Double Crossed (Invader Zim)

Chapter 6

"AAAAAAAAUGH!"

I dart up, still half asleep. Zim is on the couch, cowering in one corner with a bunch of blankets huddled around him.

"Zim, what happened?" I want to sound concerned, but since I haven't spoken in almost 8 hours (due to being asleep) my voice cracks and is barely above a whisper.

"There was a horrible sound coming from your voice-hole. I think you may be possessed," Zim hisses, pressing himself against the couch even further.

I put my face into my hands. "Oh my god. Snoring, Zim. It's called snoring. Sometimes humans do it when they sleep."

Zim's arms fall to his sides. "Oh," he says awkwardly. "Well, uh... Okay then."

I glance over at the clock. It's 7:24 a.m. I push my blankets off of me, and for a second, I forget why I have bandages on my arms. But once I remember, the dried blood is very concerning. "Zim, I'll be right back. I need to change these, I say, gesturing to my arms.

Zim nods and shrugs, and I go upstairs to get the bandages, and find Zim opening the door to my room.

"Wha- you were out of my room? Zim, what if someone saw you?"

"I was waking up," Zim answers matter-of-factly.

"I didn't think Irkens slept," I say, confused that I'd seen Zim sleeping twice now.

"We don't need to, it's optional." Zim rolls his eyes. "I was just bored. Not really much to do when everyone else is sleeping."

"I guess. Just... wait in my room until I come get you." I turn towards the bathroom.

When my cuts are all freshly bandaged, I walk downstairs, where Zim has stood up, a blanket still curled around him. He's scratching at his eyes.

"What's wrong?" I ask as Zim lowers his hands to look at me.

"Have you ever tried sleeping with contacts in? It's very uncomfortable," Zim answers. He plucks at his eyes once more, pulling the lenses out and revealing his bug-like eyes. "From your reaction earlier, I'm guessing humans don't get up this early."

I shake my head. "But either way, my dad is working, and Gaz already knows about you."

"What?" Zim raises an eyebrow, concerned that someone other than me knows that he's an alien.

"She honestly doesn't care. She doesn't care about anything, really."

Zim huffs at this. "Fine. Any excuse to keep those lenses out works for me."

"I'm guessing Irkens don't need to eat either," I start, making my way to the kitchen.

"Either?"

Crap, wrong Zim. I turn around quickly. "Didn't you say something about Irkens not needing to sleep?" I try to keep a straight face, hoping he'll just take my word for it. If he figures out there's another Zim in the house, he's going to want to see. And I don't think I want to be the one responsible for any rips in the space-time continuum.

"It wouldn't surprise me," Zim says cockily, "I do love talking about myself."

I want to tell him that that isn't exactly a good thing, but I keep my mouth shut in case I make things worse. Instead I open the freezer and grab out some waffles.

"Want some?" I ask, shaking the box at Zim, who looks a little weirded out.

"How do you know that I like them?" he asks, pointing cautiously at the box.

"Uh... Lucky guess? Maybe?" Probably better not to mention that I watched him eat breakfast on a secret camera. For obvious reasons.

---

After breakfast, a few more tv shows and even exchanging numbers (in a totally platonic way, I kept trying to remind myself), Zim was gone. I mean, not entirely, but can you really count someone from a different time period?

Speaking of which...

When I open the door, Zim is sitting on my bed, sweater and all- I don't know if he can even take it off. He's also tinkering with something, and after a few seconds, I realize that it's my alarm clock.

"Zim, what are you doing?" I ask, walking up and grabbing for it. He gives me a cold stare, and I retract my hand. I don't want the cuts reopened. He places the clock down anyways and lays his head in his hands.

"So... now what?" Zim asks. His eyes grow big, almost like he's scared, and it's even more apparent now that he needs something to cover up his appearance. If we're going to get anything done, he can't look like an alien.

This is going to be an ordeal.

"No one's home, come downstairs. We'll figure something out while we're down there," I suggest, not wanting to be in my room together with him any longer. Obviously nothing's going to happen, but I feel uncomfortable just being in such a small place alone.

The TV is still on when we get downstairs, and I go to turn it off. While I'm grabbing the remote, though, the words coming from the commercial make me lift my head.

"-annual convention in town tomorrow! Be sure to dress up for the costume contest, and you could win-" I turn off the TV, cutting off the announcer.

"I think we have our distraction."