Made for You
Page 64
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
Nate stops in the hall and leans against the doorframe, not quite inside my room. “We should talk.”
“Robert’s not the killer,” I start.
“I meant talk about what happened in the kitchen,” Nate says quietly.
“No.” I shake my head and continue to focus on the killer. I skim my sketchy notes and tell him, “Reid gets shot. I think he might be the next victim—or maybe Piper. She’s drugged and killed in her house. I talked her into leaving town though, so I hope that her family lets her. CeCe didn’t have a death vision. I don’t know why though.” I think back over the snippets of deaths I saw and felt, and I shudder. I have to look at Nate when I tell him, “I saw Robert’s death. Suicide. Over all of this.”
I feel a little guilty for violating Robert’s privacy this time. It was different with Grace, but I need Nate to know too. I want him to be nicer to Robert because I’m not convinced that the danger of Robert committing suicide has passed. I hope Robert will keep his word, but knowing both of his girlfriends—because that’s what Amy and I both were—have been attacked by a murderer has to be devastating.
I realize that Nate is staring at me. Maybe it’s my deluge of words, or maybe it’s because this is far from what he said he wanted to discuss. I don’t know. I meet his gaze and wait though. I need him on my side. I’m scared, and tired, and still recovering from the accident. I need him to help me—and to be someone I can trust.
“Eva,” he starts, but he says nothing more. He’s still in the doorway to my room, but the way he watches me makes him feel closer.
“I’m tired, Nate, and I don’t want to think about it, but”—I look back down at my laptop—“I’m guessing that the killer isn’t waiting around forever. Reid dies in the afternoon or early evening, and he’s with a girl he loves. Since he isn’t going to be with her tonight, I need to figure this out before tomorrow. I’m going to talk to him tomorrow.”
“He’s safe tonight?” Nate asks.
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure. I got him to agree to stay home tonight. He’s going to tell her how he feels tomorrow morning.”
Nate walks farther into my room and says, “If everyone’s safe for now, can we please talk about what happened with us? I want to ta—”
“I already told you how I feel,” I interrupt without looking up at Nate. “You don’t want a relationship. I didn’t ask for one. We’re either friends with rules or friends with benefits. It’s up to you which it is.”
“You’re not the sort of girl who—”
“Don’t tell me what sort of girl I am, Nate.” I flip the laptop closed with more force than I should. “I’m the sort of girl a killer is sending messages to, the sort of girl who was attacked and left for dead, and the sort of girl who, oh yeah, sees deaths and is trying to figure out how to save her friends. Trust me when I say that a night with the Jessup man-slut isn’t the worst thing possible. It’s insulting that you think it’s okay for you to sleep with half our class, but I’m supposed to be . . . What? A blushing virgin? I’m not.”
He watches me in silence again, and I think he might do a repeat of the exiting act from earlier. Instead, he sits on the very edge of my bed beside my uninjured hip. He takes my computer and sets it on the nightstand. He doesn’t look at me, choosing instead to stare at his shoes, as he admits, “I don’t know what to do about you. I’ve never known what to do with you, not once I noticed that you were a girl.”
“Are you looking for suggestions other than the two I already offered?”
“Maybe.”
I scoot over so we’re shoulder to shoulder. He still faces the door and wall beside me, so we’re sort of perpendicular to each other. Cautiously, I touch his arm, and when he glances at me, I say, “If friends or friends with benefits is out, then I say you ask me on a date.”
“And then?” He turns to face me finally, bending one leg and moving a little farther onto the bed, and I realize that he’s afraid. “I’m not the sort of guy your family would approve of, not like that.”
“Really?” I say gently. “You can’t honestly think my mother is blind. She hired you.”
“Being the help is diff—”
“She hired you because she knows I like you”—I lean closer and kiss his jaw—“and that you like me.”
“If we date and I f**k up, we won’t be friends. I don’t want that.”
“So we don’t f**k up.” I kiss him then, cautiously at first. I’m not used to being the aggressor. There’s never been anyone I’ve wanted to kiss as much as I want to kiss Nate. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this kiss, this conversation, this boy since I first noticed boys. He’s the one. He’s always been the one.
I stop being tentative. I reach up to hold on to the back of his neck, and I press closer to him. It’s awkward because my leg limits my ability to move, but after he kisses me back with the same urgency, I stop noticing my leg and everything else.
DAY 14: “THE TASK”
Judge
BARELY A MONTH AGO, I’d entered into my darkest time, my doubtful wandering through the desert. In my doubt, I nearly killed the one who was meant to be my helpmate. Today, Eva invited me into her home and told me what to do.
“Robert’s not the killer,” I start.
“I meant talk about what happened in the kitchen,” Nate says quietly.
“No.” I shake my head and continue to focus on the killer. I skim my sketchy notes and tell him, “Reid gets shot. I think he might be the next victim—or maybe Piper. She’s drugged and killed in her house. I talked her into leaving town though, so I hope that her family lets her. CeCe didn’t have a death vision. I don’t know why though.” I think back over the snippets of deaths I saw and felt, and I shudder. I have to look at Nate when I tell him, “I saw Robert’s death. Suicide. Over all of this.”
I feel a little guilty for violating Robert’s privacy this time. It was different with Grace, but I need Nate to know too. I want him to be nicer to Robert because I’m not convinced that the danger of Robert committing suicide has passed. I hope Robert will keep his word, but knowing both of his girlfriends—because that’s what Amy and I both were—have been attacked by a murderer has to be devastating.
I realize that Nate is staring at me. Maybe it’s my deluge of words, or maybe it’s because this is far from what he said he wanted to discuss. I don’t know. I meet his gaze and wait though. I need him on my side. I’m scared, and tired, and still recovering from the accident. I need him to help me—and to be someone I can trust.
“Eva,” he starts, but he says nothing more. He’s still in the doorway to my room, but the way he watches me makes him feel closer.
“I’m tired, Nate, and I don’t want to think about it, but”—I look back down at my laptop—“I’m guessing that the killer isn’t waiting around forever. Reid dies in the afternoon or early evening, and he’s with a girl he loves. Since he isn’t going to be with her tonight, I need to figure this out before tomorrow. I’m going to talk to him tomorrow.”
“He’s safe tonight?” Nate asks.
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure. I got him to agree to stay home tonight. He’s going to tell her how he feels tomorrow morning.”
Nate walks farther into my room and says, “If everyone’s safe for now, can we please talk about what happened with us? I want to ta—”
“I already told you how I feel,” I interrupt without looking up at Nate. “You don’t want a relationship. I didn’t ask for one. We’re either friends with rules or friends with benefits. It’s up to you which it is.”
“You’re not the sort of girl who—”
“Don’t tell me what sort of girl I am, Nate.” I flip the laptop closed with more force than I should. “I’m the sort of girl a killer is sending messages to, the sort of girl who was attacked and left for dead, and the sort of girl who, oh yeah, sees deaths and is trying to figure out how to save her friends. Trust me when I say that a night with the Jessup man-slut isn’t the worst thing possible. It’s insulting that you think it’s okay for you to sleep with half our class, but I’m supposed to be . . . What? A blushing virgin? I’m not.”
He watches me in silence again, and I think he might do a repeat of the exiting act from earlier. Instead, he sits on the very edge of my bed beside my uninjured hip. He takes my computer and sets it on the nightstand. He doesn’t look at me, choosing instead to stare at his shoes, as he admits, “I don’t know what to do about you. I’ve never known what to do with you, not once I noticed that you were a girl.”
“Are you looking for suggestions other than the two I already offered?”
“Maybe.”
I scoot over so we’re shoulder to shoulder. He still faces the door and wall beside me, so we’re sort of perpendicular to each other. Cautiously, I touch his arm, and when he glances at me, I say, “If friends or friends with benefits is out, then I say you ask me on a date.”
“And then?” He turns to face me finally, bending one leg and moving a little farther onto the bed, and I realize that he’s afraid. “I’m not the sort of guy your family would approve of, not like that.”
“Really?” I say gently. “You can’t honestly think my mother is blind. She hired you.”
“Being the help is diff—”
“She hired you because she knows I like you”—I lean closer and kiss his jaw—“and that you like me.”
“If we date and I f**k up, we won’t be friends. I don’t want that.”
“So we don’t f**k up.” I kiss him then, cautiously at first. I’m not used to being the aggressor. There’s never been anyone I’ve wanted to kiss as much as I want to kiss Nate. I feel like I’ve been waiting for this kiss, this conversation, this boy since I first noticed boys. He’s the one. He’s always been the one.
I stop being tentative. I reach up to hold on to the back of his neck, and I press closer to him. It’s awkward because my leg limits my ability to move, but after he kisses me back with the same urgency, I stop noticing my leg and everything else.
DAY 14: “THE TASK”
Judge
BARELY A MONTH AGO, I’d entered into my darkest time, my doubtful wandering through the desert. In my doubt, I nearly killed the one who was meant to be my helpmate. Today, Eva invited me into her home and told me what to do.
