Dead Pretty

shut the door.
Right. In. His. Face.
It’s out of habit. But also rude as hell.
I cringe.
Then, I pull the door back open and give him a sheepish look. “Sorry,” I say to him.
He just laughs. It’s an easygoing laugh but nice too. “No problem.”
“Okay. Well, I’ll just go get her.”
God, I’m acting even more awkward than normal.
Remember the days when you used to be a normal person, Audrey? And also when you didn’t talk to yourself in the third person?
Oh, those were the days.
Sigh.
I retrieve Eleven, as I now know her to be named, from the sofa. Holding her to me, I walk back to where Jack is waiting for us in the doorway to my apartment.
“Here she is.” I hand her over to him.
Jack’s hand brushes mine in the exchange. A zing of heat shoots up my arm, and my pulse increases in tempo.
It surprises me. Enough that I step back away from him.
I’ve never had such an instant physical reaction to a man before.
And I shouldn’t be having one now.
I wrap my arms over my chest.
“Thanks,” he says. “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble.”
“Not at all.”
“I honestly have no clue how she got out of the apartment,” he tells me.
“I did check for a collar on her,” I feel the need to tell him. I don’t want him thinking I go around, taking in stray pussies.
And thank God I didn’t just say that out loud.
“Yeah, I gave up on collars a while back. She always gets them off and ditches them. She is chipped though.”
“Clever cat,” I muse.
“Too clever. I’m going to have to check the apartment, find where she escaped from. Whereabouts did you find her?”
“In the hallway. She followed me to my apartment. When I unlocked my door, she walked on in. I knocked on everyone’s door on our floor, but no one knew who she belonged to. Well, except Chloe said she thought she might belong to you. I did try knocking on your door, but you weren’t there. Obviously. I was going to try later …” I trail off, realizing I sound like a complete moron.
“I fed her too. I hope that’s okay. It was just a can of tuna. It was all I had.” And yet, I just can’t seem to stop.
He smiles. It’s warm and friendly. “That was really nice of you.”
I shrug, turning my gaze down.
“Well, Eleven and I appreciate it,” he adds.
“I like her name,” I say, feeling like I should say something.
“Stranger Things,” he says.
“Stranger things?” I echo.
“The TV show. Eleven is a character from it.”
“Oh. Of course. Yes, I have heard of the show, but I’ve never watched it.” I shake my head.
“You’re missing out.”
“Scary shows aren’t really my thing.” I shrug.
Honestly, I avoid watching anything remotely scary now. I have enough scary memories trapped in my head without adding to them.
“It’s not scary.”
“No?” I tip my head to the side in question. “What is your definition of scary?”
“The Witches.”
“The witches?”
“Yeah,” he deadpans. “From the Roald Dahl book. Well, not the book. The movie. Those freaky, toeless, bald-headed witches used to scare the absolute shit out of me when I was a kid.” He squares his shoulders. “And I am man enough to admit that they still freak me out now.”
He shudders, a wry grin on his lips, and a laugh flies out of my mouth.
It shocks the hell out of me. I can’t actually remember the last time I laughed.
When I was still the old me.
My laughter dies as quickly as it appeared.
I place my hand on the door, ready to close it.
He seems to understand the gesture, as he moves away. “Well, thanks again for looking out for Eleven.”
“No problem.” I shut the door before he even starts to walk away.
I lean back up against it and squeeze my eyes shut.
How can a laugh make me feel so off-kilter?
It’s pathetic.
Not even taking into account that the whole conversation with Jack was the longest exchange that I have had with another person since I moved here.
And my weekly calls with my brother don’t count.
I know it’s my choice not to get close to people.
But it’s the only choice.
Only … I didn’t realize until now just how starved for conversation I actually am.
And Jack seems harmless.
I bet Ted Bundy did at first too.
But do I actually think this guy is a serial killer?
No.
Possibly.
Oh, I don’t know.
I don’t know anything anymore.
I barely even know myself.
Sighing, I push off the door. Lock it back up. Resist the strong urge to do a check of my apartment again.
I sit back down on my sofa, pick my book up, and make a conscious effort to be a normal person while also ignoring the loneliness surrounding me, which somehow seems so much more prevalent than usual.

“Hello again.”
I jump at the sound of the deep voice behind me, the book in my hand falling to the floor.
Spinning around, I see Jack standing there.
My heart takes off for a few reasons.
Adrenaline, fear … the hot guy standing in front of me.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Giving me a sheepish smile, he bends down, picking up the book I just dropped.
“It’s fine.” I shake my head. “Don’t worry.” My heart doesn’t agree, as it currently tries to bat its way out of its cage.
Jack holds the book out for me to take. I make sure to avoid touching him in the exchange.
“I just came over because I wanted to thank you again for looking after Eleven last night.”
“It was no problem at all.” I clutch the book to my chest.
Then, there’s this moment of silence—you know the kind.
The kind where someone needs to speak, or it will just get weird.
People hate awkwardness. It makes them uncomfortable, and they need to get as far away from it as humanly possible.
And usually, I would just continue on with the silence, allowing it to become uncomfortable, knowing the other person would make their excuses and walk away, leaving me alone. Because