She lies still, not moving an inch, like she's trying to get her thoughts in order, like she's trying to pull herself together.
Don't fucking regret it.
Whatever you do.
"Naz, I—"
Before she can get out whatever it is she wants to say, a sudden noise interrupts us, the obnoxious blaring loud even upstairs in the bedroom.
It only takes a second for it to hit me.
My car.
I quickly pull away from Karissa and jump to my feet, grabbing my shorts from the floor and pulling them on.
"Stay here," I tell her, running out before she can question me. I sprint downstairs and head toward the front door, grabbing my keys from where I discarded them when we got home.
I head into the den and walk along the bookshelves, my fingers quickly skimming the spines of books until I come upon my copy of War & Peace, still in the right spot.
Luckily Karissa hasn't ever tried to read it.
I pull it off the shelf and open it up. The pages are cut out, leaving a gaping hole right in the center, a silver revolver tucked into it. I pull the gun out, tossing the book on the desk, and make sure it's still loaded as I head for the front door.
The alarm is blaring so loudly it's practically vibrating the ground. I hit the button on my spare key, relieved when it shuts off through the wall. I strain my ears, listening to the silence, before unlocking the door and slowly opening it. My heart furiously pounds against my ribcage as my eyes scan the yard, the gun gripped tightly in my hand, prepared for anything.
It's quiet, and still. There's nobody around, nothing except my car, the driver's side door hanging wide open, a familiar set of lost keys dangling from the lock. I eye them for a moment before stepping over to the driveway and pulling them out, giving a quick glance inside the car before slamming the driver's side door closed.
I'm staring out into the darkness when I hear a squeak behind me. Everything inside of me seizes momentarily before kicking into high gear, fueled by adrenaline. Spinning around, I raise the gun at whatever's moving, my finger slipping right off the trigger as soon as I see her.
Karissa.
I'm aiming right at her face.
She freezes in the doorway to the house, whimpering. I move the gun away at once, raising my hands to show her I mean no harm.
"Fuck, Karissa, don't sneak up on people. You're going to get yourself hurt. I told you to stay where you were."
Her frantic gaze darts all around me, trying to make sense of things as I flick on the safety and stick the gun in my waistband.
"What's happening?" she asks. "I mean, what was...?"
"It was just the car alarm."
The answer calms her a bit, although her gaze keeps flickering to my gun. "What set it off?"
"Don't worry about it," I say. "I handled it."
She wants to ask more but the racket of the garage door raising interrupts her when I push the button so I can move the car out of the driveway. It gives me a moment to collect myself as I run my hands down my face, taking a deep breath.
"Relax," I say when it's quiet again. "It could've just been a raccoon."
"A raccoon?"
"Yes."
She shakes her head. "I thought you didn't lie to me?"
"I don't."
Her eyes are skeptical, borderline angry as she steps closer, coming outside. She doesn't believe it.
"I said it could've been a raccoon, which is true. It could've been."
"But it wasn't."
"No," I admit, "it wasn't."
"Who was it?"
"If I had to guess, I'd say it was the same person who robbed me."
She gapes at me. "How do you know? Did you see them?"
"No, I didn't see anybody," I say, holding up the returned keys, jingling them in the air. "Just an educated guess."
She stares at the keys before meeting my eyes. "Do you know who it is?"
I nod.
She pauses. "Do I know them?"
Another nod. This one's hesitant.
I stare at her, waiting for the question I dread.
Don't ask me if it's your mother.
Don't ask me that...
"Is it, uh...?" She frowns, looking away from me as she gathers her thoughts. "Is it safe?"
Reaching out, I graze my fingers along her jawline before cupping her chin. I tilt her face, making her look at me again. She looks worried, so I offer her a smile, just a small one, to try to ease her concerns. Is it safe? Absolutely not. It never is in my world, and it never will be.
Death lurks around every corner, watching and waiting, and someday, it'll come for me again.
"Nothing will happen to you," I tell her, running my thumb along her soft bottom lip. "I'll make sure of it."
She returns my smile. I don't know if she believes me, but I can tell she wants to. Slowly, little by little, she's putting her trust in me again.
"Happy Birthday."
I'm sitting on the couch in the den, my plain white shirt lifted up, tucked beneath my chin as I survey my left side, when those two words ring out.
Happy Birthday.
My eyes dart to Karissa as she stands in front of me. "Excuse me?"
"Happy Birthday," she says again, smiling tentatively as she holds out a small container of chocolate pudding and a spoon. "For you."
I drop my shirt, letting it cover my chest again as I eye her warily. I hesitate so long her smile falls, worry casting shadows over her face. Slowly, I reach for the pudding cup and take it as she sits down beside me with her own. She already has hers open and is taking a bite before I can even think of what to say.
"How do you know?" I ask, peeling the top off the pudding. I'm not even hungry, so I'm not sure why she gave me this.
"It was listed on your passport."
"Ah."
"I would've made you a cake," she says. "Or, well, had you one made, but I didn't think you'd eat it, you know, in case it got doped with cyanide." She casts me a sideways look as she takes another bite. "I guess I could've bought like a honey bun or something, but we had pudding in the fridge, so..."
"So pudding it is," I mutter, taking a small bite before I wave at her with my spoon. "I didn't expect anything."
"I figured," she says, "considering you never even mentioned it."
She devours her pudding, practically licking the plastic clean of chocolate, as I set mine down on the table without taking another bite. I pull my shirt back up as she watches me.
"It looks better," she says, setting her empty container down beside mine. Reaching over, she runs her fingertips along the skin around my wound, her touch so light it sends a tingle through me. The forming scar is nasty but it's healing, barely even sore anymore.