“Why?” I ask, unable to help blurting out the word.
“It’s like buying my puppy a pup cup. Or you know.Food.” He blinks, looking at me likeI’mthe one not making sense. “Why wouldn’t I pay for it?”
“What in the hell–” I swallow my words and try to count to five in my head before answering. “Okay, so I’m not your puppy.There’s that.”
“Cool. I was never into pet play anyway. Cyril had me in cat ears and a tail once, but I don’t really like it.”
I wish he’dshut upand let me process all of this without his added crap. But I guess I’ve racked up a karmic debt, and Ezra is here to make sure I pay it all off as fast as I can.
“What if I don’t want to go to breakfast?” My stomach clenches, however, belying my words. Iamhungry and hadn’t eaten the night before. He’s right about me being nauseous with my medicine on an empty stomach. Not that I’ll ever tell him.
“Oh, see. I think you misunderstood me.” He steps back just enough that I can let out a breath and lifts his hands to articulate his words like I’m an idiot. “I didn’t ask, ‘do you want to go to breakfast, Ari?’I asked ‘where?’”
“Right, but I definitely think you skipped an important step,” I say back just as slowly, moving my hands along with my own words. He draws the argument out of me, and I just can’t help but talk back whenever he opens his mouth and says something insulting or stupid. Which is every time he opens his mouth.
“Nah, I don’t think I did.” I’ve never seen his smile so dark or the humor in his eyes so cold. “I didn’t askifyou wanted to because I’m not giving you the easy choice of telling me youdon’t. I’m taking you to breakfast. The only choice you have to make is whether you’d like to have burritos, donuts, or waffles.”
“Umm.” I stare at him, bewildered, as my heart pounds in my chest and warns me that I’m in a stupidly dangerous situation with this man.
Some of his intensity fades, and his smile nearly blinds me. “It’s not that serious, Ari,” he chuckles, going to the precise drawer that my leggings are in and pulling out a pair to chuck in my direction, along with a black hoodie that he picks up from the end table that hasINKUBUSprinted in jagged letters, and a line art raven on the back of it. “It’s just breakfast. It’s not even worth worrying about.”
“Yeah, okay,” I say, taking the clothes from him with the distinct urge to go back and grab another pair of pants, just to be difficult. Not to mention, the hoodie istheirs. It’s another way to mark me as belonging to them, and I really consider throwing it at his head with a sneer and a refusal to wear it. Instead, I walk to the bathroom and slam the door shut behind me, changing out of my sweatpants and tee and into the hoodie, leggings, and a different t-shirt I’d draped over the shower instead of wearing it yesterday.
Hesitantly I go to the medicine cabinet as if Ezra can see me through the door, and grab the bottle that’s labeledFluoxetinefrom the shelf. In a quick motion, I down my dose and grab the box that holds my emergency migraine meds. I don’t get them often anymore. Normally just once or twice a month, but I canfeelthe pain brewing in my temples. I’d rather be safe than sorry, so I pop one of the tablets in my mouth and let it dissolve as I brush out my long hair that Ezra did no favors for when he gripped it tightly, nails scraping my skin.
“We havegotto figure out how to get out of this,” I tell my pale, tired-looking reflection. I don’t belong to anyone. Not a group of psychos, and not anyone else that could pop out of the weeds to make some insane claim on my life.
But they saved me. The rogue thought is an unwelcome one, and Islamthe brush down on the counter with a sneer at my own reflection. “Doesn’t mean a damn thing,” I say and run my fingers through my hair, so it lays against the hoodie in a more orderly way that’s less likely to result in tangled hair by noon.
When I open the door, Ezra is leaning against the front door, the knife back in the block with the others. He glances at me and smiles, his eyes catching on the logo of the hoodie. “Ashe just had them made to sell at the shop,” he says as if I’d asked. “I snagged you one before I came.”
“Well, it’s better than a pup cup,” I gripe, pulling my shoes on as my fingers itch for the knife. Part of me says I should find a way to shove him out the door, lock it, and hide under my blankets. The bigger, more realistic part reminds me that he broke in once, and I doubt hiding under my blankets will get me the results I want.
“I’ll still get you a pup cup if you want one,” Ezra offers, opening the door and ushering me out before linking his arm with mine as we walk down the sidewalk. “We can go in and ask, and you can look cute. They won’t refuse you with a face likethat.”
“You’re optimistic.” Frowning, I cast a quick look at him as he shakes his head.
“I’m not stupid,” he assures me. “I just have a very good appreciation for pretty girls–and boys–who deserve nice things.”
It’s such a weird thing to say that it stuns me into silence, and I wonder if this is the fake Ezra that he wears like a mask. A part of me wants theotherEzra back because he’s easier to read and doesn’t surprise me in ways like this.
But I don’t say that, or anything, as we walk like we’re a couple, when in reality, it feels like he’s doing it just so I don’t have the chance to bolt.