Switch Blade Romance

let's go out!

February 27th, 2015.

Andrew Grant sat on the couch in the cabin and tried not to think about how long it had been.
Almost two months.
That realization landed on him with the dull weight of a bruise you didn’t remember earning. He wasn’t tied up. There were no chains, no locked doors. That was the worst part. Charles didn’t need restraints. Fear did the work for him now. Fear—and the knowledge of what Charles was capable of.
Tonight, Charles was taking him to a bar.
Not for drinks. Not really.
Andrew knew the plan as well as if it had been etched into the inside of his skull: find people, bring them back, feed the fire. And this time—this time—Charles wanted Andrew to help.
He told himself there was nothing he could do about it. That was how he survived most days now—by shrinking the future down to something small enough not to scream.
Charles stepped out of the bedroom.
The bedroom where Micha had died. And Patrick. And God only knew how many others. The walls in that room had learned things. Andrew avoided looking at the door whenever he could.
“Put this on.”
Charles tossed him a brown-and-white toboggan. Andrew caught it automatically and pulled it down over his hair, his hands moving before his thoughts caught up.
“We’re going to a little bar in Armendale,” Charles said. “Twenty miles out. We won’t make much eye contact. We’ll look for the right ones. I’ll tell you who.”
“Okay,” Andrew said.
His voice sounded obedient. Broken-in.
He understood perfectly.
This was probably his last chance.
He couldn’t run at the bar—Charles would be glued to him, eyes sharp, hands ready. But back at the cabin… that was different. Back there, with strangers, with chaos and alcohol and maybe numbers on his side—
If Charles was busy killing someone else, Andrew could run.
The thought made his stomach twist, but he didn’t let himself look at it too closely. Survival didn’t ask permission.
“All right then,” Charles said cheerfully. “Let’s go.”
They went out the back of the cabin to a garage Andrew hadn’t seen before. Charles hadn’t let him out of sight much, not since the beginning. The garage door creaked open, revealing a blue Dodge truck.
Andrew stopped short. “Whose truck is that?”
Charles barely hesitated. “Earl’s. My stepdad’s. After he died—” a pause, thin as a razor “—I mean, went missing, it became mine.”
Andrew said nothing.
Charles ushered him into the passenger seat and shut the door like he was sealing something away.
The bar was called The Last Call.
Before they got out, Charles leaned close, his mouth brushing Andrew’s ear. “Don’t try anything clever. No warnings. No notes. I see you step out of line, I kill you. I think I’ve been generous enough. Understand?”
Andrew met his eyes and nodded. “Yes.”
He meant it. Fear made sure of that.
Inside, bluesy Southern music thumped against the walls. The place wasn’t packed—just locals, townies nursing beers and old regrets. It reminded Andrew of places back in Annabelle. Places he’d gone with friends.
Casey loved karaoke.
The thought hit him so hard it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. He saw her on a stage somewhere, drunk and fearless, mangling lyrics and laughing through it anyway.
I miss her, he thought. I miss all of them.
That life felt like it belonged to someone else now. Someone who had died quietly while Andrew wasn’t looking.
Charles leaned in behind him. “See that last table on the right?”
Andrew followed his gaze.
Three kids. Laughing. Alive.
A redhead, her brown-haired friend already a little drunk, and a guy glued to his phone. College kids. Gap-year kids. Names like Tegan and Kayleigh and Sam. Kids worried about exams and roommates and where they’d end up next.
Charles nudged him forward.
They approached the table.
“Hi,” the redhead said. “Can we help you?”
Charles smiled and offered his hand. “Austin. This is my boyfriend, Drew.”
Andrew smiled because his body remembered how, even if his soul didn’t.
The group relaxed. Drinks came. Laughter followed. Andrew watched them like someone observing life through glass.
When Charles mentioned cocaine, the redhead’s eyes lit up.
When Kayleigh hesitated, Andrew felt something inside him scream Run.
But they didn’t.
They agreed.
Outside, in the parking lot, Andrew stood under the buzzing lights and watched them follow Charles toward the truck.
This is it, he thought.
His last chance.
Charles leaned close. “You can do this.”
Andrew nodded and smiled—a thin, fake thing stretched over terror.
“Oh,” he thought, as they climbed into their cars. I know I can.
Because surviving had already taught him the worst lesson of all.
Sometimes, escape meant letting the monster eat.