Page 51 of Stalked By Shadows

I turned off the shower and reached for the towels hanging on the drying racks. Micah didn’t move, and almost seemed to be sleeping in my arms. I dried us both as best I could, still gifting him with small grounding touches and tiny kisses to the tip of his nose or ears. I should have thought to bring clothes with me when I knew I would be staying over.

“Do you have any clothes big enough for me to borrow?”

“Lukas has some stuff in the dresser. Bottom drawer,” Micah mumbled.

“Do I need to ask again about you and my brother?”

Micah huffed at me, but I wrapped the towel around him and went in search of basics. “Sometimes I get afraid to be here alone. Lukas stays over if I text him and he’s not working. Tim sometimes, too. I try not to ask them too often anymore because I don’t want them more annoyed with me than they already are.”

Lukas wouldn’t have been annoyed at all by helping Micah to feel safe. I didn’t know Tim well enough to judge that about him, but suspected it was much the same. Two years and still Micah didn’t feel safe in his own home. I wondered if it was due to the nightly noises, or something more psychological. I suppose it could have been a little of both. I still clenched up when the wind howled. If it happened every night would I have grown immune?

I found a clean pair of boxers for me and an entire drawer of very adorable undies for Micah. I stared at the contents of the drawer for a minute, taking in the lace, fun patterns of super heroes, and even food stuffs, before grabbing the first pair near my hand. They were pale blue with colorful macarons on them.

When I brought them back to him, he slipped them on without comment or much thought. Bikinis. Very nicely fitted. Micah held out the towel for me, which jogged the slow-moving cog in my brain that said maybe I shouldn’t be staring at him. I returned the towel to the drying rack and went to the kitchen to find food. Micah laid the bed back down and curled up under the blanket much like I often would when alone.

“Okay, so you take bachelor pad to a new meaning,” I said after examining the cupboards. In the fridge there was almond milk, almond milk creamer, a newish carton of organic eggs, and a half dozen apples. In the pantry, which was one cupboard near the stove, there was a bag of rice, a jar of peanut butter, and a container marked sugar.

“Not home much,” Micah said. “Usually I make fried rice or something.”

I wasn’t sure how to make that. Eggs and rice maybe? I did know how to make one thing with the few things he had, and figured why not, then dug around to find a flat pan that would fit in the tiny oven. It took less than two minutes to whip up a batch of poor man’s peanut butter cookies. One egg, one cup peanut butter, and one cup sugar. It only made a dozen little bites, but that was all there was room for on the pan anyway.

“You like sweets, right?” I asked.

“Hmm,” Micah grumbled.

“Was that a yes or a leave me the fuck alone?”

“Yes,” Micah said. “I like sweets.”

It took less than ten minutes in the little oven for the cookies to bake. Jet curled up with Micah, taking the spot right beside Micah’s head and sticking his face under Micah’s chin until he laughed. “Brat,” Micah told the cat, reaching out to pet him.

“Does he need food or anything?” I asked, looking around the small space. There was an automatic fountain thing near the edge of the kitchen, but I didn’t see food bowls.

“He has an automatic feeder for at night. It’s upstairs in the loft. In the morning he gets wet food.” Micah stroked Jet’s back, his eyes closed and looking much like the cat in that moment, calm and content. That was much better than the panic earlier.

I took the cookies out and turned off the heat, found a plate and stacked them up. Then I poured a glass of milk for each of us and brought it to the futon. “Ever had poor man’s peanut butter cookies?” I asked him as I set the plate down.

“I’ve had peanut butter cookies.”

“These are a little simpler.” I took one and tasted a bite. Yep, just how I remembered it. The peanut butter made the cookie very rich, the sugar taking the edge off it a little. “A lot of Europeans don’t like peanut butter.” Since he had a jar in the cupboard, I assumed he probably was okay with it.

Micah sat up and took a cookie. He took an experimental nibble. The cookies were small enough to be one bite each, but his expression softened. “Wow, that is very peanut buttery. Not all doughy like most cookies.” He took a sip of his milk and finished the first cookie before taking the next.

“High protein. We always got peanut butter and sugar from the food shelf growing up. During the holidays we’d have the regular sort of peanut butter cookies with all the flour and stuff. I never liked those as much. I think because I grew up eating these, that everything else was sort of dulled down in flavor. When we got older and mom was making more money, she’d make the other kind, but neither Lukas nor I ate them, so she’d bring them to work or send them with dad. After a while she stopped making the other kind.”

Micah ate another cookie. “We have cakes a bit like this. Super simple, rice flour, eggs, and a bit of flavor added in sometimes like fruit or tea. Mom cooked a lot when I was little.”

“You still talk to her? Or your dad?”

“Yes. She calls once a week. I talk to them both. Dad is always trying to find me a job.”

“You have a job,” I pointed out, probably unnecessarily.

“One back home. He’s tried to get me to teach English in a lot of places. That’s not my world anymore. Not sure it ever was. He’s even been trying to find me something teaching history. I’m not sure I can pretend to be that normal.”

“I hear you there.” I held up my glass of milk so we could do a pretend toast. We clicked plastic cups. “To messing up all on our own.”

Micah smiled. “I think you’re doing okay. You make great cookies.”