Page 32 of Kill for a Kiss

We settle back into the movie, and Stan doesn’t miss a beat, turning every scene of horror into a joke.

“Their scary guy is a sniper?” he mocks. “He’s holding his gun like a baguette. He’s gonna shoot his own damn face.”

I snort silently.What makes him the expert?

“Now the hero’s running like he’s got bricks in his shoes,” he mutters, and I laugh. When the final girl screams, he throws up his hands. “There it is! That’s the right reaction to finding out your boyfriend’s a zombie.”

I shake my head, barely biting back a smile. “You’re ruining thetension.”

“I’menhancingit.” He gasps, mock-offended. “You need joy with your terror, Elle. It’s called balance.”

By the time the credits roll, I feel lighter. I forgot how good it feels to just laugh.

Stan stretches, stands, then offers me his hand. “C’mon, I’ll walk ya.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I wanna.”

I let him help me up, his hand warm around mine as we step out into the quiet hallway, then the stairs going down. We walk in step as he follows me to my room.

When we reach my door, he stops. “Well,” he says, “this is where I dramatically exit.”

I smile. “Thanks for today.”

He watches me for a while, then nods. “Anytime.”

He steps back, hesitates for a second, then turns, walking into the dark.

I stay there, unmoving. My fingers still tingle where he held them.

When I enter my room, everything’s been prepared. Fresh flowers leave a scent in the air, a cup of tea waiting on a plugged mug warmer, and a folded note from Clo on my nightstand.

I open it. Her handwriting is perfect in looping, careful cursive.

My apologies for not being able to accompany you tonight.I hope Stanley treated you well.Good night, darling girl.

I blink, rereading it. Why couldn’t she join me?

It’s strange. I don’t remember much these days, but Clo’s always been close by. Always beside me. That’s never changed…has it?

A quiet ache grips my chest. My breath catches. It feels tight, too tight. Did I do something wrong?

Her voice isn’t in the room, but her words are. I reach for themlike rope, hoping the threads haven’t frayed.

But I’m being silly. A bit paranoid.Yes, perhaps I’m being a bit paranoid.

I glance at the tea. I know what to do. I should drink the tea. Like I always do. Like I’m supposed to. I like tea. I love tea. Clo said so. She knows me best. And I trust her more than I trust myself.

An ache curls in my chest, like I’ve almost remembered something important, but it slips away.

I lift the cup and take a sip. It’s bitter at first. Then sweet, much sweeter as I reach the honey at the bottom. Warmth spreads through me, lethargic and heavy. My limbs relax. The weight in my chest slips away. The tea makes everything better.

I set the empty cup down, crawl into the sheets, and let my eyes close. Sleep pulls me under before I can wonder why my thoughts feel so light and easy.

8

Elle