Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Closet cases are the worst.
“There you are,” Creep says and stands between me and Domino without even knowing he’s my savior. “Do you want… another dessert?” He points at the fridge, and I can only hope the sound of the motorcycle driving away means my nightmare is leaving.
Relief floods my body, making it relax against the wall, and while at first I want to ask whether he managed to avenge me, I decide he’s too fragile to hear me say that. If he failed, having to admit it might upset him.
“Coffee to go? How about that?” I ask and step into the parlor.
“I guess we could walk to the first shop, it’s just down the street.”
A waiter stops by us when we walk in and points at the fridge. “Any cakes? The cream pie is pretty delicious.”
Did he… wink at me? Or at Creep? Don’t know which would make me madder.
Creep growls before I can make up my mind. Literally, full-on growls. It’s a guttural sound from the pits of hell, and the waiter smiles awkwardly, shows us his palms and walks off. When he turns back, Creep… takes a photo of him while alarmed guests watch.
Oh no, this needs to be nipped in the bud, because Adam’s sudden death is now at the forefront of my mind, replayed over and over until it makes me shiver.
I squeeze Creep’s arm and step close to whisper. “He was just being nice. Don’t hurt him, please!”
Creep avoids meeting my eyes. “I didn’t mean to, but I thought I’ll take the photo to Brigid so she can curse him.”
I hate how ominous that sounds. It’s somehow even worse.
“Curse him? For what? Do you think I’ll just make out with every guy who flirts with me?”
When all I get in return is a non-committal hum, I point a finger at him. “No. No cursing people. It’s evil and unnecessary!"
Creep groans. “Fine.”
That’s a red flag, right?
Of course it is. Am I being a sucker when I dismiss it and let him get us iced coffees, as if he didn’t attempt to make a spiritual attack on some poor guy because of jealousy?
But I try to forget all about it and lead the way down the street, watching every parking space for signs of Domino. It seems he was only passing through, and the only gaze I sense on me when entering the second hand store selling a lot of furniture is that of my handsome guard dog.
Is it a bit fucked up that his watchful eyes make me feel safe?
Creep is so eager to find things for me at the store it’s pretty adorable.
How about this lamp? What about this side table? Do you need a foot stool? Or a paperweight with a snake skull inside it?
He’s like a puppy eager to make its master proud. I’m surprised how easily he identifies items I might like, suggesting decor featuring all kinds of esoteric imagery. He’s especially proud of the herbology-themed rug he tracks down at the back of the massive room, and he hoists it on his shoulder the moment I admit my feet were cold in the evenings.
Unused to another person caring about what I want, I can’t help but find it endearing, but there’s a desperation to Creep’s actions, which keeps me from fully enjoying myself.
I don’t want him to feel he needs to buy me.
I want for this thing between us to develop naturally, and for him to trust me.
So instead of browsing through the mirrors, as he suggests, I meet his gaze. “None of the things you pick is anything like the furniture in your cave. You should like my home too.”
“My… cave…” Creep repeats and it feels as if he’s looking right through me. “You don’t want that.”
I slide onto a big old sofa and sink into its cushions, smiling at him. “Well, I do like being in the sun, but I mean the way you furnished your room. I want you to feel welcome.”
He stands in front of me awkwardly, seeming crushed under the weight of the massive rug over his shoulder. “I feel very welcome. You made room for me. I liked the snacks too. I don’t need anything else.”
And yet I know he does, because he has a whole book collection in his cave, a comfy armchair, even art. I wiggle my fingers, inviting him to join me on the couch. “You put a lot of effort into creating your own space, so it clearly matters to you how things are set up.”
Creep sighs deeply, as if to make some point I don’t understand, but then finally puts down the rug and joins me. I love the way he smells now, of my shampoo and the apple soap.
I can now focus on the view before me and realize there’s a bizarre collection of furniture-sized body parts made of resin. A massive hairy hand, a matching foot, and a head covered in skin only halfway, with the other side showing off bone and muscle. To match is a fragment of the spinal column big enough to sit on, and a near-faceless mannequin with disturbingly detailed teeth.