taste | e.d

seven

The Weeknd softly croons out of the speakers, slowing down my quick heartbeats and allowing me to relax for the first time in a while.

Ethan hasn't uttered a word since I got back. But the silence that fills the car besides the music is comfortable. Peaceful, even.

I notice that at every stoplight we encounter, Ethan silently drums his fingers against the steering wheel to the beat of the song that plays. I try not too stare at him too long, knowing if he catches me he might say something rude or threatening. But whenever he turns his head I sneak a glance. At some point, I let my eyes linger a little longer.

His jaw juts out every time he chews down on his gum, and whenever he squints at a billboard his right eyebrow gets a small wrinkle above it. I've always been very observant of people, and the fact that Ethan is so mysterious amplifies everything I notice about him.

How did his brother die?

It made sense to me that he went "crazy" after his passing—in the few pictures I saw of them together, they looked pretty damn close.

People cope with loss in different ways. Maybe he was so angry he took it out on everything around him.

But that leads to another question:

What the hell did he do?

The way Shannon made it sound, he killed people. We were witnesses of it ourselves just a few hours ago. Why isn't the police after us?

You're confusing yourself. Maybe you should just stop thinking. You don't know if you'll get the answers anyway.

I sigh deeply.

"Kendall Rose, I think we have to talk," Ethan says.

"About?" I question.

He runs a hand across his face. "About how we'll have to run things in my house."

"Alright," I say, twiddling my thumbs.

"I hope you didn't forget what I said about the dishes," he says.

"Leave a glass in the sink," I say.

He nods. "I'm going to be gone every day from eight in the morning to two in the afternoon. Do you go to college?"

"No," I say. I graduated from high school in Florida but that's where the line ended.

"Alright, so there should be no reason for you to leave." He gnaws on his lower lip. "As of now, you have no access to anyone besides me. Say bye to all your social media, all your friends–"

"I don't have either of those. So don't worry," I say.

"Well, okay then," he says. His voice softens, almost as if he feels bad for me. "Sorry about all this. No one can know of my whereabouts. And keeping you with me is the only way I will be able to remain untraceable."

"I get it," I say.

"Here's another thing," he says. His grip suddenly tightens on the steering wheel, causing his knuckles to turn white. "Never, and I mean never, step foot in my room. If you do, I'll kill you right on the spot. And don't try to be slick, either. I have hidden cameras everywhere and I'll be watching you every minute."

"So I have to say bye to my privacy, too?" I say.

Ethan glances at me. "I've already seen all of you. What more privacy could you possibly need?"

My cheeks get hot. It's the truth, and that means Ethan is the first guy to have ever seen me naked.

"If I come home drunk one day, don't take me to my room. Leave me on the couch. If I'm dirty, take me to your bathroom, not mine. I'm not going to have you snooping around through things that aren't your business."