Where The Light Doesn't Reach

17.

We spent the days after our heart-to-heart just binge watching shows together, only recently finishing the last one in a span of 48 hours. Now Gray's constantly singing songs from the show, meaning I'm always having to throw pillows at him so he'd stop. Even Rosie threw a few after everyone in the house couldn't get one of the damn songs out of our heads.

It's not until the middle of the second week that Gray starts getting on my case about leaving the house.

"We've been doing the same shit every day! How are you not tired of it?" He asks incredulously, to which I only shrug.

"I'm used to staying inside, it's not like I've ever had any friends to hang out with."

Gray frowns for only a second before quickly plucking my book from my hands.

"Hey!"

"Key word is had. Now you have a friend, therefore we're going out to do something together."

He places my bookmark between the pages before setting it on the highest bookshelf, knowing my short arms will have a hard time reaching it.

Bastard.

"And what if I don't want to go anywhere?" I ask him bitterly, clenching my fists as I give him one of my most scathing glares.

"Well that's too bad." He replies, matter-of-fact.

He turns around and steps out of the room, leaving me to stew in my own irritation as I wonder whether or not I should actually go with him. Knowing I have no real reason to turn it down, I huff in frustration before stomping over to my pile of clothes to grab my new hoodie, an item of clothing that Mrs. Kane bought me because she somehow got the idea that I have a huge crush on the character depicted on it.

I was originally a little humiliated, but I accepted the gift anyways since I couldn't say she's entirely wrong—

—he does have great hair, after all.

I slip it on and stomp over to the bathroom, flicking on the light to see my reflection in the mirror. I grimace at the sight and grab the nearest brush, running it through my curls and tucking a few strands behind my ear. The dark circles under my eyes are still a prominent feature on my face - created by the nightmares that constantly disturb my sleep - and I'm a little paler than I should be. On the bright side, I've actually fleshed out a bit over the past week and a half, my body doesn't shake when I'm standing, and my appetite has improved considerably for such a short period of time. The scratches on my cheek are healing nicely as well, some parts still scabbed while the rest either remain as a barely visible scar or have disappeared completely.

I feel a twist of anxiety as I imagine going out like this, an obvious wreck who could probably pass as homeless. In a way that's almost true - what with my being here in someone else's home - but the idea of other people perceiving me is almost horrifying. Anyone would take one look at us and wonder why he's even hanging out with me; the model and his sad sidekick.

Gray must've been wondering what's taking me so long, the sound of his clunky booted footsteps approaching from down the hall. The tall man quickly reaches the bathroom and peeks in, his gaze landing on my small form standing nervously in front of the sink.

For some reason I feel caught.

"What's wrong?" He asks, concern in his voice.

I pause, debating over whether or not I should answer honestly. I've decided to stop lying to him, which has to start somewhere, so I figure now's a good time to practice.

Baby steps.

I clear my throat. "I— uh..." I falter, not really knowing how to phrase it, "Are you sure you even want to be seen with me?" I laugh anxiously, mentally bracing myself for him to say something along the lines of: Actually you're right, I don't. But that's just not how he is, and shock overtakes his features, confusion quickly replacing it.