5. Late Night Snack

Chapter five

Late Night Snack

A fter an hour of meticulously organizing my schedule and locating my class venues on my laptop, a deep rumble from my stomach reminds me I’ve neglected my hunger. It’s close to eleven at night, and I figure everyone must be asleep. Slipping on a pair of socks to muffle my footsteps, I quietly head downstairs to the kitchen, hoping to sneak some food from the fridge without disturbing anyone.

As I enter the kitchen, I’m greeted not by the expected stillness of a late-night house but by the delicious aroma of cooking. Surprisingly, it’s Oliver, his back to me, engrossed in his culinary endeavors. I hesitate at the threshold, not wanting to startle him, but eventually clear my throat to announce my presence.

He turns his head slightly, acknowledging me with a glance before returning to his task. He’s chopping vegetables with practiced ease and tending to something sizzling in a pan.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you,” I say, but Oliver doesn’t respond verbally, merely continuing with his cooking. I nod to myself and approach the fridge, only to find it stocked with raw ingredients. The guys here seem to prefer cooking from scratch, a surprising discovery.

My stomach betrays my intentions with a loud growl, drawing Oliver’s attention. He looks at me, a hint of curiosity in his eyes, before chuckling softly. He then moves to the stove, ladles some soup into a bowl, and hands it to me with a spoon.

Gratefully, I sit on a stool at the kitchen island and immerse myself in the rich aroma of the soup. “Thank you,” I say. He nods again, maintaining his silence.

The soup is delicious, and I savor each spoonful, the warmth and flavor a comforting embrace against the cold night. Finishing quickly, I rinse the bowl and leave it with the other drying dishes. “Thanks, Oliver. Is there anything I can do to help you?” I ask, hoping to engage him in some way. He turns to me, his eyebrow raised in surprise. “What? You don’t think I can cook?”

“It’s not that,” he finally speaks, his voice calm but carrying an edge of intrigue. “After what you saw yesterday, I’m surprised you’re even out of your room. Everyone here is... different. And yet here you are, offering to help cook for them. Why?”

“You’ve all been nice to me. Why wouldn’t I?” I reply, meeting his smirk with a smile of my own.

He sets a chopping board and some uncut vegetables in front of me. “You can start with this lot then.”

As I wash my hands, I ponder Oliver’s mysterious nature. The others hadn’t revealed much about him, leaving me to speculate. He might be something as unnerving as a werewolf, though Nolan, despite his transformation, hadn’t seemed terrifying in his human form. Returning to the vegetables, I consider trying to engage Oliver in conversation. He appears reserved, almost aloof, yet there’s an underlying sense of depth in his quiet demeanor. I wonder what stories he might have and what secrets he holds within the walls of this unusual fraternity house.

As I cautiously slice the vegetables, I try to strike up a conversation with Oliver, hoping to ease the tension in the air. “So, what classes do you take?”

Oliver pauses in his cooking, a thoughtful look crossing his face. “My primary focus is on science. Specifically, biology.”

“That’s really cool. I’m more into math, but I enjoy a lot of other extracurricular activities too,” I say, trying to keep the conversation light.

He chuckles sharply, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. “Is that so?”

I immediately realize how my words could be misinterpreted. “Oh my God, I did not mean that!” I exclaim, feeling my cheeks warm with embarrassment. Oliver’s laughter fills the kitchen, and I join in, momentarily distracted. That’s when I feel a sharp pain in my finger. “Ouch!” I’ve nicked myself with the knife. It’s a shallow cut but stings sharply. Before I can react further, Oliver is by my side, wrapping my hand in a tea towel with surprising gentleness. “It’s not that bad. I don’t think I’ll need a band-aid,” I assure him, trying to downplay the injury.

His response is curt, his voice losing its earlier warmth. “And I think you need to go back upstairs.” As he speaks, I notice the brown in his eyes has vanished, leaving them a deep, intense green.

“Are you okay?” I ask, my voice laced with concern, both for him and myself. His intense green eyes trigger a memory, something from my past that I’ve struggled to forget. His gaze is piercing, almost accusing, and it sends a chill down my spine.

“No,” he almost growls, his demeanor suddenly shifting. “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be in this house, and you definitely shouldn’t be in this kitchen. Just stay away from me.” His words are laced with an unexpected hostility that leaves me reeling.

At that moment, Kane’s voice interrupts us. “Hey, are you two alright?” he asks, eyeing Oliver’s hand around mine with a look of concern. “Watcha thinking about, Ollie?”

“Bumblebees can fly higher than Mount Everest. Also, I thought she cut her hand,” Oliver says abruptly, his tone switching from hostile to strangely factual.

Kane looks perplexed, clearly trying to make sense of Oliver’s odd statement. As for me, I’m left standing there, bewildered by the sudden change in Oliver’s behavior and his cryptic comment about bumblebees. I gently pull my hand free, the towel falling away to reveal no trace of blood. Oliver’s abrupt shift from concern to hostility, coupled with his peculiar fixation on bumblebees, only adds to the enigma that surrounds him.

The tension in the kitchen is palpable as Kane comments on my presence. “I guessed that much. I’m actually more surprised she’s down here with you,” he says, his gaze flicking between Oliver and me.

Confused, I tilt my head, prompting him to explain further. “Well, I thought you said you were afraid of vampires.”

That revelation hits me like a ton of bricks. Any semblance of composure I might have had evaporates. My gaze shifts to Oliver, whose eyes are gradually returning to their normal brown hue.

“I think she still is. Her blood just ran cold,” Oliver remarks dryly.

Kane looks genuinely apologetic. “Oh sorry, dude, I thought she knew.”

“Nolan told me to keep it to myself,” Oliver states, his voice carrying a note of frustration. I feel frozen in place, my mind racing. The realization that vampires are real, and that one is standing right in front of me, is overwhelming. Memories flood back of a time when I believed in their existence, only to be dismissed as crazy. And now, the truth is staring me in the face. As Oliver leans over to pick up the cutting board and knife, I’m silently grateful he doesn’t touch me. I’m not sure I could handle any physical contact in this moment. “ You should forget what he just said to you, and you should forget what I am, “ Oliver says, a hint of command in his voice.

But something within me resists, snapping me out of my daze. “How am I supposed to just forget something like that?“ I ask, a mix of incredulity and defiance in my tone. He pulls back further away from me with a little shock plastered on his face.

Kane, finishing his water, adds with a snicker, “Did Nolan also tell you that none of our abilities seem to have any effect on her?”

I seize the opportunity to escape the overwhelming situation, rushing upstairs as Kane leaves the kitchen. My mind whirls with the confirmation of a reality I had long suspected but never had validated. Vampires are real, and I’m living under the same roof as one.

Back in the safety of my room, I try to process everything. The fact that vampires exist, that I was right all along despite being labeled insane, is both vindicating and terrifying. Oliver’s presence in the house suddenly casts a shadow over my previous sense of safety. As I sit on my bed, the weight of this newfound truth sinks in, leaving me to ponder what other secrets might be lurking within these walls.