Chapter 23 - Callum

I’ve been so fucking tired this last week. The nightmares have come back in full force.

Stone has tried to get me to stay at his place, but I might be avoiding it. All those feelings from before are starting to creep back up on me, the ones where I feel weak and vulnerable.

I don’t hate Stone this time for seeing me like that. I only hate myself.

I have no doubt he could help me through the nightmares. The thought of waking up with him inside me instead of those suffocating shadows is a comforting one. It’s accepting that comfort that I’m having a difficult time with. It’s letting him pin my limbs to that tray and dissect me all over again. He hasn’t seen everything there is to see, but if he gets his scalpel in me once more, he might find it.

That’s why I had to rush out of practice today before he could ask me to come over. I didn’t want the temptation because I’m already close to giving in.

I decided to stop by the small gym on the first floor of my apartment complex, hoping that maybe if I exhaust myself to the limit, even the shadows will be too tired to haunt me tonight. I work out for nearly an hour before I’m at risk of collapsing.

When I open the door to my apartment and step inside, I see Jesse and Eric on the couch. I remember one of them telling me they had some project they’d be working on together for a couple weeks.

“Hey, man,” Eric says as I close the door behind me. “I was going to offer you a ride, but you left after practice pretty quick.”

“Wanted to hit the gym for a bit. Thanks, though.”

“So that’s what that smell is that you’ve brought in with you,” Jesse mutters while he’s staring down at his phone, nose wrinkled.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, and how’s that project coming?”

“Shut it. I’m trying to get laid this weekend.” His fingers fly across his screen as he texts. Then he pauses. “Is buttcheeks one word or should I spread them apart?”

Eric snorts. “You should always spread them apart.”

They laugh while I’m left shaking my head as I walk to my room.

“Hey,” Jesse stops me. “I was gonna order some pizza. Want in?”

I can only imagine what Stone would think about me sharing a pizza with Eric, but, hell, he doesn’t have to know. I’m fucking starving, and I’d probably only grab a protein bar otherwise.

“Sure.”

Jesse must’ve already pulled up an app on his phone because he wrinkles his nose again. “Over an hour for delivery. I’m too fucking famished for that. I’ll just go pick it up.”

“I’ll stay here and try to get some work done,” Eric says as he picks up a textbook from the coffee table.

Jesse stands, walks over to the door, and grabs his keys off the hook. Then he turns back, pointing a finger at me. “You go shower or no pizza for you.”

“I’m going. I’m going.”

Once in my room, I close the door behind me. I place my phone on top of the dresser and toss my bag on the bed, planning on doing at least a little homework later. In my bathroom, I turn on the shower. While the water warms up, I strip out of my sweaty clothes and throw them in the hamper.

As I stand beneath the steaming spray, I lean my shoulder against the cool tiles and close my eyes. I’m so tired I could probably sit down right here and sleep while the water beats down on me.

Then my stomach growls, and I decide pizza is more important.

After washing up, I dry off and wrap the towel around my waist. When I open the door, I freeze at the threshold. Any warmth the shower had provided dissipates, replaced by a blast of cold dread.

Eric stands by my bed with my sketchbook in his hands. I immediately know which one it is by the worn, tattered cover and the loose pages that have fallen to the floor.

What is it with nosy people not respecting the privacy of artists and their work? It’s a fucking epidemic.

Of course, that’s not my biggest concern right now.

This is worse than when Stone saw my sketches of him. He’s seen the ones in this book too, but he also inspired half of them. Eric seeing them is bad. So fucking bad that I can’t find my voice to tell him to get the fuck out.

“I was looking for evidence,” Eric says like he’s answering an unspoken question. “Not sure if these would work, but it’s a start, isn’t it?”

Curiosity and apprehension are enough to push me to speak. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He looks up from the book, his eyes hollow, nearly every trace of the cool, carefree guy I’ve known gone. “Has Stone told you he killed my uncle?”

His words are like a puck to my chest. I would know after last weekend. Fortunately, I manage to stay upright this time even as all the air is punched from my lungs. My heart is like a caged animal, pounding its heavy paws against my ribs.

“Eric, I really don’t know what the hell you’re on about,” I tell him, shaking my head as though he’s lost his mind. “Why would you think that? Stone wouldn’t kill anyone.”

Hiding my own secrets has always been second nature to me. Protecting Stone’s secrets is even more important. But I can’t deny that having Eric standing here, thinking he knows the truth, while looking at recreations of his suspicions is sending me dangerously close to fight or flight.

“Have you seen him? Kill? Is that what these drawings are?”

When Eric takes a step toward me, I hold my ground. I may be in nothing but a towel, but I’ll still fight him if I need to.

“They’re just sketches. Morbid ones, yeah. Which is why they were under my pillow where people I thought I could trust wouldn’t stick their noses where they don’t belong.”

He frowns and tilts his head, studying me. “You trust a murderer over me?”

“He’s not a fucking murderer!”

My chest is heaving now, both from my rapid breathing and racing heart. At least I’m equally as pissed off as I am terrified right now, which is a good excuse for my reaction. I attempt to zero in on that anger, focus on the fact that Eric has completely invaded my privacy and is accusing my…boyfriend?…of murder. Also ignoring the fact it’s true.

“He is. I know he is.” Eric closes my sketchbook and places it on the foot of my bed. “And I know you know it too. I just can’t figure out why you’re covering for him.”

“I’m not covering for him because there’s nothing to cover.”

Eric looks down at his feet. I can see his jaw working. For a moment, I think it’s rage. But when he peers back up at me, his eyes are glistening, and when he speaks, his voice wavers.

“My uncle was my hero. He was more like a father to me than my own father. My dad was constantly traveling for work, gone for weeks or months at a time. He and my mother always told me he was doing what was best for our family, doing what he had to to provide for us. He’s tried making up for lost time over the past few years, but it’s pointless. He wasn’t there when I needed him, when I was just a fucking kid who needed his dad. But my uncle was. Until he was murdered three years ago.”

By the time he’s finished, a stray tear is rolling down his flushed cheek.

Fuck.

Could it be true? Could Stone have killed his uncle?

Of course, it’s possible. But why haven’t I considered this before? Why haven’t I thought that Stone could be out there murdering good people who have loved ones who will miss them like Eric misses his uncle?

I guess I have thought about it.

I just haven’t cared until now.

And here’s the thing. I’m not a bad person. I mean, I don’t think so. Sure, death calms me in a fucked up, twisted way. I’ve found comfort in something despicable and evil, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m those things. At least, I don’t want to be those things. That’s one reason I’ve never been able to consider killing someone myself. I have a fucking heart. And right now, it’s breaking a little bit for Eric.

“Look,” I start, taking a deep breath. “I’m really sorry about your uncle. I am. But Stone didn’t do it.”

Eric shakes his head and wipes away his tear. “I know he kills people, Callum. And as soon as I have proof that my uncle was one of them, I’m doing something with it.”

Before I can respond to that, Eric is walking away and out the door.

As if on autopilot, I move over to my dresser and put on a pair of pajama pants. I pick up all the pages that had fallen to the floor and stuff them back inside my sketchbook. None of the drawings of Stone would be obvious that they’re him to anyone but me and Stone himself. But since Eric already has his suspicions, it’s not difficult to make the connection.

Still, I consider burning the book.

My mind is veering off in two directions.

Down one path are my feelings for Stone. I care about him. Hell, more than that. He means more to me than anyone in my life ever has. I want him. I need him. Avoiding spending nights with him because of these nightmares has damn near killed me.

However, down the other path are whatever morals I’m still clinging to. I imagine my aunt or uncle or one of my cousins were one of Stone’s victims, and my perspective shifts.

The part of me that wants to follow that first path feels the need to warn Stone.

The part of me on that second path doesn’t want him killing Eric.

My phone vibrates on top of my dresser. I pick it up and then sit on the edge of my bed.

Stone: I wish you’d stay with me tonight.

Me: You know I can’t. I have that paper due next week.

Stone: And we both know that’s an excuse. Your nightmares don’t scare me, Callum.

Maybe not, but they scare me .

They scare me because I hate feeling vulnerable. They scare me because of how much more Stone could see that I’ve been hiding from him.

When I don’t text him back right away, he sends another.

Stone: I can tell you’ve been tired. I just wish you’d let me help.

Me: I’ll be fine. Promise. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, ok?

Stone: Sure. Goodnight, Cal. Get some rest for me. Please.

Me: I will. Goodnight.

Except that’s looking unlikely.

As suspected, I didn’t sleep for shit. And what little sleep I did manage to get was plagued by the usual nightmares.

The sinister laughter has been growing louder.

The smoke has become thicker.

I got to our anatomy class early just so I could close my eyes for a few minutes. I’m at my desk, my head resting on my arms, and my hoodie up over my head. The chair next to me scrapes across the floor, interrupting the lingering sound of cruel laughter bouncing off the walls of my skull. I don’t open my eyes as I hear Stone take a seat.

I can practically feel the fumes coming off of him.

When I finally lift my head, it’s to the sight of Stone staring down at his laptop, his jaw ticking.

“You’re driving me fucking crazy with that shit, Callum.”

“Sorry,” I mutter.

Except I don’t really know what I’m sorry for. I guess it’s just instinct. Or a lack of a desire to argue considering how exhausted I am.

While we sit through class, Stone hardly looks at me and doesn’t speak to me. I’m hoping that makes what comes next easier. Maybe if he’s angry with me, it won’t hurt either of us so badly.

Class ends, and Stone follows me out of the room. Once we’re in the hall, he grabs onto my arm and drags me past classrooms, peering in through open doors. When he finds an empty one, he pulls me inside. We walk a few feet into the room before he turns his intense, unwavering gaze on me.

“You’re staying with me tonight.”

He’s left the door open, sounds of footsteps and chatter filtering in. It all fades into background noise as I stare into his rain-washed eyes, sucking in his forest and thunderstorm scent. I inhale a deep breath of it like it might be the last time I get to smell it.

“No, I’m not.”

His face hardens. “I can’t keep seeing you like this. Let me help. Please stay with me tonight.”

“I’m not staying with you tonight. I…” I swallow back the uncomfortable lump in my throat and try again. “I won’t be staying with you for a while.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means I think we should slow things down for a bit. I have some of my own shit I need to figure out.”

Stone scoffs, but it’s not derisive. “It’s not you, it’s me?”

“Well, it’s true.”

Mostly.

Sure, some of the shit I need to figure out has to do with Stone, but they’re still my own issues. Like if I can really overlook the fact that Stone kills people without caring who it is he’s killing. I know I should’ve thought about it before, but, well, that’s part of what I need to figure out too.

Why the fuck isn’t my head on straight?

“I just have a lot of shit to work through,” I tell him. “I know I’m not…right. I’ve never been right. I’m fucked up, and I just need to…unfuck myself.”

I roll my eyes at how dumb that sounded.

He frowns and shakes his head. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Now it’s my turn to scoff. “Says the serial killer.”

He nods stiffly. “Fair. But we can be fucked up together.”

I do love the sound of that.

“Do me a favor please. If you decide to go out and, you know…just be careful.”

It’s the only warning I can give him. The thought of him killing Eric keeps me from saying more. At least right now.

Suspicion flickers in his eyes, but he says, “I wouldn’t do that without you.”

Fucking hell.

I don’t understand how he can get me to smile right now. It’s only a small one and fades just as quickly.

“I just need some time, Stone.”

Taking a step forward, he grabs onto the side of my neck, leaning in close. “You know I’ll give you time if that’s what you need. But don’t think I’m going to let you go so easily, Callum.”

He presses his forehead against mine and closes his eyes, holding himself back from something. Then he releases me and walks out of the room.

He’s perfect.

And I’m a fucking mess.