If We Survive The Night

Cereal

Jaden

The doorbell catches me in the bathroom, drying my hair after the shower. I remove the towel from my head and wrap it around my hips, then walk carefully to the door, barefoot. The new door lock that I had installed this morning gleams brightly against the dark surface. Around it, deep scratches from bullets are still visible on the wood. Uncle Royce said he'd bring me some paint to take care of that. Until then, I guess seeing them will give me pause every time.

I check the peephole—newly installed as well—and open the door. Outside, Casey raises a hand in greeting. His gaze slides down my damp naked chest to my blanket, and he looks scandalized for a moment. The police officer accompanying him gives me a nod.

"Bad timing?" Casey says. "You're wet."

"I've just showered."

"I've figured it's either that, or it's been raining inside the apartment. Missed me?"

I hum. "You're hard to get rid of. You liked my place that much?"

"The shabby chick interior design is pretty cool. The cereal could be improved."

I almost smile, but manage to keep a straight face. "I'll tell the cook."

"I see you two are getting along," says the policeman.

Casey turns to him, clasping his hands together.

"Thank you so much, officer," he says. "We're good."

The man nods and retreats down the stairs.

"Come in," I say, stepping aside to let him in.

He enters and stops, looking around the room as I lock the door.

"You've cleaned," he says.

"Uncle Royce did. While I was in the hospital."

"You don't sound happy about that."

"I can't locate half my things half the time now." I sigh. "Anyway, he was trying to be helpful. He kind of tries to keep an eye on me, with my mother absent. I guess he feels guilty that I've gotten into trouble right under his nose."

"Good thing you sent him that recording. Mr. Collins said it helped them crack Jen."

"He's still upset he wasn't around to protect me when Owen showed up here."

"Your uncle sounds nice. I'd like to meet him one day."

I hum, not quite comfortable with the idea. I could perhaps introduce Casey to him as my friend, but the two of us have so little in common, he would see right through it. I'm not sure what he'll think that we are, but I better figure it out myself before I start introducing Casey to any family members.

He turns to me, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. One of his legs looks thicker than the other—apparently, his knee is still bandaged under the fabric. Still, he moves pretty well. I didn't notice any particular limping when he entered.

He looks serious now, the banter by the door having probably been just a cover up for his nervousness.

"So, you're not going to kick me out?" he says.

"I'm still contemplating it," I say, wishing we could go back to joking. "I usually do that to people who show up unannounced."

"Sorry, I couldn't call. You don't have a phone."

"I actually got a new one today."

"Oh wow! Life does go on." He follows my gaze to the phone on the table. "A new case, too?" His eyes light up. "Have you removed the protective film?"

"I did. Why?"

His face falls a bit. "That's my favorite part with new gadgets. Removing the film. Feels amazing. Better than sex."

"You must have had pretty mediocre sex."

He giggles, shooting me a quick glance. "Maybe. Anyway, will you give me your number?"

"If you behave."

I don't know why I talk to him like this, like I need to preserve some distance between us, to keep him at arm's length. Like, I can't just be open with him. Being open means being vulnerable. If I open up, I can't be sure if he'll like me. It makes me feel almost like I'm wrapped in an invisible protective film myself. Or maybe the talking is awkward because we've never properly spoken to each other, at least not in a normal situation, without anyone trying to kill us.

He comes over, stopping in front of me.

"Look, seriously," he says. "If this is an inconvenience, I could stay somewhere else."

"Don't be an idiot," I say. "Of course you can stay."

"But you've been acting so grumpy since I showed up."

"I don't want to act grumpy," I say. "It just feels like I have to."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"Why don't you just stop, then?"

I look into his face that has become so familiar and important to me so quickly. Then, surprising myself, I reach out and cup his cheek. He doesn't flinch away, but his expression freezes a bit, and he looks at me questioningly.

"I'm glad you're okay," I say.

"Same here," he says. "I'm so glad that I'm okay, too."

We both chuckle. The skin of his cheek feels smooth under my palm—he must have shaved before leaving the hospital. I know I should remove my hand, that it's that stupid instinct kicking in again, the one that keeps pushing me to touch him, but I also feel like something has changed. Like, maybe I'm allowed to do it now. Like, maybe me wanting to touch him is not necessarily a bad thing.

Slowly, he raises his hand and removes mine from his cheek. Before I can start overthinking that, he tuns it and plants a soft kiss in the middle of my palm. It's pretty innocent, but it still sends a small electrical charge through my body. I shudder, snatching my hand away. He gives me a knowing smile. I wonder if I could kiss him now, if that's what he expects me to do. Then I wonder why I'm thinking about that. Then I wonder why do I have to wonder—of course I'm thinking about that, it's stupid to continue denying that I have feelings for this guy.

"Hungry?" I say, just to cut through the tangle of my confusion. "I got a new cereal. You've got to try it."