Consumed » Kai Parker | Rewritten

Three

Hunger foils my plan to avoid Kai Parker indefinitely.

The day after he'd held a knife to my throat, I'd been spending the morning in bed, resisting malicious dreams, and attempting to get lost in the books that stocked Stefan's shelves. But I knew I wouldn't hold out without food much longer, when my head spun wildly the second I stood up to go to the bathroom. So, I'd tried to be as inconspicuous as possible in my careful venture to the kitchen-skipping over the creakier stairs, tiptoeing over the floorboards, holding my breath in the off-chance that he could hear that, too, wherever he was.

A tired, triumphant smile tugged at my mouth when I made it to the refrigerator unnoticed and I eagerly pulled it open.

Ruefully, I'd balanced a water bottle, a bag of grapes, and yogurt cups in my arms. Kai hadn't been lying about the low grocery supply, unfortunately.

I nudged the fridge door shut with my hip and shrieked.

Kai was standing behind it, hands tucked into the pockets of his army green jacket. The unexpected sight of him–like an apparition that chose to be visible to the naked eye on a mischievous whim–startled me so badly that I dropped both of the water bottles, only managing to save the grapes and yogurt from an untimely fall.

"Jesus Christ." I cradle the food to my chest guardedly. "I'll give you a pass this once because eighteen years obviously whittled away at your social skills. People usually say something to announce their presence instead of lurking quietly in corners."

"I would've, but it was more fun watching you try to avoid me."

He crouches down, swiping up the water bottle I dropped, and glances up at me through his lashes. I shift from one foot to the other uncomfortably when he continues to stare, rather than straightening back to his full, imposing posture and returning the uncapped bottle to me. Whatever he was doing, of course he'd draw it out.

"Do I scare you, Charlotte?"

I stare down at him. This angle, at least, offered the illusion of the upper hand.

"The thought of dying before I can see my family again..." I clear my throat, warding off a humiliating crack. "That scares me. You revolt me."

"Your family," he repeats, eyes drifting off to the side thoughtfully. "I remember overhearing your name a few times. When Damon and Bonnie were here. Nothing scandalous, either, no, 'cause you're the tame Gilbert, aren't you?"

I bristle at his observation and he stands up slowly, until he's looming like a tower steepled with lightning.

"And Damon, well, I can't say much about the guy's intelligence, but he's got a sense of humor. Way I heard it from him, you're the bookworm who's more about grades than gumption. He only got real starry-eyed when it came to your sister, the vampire gunning for medical school." He chuckles. "Don't the jokes write themselves?"

More about grades than gumption. I wouldn't put it past Kai to paraphrase for maximum hurt, but still, the reminder of how my friends must see me hurt. It was because I cared about them that I tried to live a relatively normal life at Whitmore College, without pressing too deeply at the supernatural threats that regularly emerged in our lives. I did what I could to help them when it was possible, whether through research, archive acquisitions or otherwise. I hoped that was effective enough in conveying both my appreciation and meager apology for refusing to join the ranks of the undead (super strength and immortality be damned). But maybe it wasn't.

Or maybe you're giving Kai exactly what he's aiming for by overthinking the hell out of this.

I reach for my water bottle, ready to end this conversation. "Just give me that, I'm–"