Deviant

Chapter 15

DEVIANT

Callie Hart

Copyright © 2014 Callie Hart

All rights reserved

 No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed "Attention: Permissions Coordinator," at callie.law.author@gmail.com

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to peoples either living or deceased is purely coincidental. Names, places and characters are figments of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. The author recognises the trademarks and copyrights of all registered products and works mentioned within this work.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

 

 

ZETH

 

"Zeth! Zeth! Wake up!" Something small and hard jabs me in the ribs. I flinch, instantly recoiling away from the contact. In the space of two seconds, I spin off the bed, grabbing hold of whoever was touching me and raising my fist, ready to strike. I manage to stop it from coming down just in time—the person who was stupid enough to enter a room I'm sleeping in isn't actually a person at all. It's a broom handle. My knees are exploding with pain where I slammed down onto them when I rolled out of the bed, my heart charging like a furious piston.

It's not him. It's not him. You're fine. Breathe.

I blink at the broom handle, trying to shut down the attack commands that are screaming inside my head.

"Zeth."

The voice is solid. Calm. Firm. I look away from the pale wood now lying on the floor at my feet and find Lacey standing in the doorway, her worn, pink terry towel robe pulled tight around her body. It's threadbare but the girl just won't throw it out. Her skin is so pale that she looks like a damn ghost. She knows not to bother me if I'm in my room and the door's closed—something must be up. The girl is smart. She knew to prod me in the side with something from a distance instead of approaching me on the bed. It's rather undignified in the same vein, but then I'd rather suffer the indignity instead of hurting her.

I suddenly realize I'm naked. I always sleep naked. Straightening slowly from my defensive stance, I fix a questioning look on Lacey. "What's up?" I clip out. She doesn't blink at the fact that I'm as naked as the day I was born. She doesn't blink at the fact that I attack people in my sleep, either. We know not to probe each other, to go digging in places we're not welcome. She understands. She has her shit and I most definitely have mine.

"I can't sleep. I don't feel all that great," Lace whispers. "Do we have any painkillers?"

When your housemate decides to kill herself, there are certain precautions you take when she comes home. Got codeine in your medicine cabinet? Paracetamol? Knives in your kitchen? Bleach under your kitchen sink? Yeah, I don't. Not anymore. Not until I'm sure Lacey's straight again.