NECROMANTIC

sixteen.

The following Monday, Rob didn't turn up to school. In fact, after I'd left his house on the Saturday night, he hadn't answered any of my texts, or my calls.

I didn't wanna be too overbearing, so I decided to give him the time and space he obviously needed. My brain whispered to me, in an ugly voice time and space? From your argument? From getting over being hit by a car... or from you?

Tuesday it was the same story.

Mae continued on as normal, if a little warier. In fact, the only mention of Friday night was a 'are you ok now?' and then nothing else. Which I appreciated. And kind of resented. Mae must've known shit had gone down, because usually, she'd be relentlessly asking me questions and wanting to know. And I kind of missed that, as annoying as it could be.

By Thursday, I was worried. I mean, surely he could managed to even just text an I'm sick or I'm dealing with what happened or an I'm ok. But nothing. And it was kind of eating away at me, inside my brain, which was fucked up and neurotic enough as it was.

What if... whatever you can do is called... what if it doesn't last?

But no, that couldn't be right. If Rob had... if anything like that would have happened, we would know. Rob's mom – she'd call me and I'd be one of the first to know.

So after school, I texted mom to say I was visiting Rob (when I'd mentioned his absence, she'd simply cheerily said 'damn flu bug is going around! He'll be alright soon enough. But he's a man. It always takes them twice the time to get over it... you know, not physically but the whole 'poor me' thing' and she'd winked) and if I wasn't home for dinner to leave some on a plate in the oven, and walked to his.

There were no cars in the drive, and no lights on in the house, despite it being winter, and how dark it already was this early in the afternoon, which told me that nobody was home. At least... not Rob's mom or his stepdad.

I knocked on the door calmly, despite the fact I wanted to batter my fist to it until my first was too bruised to continue, or he answered. Whichever came first. Five minutes passed. Nothing. I knocked again. Another five minutes passed, and still... nothing. I felt a sob trap itself in my throat, making me clench my jaw and blink really fast to stop any tears.

After another minute passed, I gave up, hitching my bag further up my shoulder, fiercely rubbing my eyes, and turning to go. I'd made it halfway down the path when I heard the door open and Rob's voice, croaky, say "Sarah?"

 I whirled back round, fixing a wobbly, bright, fake smile on – that immediately wavered and went out when I saw him.

He was shirtless, his feet bare, in nothing but his pyjama bottoms. His hair was wild, rumpled, and sticking up in different directions – bed hair. And yeah, everything pointed to him having just woken up, but that wasn't the alarming part – the alarming part was his eyes. They were so ringed with sleep deprived black that he looked a little like he was recovering from being punched in each one. And one side of his neck and a little of his jaw was bright red – and covered in what looked like scratch marks.

"Rob." I said, my voice quiet, dumb struck, before I shook my head. "Uh, I came around because you've... I've not heard from you. Since last week. I was-"

"Worried?" he cut me off, raising an eyebrow.

I nodded, unable to think of anything else to say.

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe with one arm. He seemed to think about it – hand going to scratch at his neck, before he caught himself, and lowered it again. "Wanna come in?" he asked me, eventually.