“It's not a fucking vampire, Sawyer,” he growls, obviously frustrated. It’s apparent that neither of us has ever had to deal with evil spirits in our lifetime, and we’re both severely ill-equipped. It’s not like either of us carry around holy water and Bibles. And Sylvester has never given any indication that he’s religious and possesses those things, either.
“There’s nothing to do but wait it out,” I conclude.
BANG!
I jump beneath Enzo’s weight, cringing from how fucking awful the noise is. It's the type of sound that makes your ass clench.
There’s something outside our door, and it’s using all its strength to get in.
That, and it clearly didn’t appreciate my idea to ignore it.
“Fuck this goddamn island,” Enzo mutters beneath his breath, rolling onto his back. It feels cold without his weight crowding over me, and somehow, I feel more vulnerable. More exposed.
Praying like hell he doesn’t reject me, I turn onto my side and lay my head on his chest. He doesn’t even hesitate. His arm slips around me, pulling me into his hold.
I have the strangest urge to cry. Instead, I nuzzle my nose against his bare skin, closing my eyes and thanking God that I’m not in this alone.
Something shifts beneath me, disturbing the restless sleep I’ve gotten lost in. It was a shitty sleep, but it was all I had.
The loud banging lasted deep into the night, and by the time it finally quit, there was a tinge of blue to the sky. We tried our best to sleep through it, but it’s safe to say we were both entirely unsuccessful.
I groan and roll onto my back. It’s still sore as shit, but laying in an actual bed eased some of the tension.
Enzo sighs from frustration, and I can taste his sour attitude on my tongue. If I’m being honest, mine doesn’t taste any sweeter.
We’re going to have agreatday.
He sits up, tossing his legs over the bed, and rolls his neck, letting out a deep sigh. For a moment, he just sits there and breathes. I could slice through the tension with one of those dull plastic knives toddlers get in those kitchen sets.
Then, he stands and trudges over to the wooden board. He grabs the hammer leaning against the wall and makes quick work of prying the nail free. He lets it go, and it slides away, dangling from where it’s nailed in on the other end.
He replaces the hammer with the shotgun, tosses a quick glance over his shoulder at me, then whips open the door like there wasn’t something trying to break it down all night.
Nothing is on the other side.
It’s quiet and cold and it feels almost like a slap in the face. Why does it choose to harass us when sleep is required and then stop when it’s time to wake up?
So fucking obnoxiously rude.
I bite my tongue as I stand, the aches in my back screaming. I force myself to stretch, the pain bordering on pleasure and so acute, that I can’t help but let out a groan.
Feeling a little dizzy from it, it takes me a moment to focus again to slip on my shorts.
Enzo is staring very intently at me, an angry frown marring his face, then he turns his attention to the opposite side of our door. Furrowing my brow, I approach him to see what the issue is.
I can’t tell if he’s pissed off at me or the door, but I’m instantly defensive anyway.
Almost immediately, I notice the deep gouges in the wood and how it’s splintered from where it must’ve been ramming its shoulder.
My mouth drops. I don’t even remember the clawing. It must’ve happened when I was delirious from lack of sleep.
“Fucking hell,” I murmur, fingering one of the marks.
Enzo is silent, but I can hear the steam shooting from his ears.
“Spirits can’t do that,” he says.
I shoot him a nasty look. “How would you even know?” I mutter. “Not like you’re an expert.”