Fucking hatesick.
CHAPTERSIX
Two years ago. Bardstown
At first I ignore it.
Thetap tap tapechoing around my room.
It must be the tree just outside my window. The branches have a habit of knocking on the glass when the weather turns windy. My friends, when they come over, have a tendency of getting scared, but when you practically live in the middle of the woods, you become used to it.
But then thetap tap tapalmost becomes aboom boom boom, and I jump out of my bed, my heart in my throat.
This does not sound like a tree at all.
This sounds like…
Like someone is knocking at my window.
Like someone is rapping their knuckles on the glass.
And I realize that I can see them.
Whoever they are.
The drapes are closed and I’m used to seeing the blurry silhouette of the branches swaying gently. However, tonight I can see the silhouette of someone else as well.
The head, the shoulders.
The freaking arm that reaches out and bangs at the window once more, this time louder and more insistent. Like they’re getting impatient at the delay.
Oh JesusChrist.
What do I do, what do I do, what do I fuckingdo?
The knock comes again and instead of running toward my door and dashing out of my room, I dash toward the window. Before I even realize it, I’m tearing the drapes open and then I’m… numb.
I’m dazed. I’m dreaming.
I am, aren’t I?
This has to be a dream.
No, a nightmare.
If I’m seeing what I’m seeing then it’s definitely a nightmare.
Because what I’m seeing, or ratherwhoI’m seeing, lives there.
His eyes live there.
Reddish brown and so unique with crazy thick eyelashes.
That jaw, square and sculpted and stubbled.
Perpetually tight and clenched.Offended.
Like I make his life difficult simply by existing.