as though I’m watching myself from above, like a movie.

As I take another step forward, the elevator finally in view, I suddenly freeze. I glance down and there he is, splayed out on a couch he’s dragged into the middle of the room. I almost walked right fucking into it.

But I didn’t. Thank fucking God.

I hold my breath, trying not to move as I take in the whole situation. His head is tipped back, his mouth hanging open. I think he’s sleeping, but it’s impossible to tell if his eyes are closed in the low light. It could be a trick, part of some sick game he’s playing with me. Maybe if I turn back now he’ll forgive me. The moment of panic almost convinces me, but that would be it. There’d be no coming back.

My hand rests on my chest and I close my eyes, willing myself to calm down. I’m no good to anyone if I have a heart attack and die on his floor.

I glance to the right, where I vaguely recall the kitchen is.

Knives. He has knives. He was flipping one last night — was it last night?

I creep into the kitchen, slipping past the counter where I sat drinking wine as he charmed me. There was a moment, then, when I thought we might make something of the spark between us, but now a heavy bitterness floods my chest in its place. It creeps down into my guts and quickly festers into a seething rage.

I set the keys down and scour the room for anything I can use as a weapon, but drawer after drawer reveal absolutely nothing: no knives, no scissors, nothing to stab him through his shriveled little heart. Maybe he had them all removed, just in case. He might be smarter than I thought after all, or maybe he’s just really goddamn paranoid.

In the end, I settle on a lone meat tenderizer, snatching it up in an instant and testing the weight in my hand. It’s heavy, maybe enough to put a real dent in his skull given the chance. Not enough to kill him, but enough to slow him down.

I want to look for more, something that’ll actually make me feel safe, but Dominic could wake up at any moment, and the less noise I make the better.

More details come into focus as I make my way back toward the elevator, and past my resting captor. The texture of the couch, the stubble on his face… and myfucking purse, like a glowing red beacon in a storm.

There’s just one problem.

It’s resting right on his goddamn chest.

I stand at the edge of the couch, watching him. No pulse to speak of, no rising and falling chest. He doesn’t need to breathe, he only does it when he’s conscious, probably leftover physical conditioning from his humanity. His eyes are closed, his eyelids twitching.

What the fuck could he be dreaming about? Can vampires even dream?

His lips press together, and then more into a smile. I swallow hard and something shiny pulls my focus away. The bullets from my gun are scattered all across the coffee table.

Suddenly Dominic shifts and I drop to my knees, crouching behind the arm of the couch. I don’t know how deep vampires sleep, and I’m not about to find out. He pulls my bag tighter to his chest, like he’s cuddling a fucking teddy bear. My throat is burning, dry and desperate, and every muscle feels like it’s one moment away from betraying me.

I don’t have time to look for the gun. The tenderizer will have to do.

I push myself to my feet and head for the elevator, and I hear him grunt behind me. I freeze in place, turning my head as carefully as I can, a ragged breath held still in my chest.

But it’s alright. He’s still asleep.

For now.

I have to go. Now. I have to run.

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