Page 13 of Creatures Like Us

“Didn’t you hear me?” he snaps. “Go away. I want to be alone.”

“I’ll bring you a bucket.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Asher says with a scathing tone, “and then leave me the fuck alone.”

I stand with my back hunched over, thoughts dark and displeased. This wasn’t how I wanted this conversation to go at all—I had hoped my Goldilocks would understand that I only want what’s best for him. That I would never hurt him. Until he understands, I’ll have to keep him close and under my watch.

In time, he’ll understand. In time, maybe I won’t even have to use handcuffs and chains to keep him here. I smile at the thought.

For the first time in ages, I imagine a future that doesn’t end with my body rotting in the forest. Even if Asher won’t like me, or cling to me the way I cling to him, or even understand how much he means to me, I dare to hope that finally, I have found something to live for. Someone to take care of. Maybe even someone to love, even if he won’t love me back.

Chapter 5

Asher

I’minmyoldboy’s room, and Ethan and I are playing with Legos, laughing, teasing, wrestling each other over our favorite piece.

The scene shifts to us in the kitchen, where Mom asks Ethan about his grades, then turns to me and asks what I want for my birthday.

The scene shifts again. Ethan stands in the hallway, a gym bag slung over his shoulder.

“You don’t have to go,” I plead. “You can go to Springvale, like me. Mom and Dad won’t mind.”

His lip curls, his expression cold and distant. “They won’t mind? I know you’re stupid, Ash, but you can’t be that stupid.”

“What?” My mouth falls open. He’s never talked to me like that before. Granted, he hasn’t spoken more than a dozenwords to me during the last couple of years. Somewhere along the line, something happened between us. I don’t know what.

“Don’t you get it?” Ethan says. “Mom and Dad knew you were hopeless from the start, so they bet their whole world on me instead. I was always the smart one. The ambitious one.” He takes a step closer and speaks low into my ear. “They didn’t even want you, you know that? Ever wondered why we’re only ten months apart? Breastfeeding as birth control wasn’t that effective, was it? You were just an accident—a shadow of the son they truly wanted.”

He opens the door. I put my hand over my eyes, shielding myself from the blinding light and my shame. He turns around, casting one last glance at me.

Then he was gone, and I was alone, and my big brother didn’t love me anymore?…

Fuck, I’m so stupid. So worthless. Just a shadow?…?hopeless from the start?…

I wake up crying, and I’m not in the hallway of my parents’ home anymore; I’m on a small bed in a dank and creepy basement. Noah’s basement.

“Fuck.” I lift a hand to my forehead, feeling fucking awful—groggy and wired up at the same time. Feverish. As my hand moves, something clinks by my side, and a cold band of steel shifts on my wrist.

Oh, right?…?He’s got me trapped. He’s got my phone, access to my contacts?…?Complete dominion over my life. My nostrils flare along with my racing heart, but I feel too groggy for true panic.

Footsteps drift from upstairs. Noah is probably giddy out of his mind right now, succeeding in keeping me his prisoner like this. Dead Eye?…?I remember my brother telling me about him. How terrified they were of that weird kid in school.

Supposedly, one day in fifth grade, that weird kid lured them into the woods, and something happened there?…?Somethingthat left them all traumatized. They never spoke to him again—so fearful were they of his revenge. What exactly did he do to them? Considering the situation I’m in, I’m not so sure I want to find out.

The footsteps are drawing closer. Down the stairs now, creaking, until my captor appears in the doorway, with the same vacant expression and awkward, stilted movements.

“Have you been crying, Goldilocks?”

I scoff, wiping my face to get rid of my tears. “Don’t call me that.”

“Then what do you want me to call you?”

“I don’t want you to call me anything. I want you to let me go.”

“You know I can’t do that.”

“It hurts,” I sniffle. I can’t stop crying. Tears pour down my cheeks, pushing up my throat. “I feel sick.”