We're back in my apartment, easily avoiding campus grounds and finding a back route that led directly to the house garden. Hopping out the back of the car, closing the door as I walk through the garden and head up to my apartment.
Tossing my things in the bedroom, I kick off my shoes and get started on dinner.
Hovering over the pots on the stove, generously salting the pasta water and gathering the ingredients for a tomato sauce. Just as I'm shaving down a block of parmesan my door opens and in walks Sam. Closing the door behind him as he keeps his eyes pinned on me, his hand twisting and I hear the door lock.
"You came to scold me." I state letting my shoulders slack as he takes the seat across from me.
"You could have died." He growls.
"Mmm." I hum noncommittally.
"You don't care that you could have died?"
"Death is welcome here." I say.
"I thought the macabre gothic thing was just a style choice and I love it, but I didn't know you actually thought like this." He says leaning over the counter, his tattooed arms on full display.
"I'm sorry to disappoint. No Sam, death does not scare me. Nothing about dying scares me. I'll welcome Death when she comes and I'll go happily. I'm not saying I'm looking to get myself killed, but if a car accident happens or I get some kind of terrible autoimmune disease, then-"
"But that's not what happened." He says cutting me off. "You smoked out of here and poisoned yourself and was in a coma for ten days! I could feel you!" He pounds his fist on the table.
"Careful this is the only good black granite counter top in the building." I look at his hands.
"I know I'm replacing the one in my room." He mutters.
"You can do that?"
"Stop changing the subject! Why do you do that! Why do you always change the subject?" He asks, his eyebrows pushed together, eyes firm and his mouth set in a flat line.
"I wasn't. But whenever people show strong emotion in a situation where you're trying to have a conversation, hitting the table won't always give the impression you want it to. It may just show, you're violent and can't control yourself when your highly emotional." I say as I pour the blanched tomatoes out into the strainer in the sink.
"Or that I'm actually frustrated with you! Do you talk to everyone like their a corpse? Goddess, this can't be how you talk to Kendric!"
"You don't even know Kendric." I stop in the middle of peeling the skin off the tomatoes, taking a sip of wine.
"I know him through my father. Apparently your GrimFather was quite the gentleman, everyone loved his stories, and he was funny, and smarter than most people. That's high praise coming from my Father." Sam says half smiling as he stole my wine and drank the rest. "Said Kendric was the only person to ever give him a nickname, a single letter. They had an argument the day Kendric left and they haven't talked since then."
"Did he ever say what the argument was about?" I ask.
"No." Sam shakes his head pouring more wine into the glass. "He just said that he never made or lost a friend so quickly before."
I nod and continue quietly cooking, drizzling olive oil into the pan, as I hear Sam move behind me. Suddenly I feel him at my back, his breath rolling down my neck.
"Why won't you talk to me?"
"We are talking."
"Look at me and stop mashing the tomatoes."
YOU ARE READING
Grave Digger
WerewolfElias spent years as a grave digger putting loved ones to rest. It's the only thing she's ever known ever since she was a kid. Over the years she's learned about other people's grief, their pain, how six feet can seem so far away for so many people...
