Death is My BFF Rewritten (Book 1 of the Rewritten Death Chronicles)

Chapter 27: You and Me and the Devil Makes Three

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           "Let go of me! You can't just drag me around like a child!" I shrieked, grabbing onto the doorway into the kitchen. I could see my mother's unconscious, sleeping body on the floor and felt the need to cry out to her. "HELP--!"

            Death peeled my fingers off the doorway and picked me right up into his arms. I was so in shocked by that action, that I stopped struggling once he was holding me. Not that I could have moved, anyway, with his death grip around my body. "I know when someone is killing themselves. I also know when someone is killing themselves pitifully. You are killing yourself pitifully." He me down in the kitchen, still keeping me hostage in his grip. "So start eating," he reached for a butcher knife on the counter and put the cold, sharp edge to my throat, "because I'm the only one who does the killing around here. I also like you better with a little meat on your bones. Comprende?"

             I stared down at the knife in horror as he played with it like freaking baton thrower between his long fingers. "Comprende," I answered.

            "She actually listens to me sometimes," Death huffed out, roughly pushed me in front of the refrigerator. He kept one large, lethal hand on my back, and presumably kept the knife ready at his side. My mother had just happened to go grocery shopping that morning and the fridges contents were ironically like Heaven before my eyes.

            "The Grim Reaper is forcing me to eat." I shook my head back and forth. "To think my life used to be normal--"

            "Open that drawer and take out some ham and cheese," Death barked, motioning at the drawer with the butcher knife in his hand. "Then, take out some lettuce and tomato. I'll cut the tomato."

            "I know how to make a sandwich," I seethed between my teeth.

            "But you clearly don't know how to feed yourself, so that knowledge is pointless, isn't it?"

            I gave him a dirty look over my shoulder, before opening fridge drawer and taking out fresh honey ham and slices of cheddar cheese. "It's not every day  a woman is held up by a knife to make a sandwich. Quite sexist of you."

            "I'm a chauvinist pig," he admitted freely, breathing slightly down my neck. He was so close to me that once in a while, I felt his lips brush against my skin. It was driving me absolutely insane, how close he was. "But my chauvinistic qualities don't take away from the fact that I'm downright exceptional between the sheets."

            "Egotistical flirt," I muttered.

            "Yes?" He was standing so close to me that I could feel his cloak brush against my back whenever I moved slightly back.

            Ignoring him the best I could, I washed off some lettuce and a tomato and handed him the tomato. His leather gloved fingers brushed against my skin, and when he purposely grabbed onto my pinky, I quickly pulled away sharply.

            "You know, pinkies can snap as easily as baby carrots."

            I tucked my pinkies beneath the rest of my fingers. "Good to know."