Adapt (I)

SCARLET

I start to pace the room. Boe should be back by now. Worry pits in my gut.

Not twenty-four hours ago Boe stabbed me, and now I am worrying about his safety. I kick the sofa. This is completely frustrating.

“Calm down. He is fine.” Caron dismisses my little outburst from behind the cover of the latest tabloid. I vacantly remember wondering why she reads them. She seems to be a smart girl with a critical mind. I couldn’t understand why she would concern herself with the lives of others. But one day I realized that it was the way she shut her brain off, for a moment. It is the same reason people watch bad comedy or read predictable romance novels. It allows you to escape reality.

I roll my eyes. Of course, she thinks that he is fine. She has no idea what he is up against out there.

Not that I really know what he is up against. I don’t know where he went and for what purpose. All I know is that I got a worrying text from Boe, telling me to stay put. That was two hours ago.

Mentally, I punch myself. Why do you care?

He is just doing his job, my subconscious defends.

I narrow my eyes at my voice of reason. Remember how he stabbed you? Remember that? It is a wonder you don’t, it wasn’t long ago.

A knock on the door brings me out of my internal conversation.

“Boe?” I whisper.

I leap at the door and open it to find leather clad Boe, remnants of blood dotting his cheeks. His dark hair is a mop, and not in the usual wind tussled way. I realize that his eyes are burning with frustration.

“What in the hell happened to you?” I blurt.

His eyes lock with mine and I can see the words swimming on the tip of his tongue. Then he glances across the room, and I immediately know that I won’t get a straight answer with Caron in the room.

“You and Caron have patched things up?” It is worded like a question, but it sounds like a statement. His words are clipped, but I decide to figure out what that means later.

I peek back at Caron who she is peering over the top of her magazine, expectantly.

I turn back to Boe. “Everything is fine.” But it isn’t really. Not on my end, at least. I am dealing with a moral battle because Caron so easily forgave me. And I fucking hate lying to her.

“Well,” Carons sighs and stands. “I am getting sexual tension all over my nice clothes, so I am going to leave before you guys devour each other.” Caron says as she folds her magazine and slaps it down on the coffee table.

I look down at my shoes, wide eyed with embarrassment.

Caron wraps her arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek. “I will be over tomorrow afternoon. Love you.” She strides out of the house.

I take a deep breath and decide to ask my question again.

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” He snaps.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” I snap back.

“Just a job I had to do.”

“And? Is it done?”

He narrows his eyes and looks away.

I grind my teeth. “You should tell me the truth.”

He angles his narrowed eyes back at me. “And why is that?”

“Well...” I stutter. What the hell is that matter with me? Just because he is burning me with his angry glare doesn’t mean that I should be reduced to a weeping puddle, right? Grow a set of ovaries, Scarlet!

“Because you stabbed me.” The words sound unsure. I clear my throat and try again. “You stabbed me, and I think you owe me a straight answer.” Yeah, that sounds better.

His jaw tightens. “Why do I get the feeling you are going to hold that over my head for a long time?”

I smile. “Because that is exactly what is going to happen.” I bite my lip, impressed with myself. “What did you do?”

He growls and runs his hand through his hair. I have come to realize that this is what he does when he feels defeated. Nonetheless, the way he does it makes my skin tingle.

“I went to find Logan.”

My eyes widen. “Why?”

“Because the things he said... they were irritating me.”

I am shocked, to say the least. Boe isn’t supposed to take unnecessary risks. He is the meticulous and rational one. This is completely out of character. But I am still too shocked to comment on it. Instead, the next question pops out.

“What did he say?”

His dark eyes meet mine for a second, and then float away. “Nothing of worth.”

My shoulders relax. “Okay.” I let out a slow breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Well, that was stupid of you.”

He ignores my comment and heads to the kitchen. “By the way, my bike was totalled on my way home. A friend gave me a lift.”

A strange feeling nibbles at my mark, kind of like pins and needles. I try and ignore it and focus on Boe’s words. I frown. “Your bike?”

He nods as he gets out a container of left-over meat and some mixed lettuce out of the refrigerator. “He’s going to stay with us the rest of the week.”

“What?!”

He slaps the left-over meat on a slice of bread, and then piles it high with lettuce. He tops the mountain of food with another slice of bread and packs it down. “Don’t worry. You’ll like him.”

Boe telling me not to worry just makes me worry. “You invited another hunter into my house?” My voice is low, weak, but the question is loaded with what if’s and maybe’s.

Boe turns his back to me and shrugs. “Yeah, he is parking his car at the moment.”

“Boe, I can’t have him in my house-” I am cut off by the unmistakable wave of ice that prickles every hair on my body.

Knock, Knock, Knock.

I stand perfectly still.

Boe turns and looks at me with a mouth full of food. He eyes me expectantly, as if to say ′aren’t you going to get that?′ Then he quickly puts down his sandwich and gives me a glare, as if to say that I am being rude.

But I can’t do anything except stand as still as possible. Every inch of my skin is set on fire with cold chills.

Boe opens the door, but I do not move. Footsteps creek the floorboards of my old beach shack. In the silence, they are ominous.

My head starts to spin as the chills penetrate my flesh. My gut starts to twist.

“Scarlet, this is Alex.” I know that Boe has turned me around, because my vision shifts. But I don’t feel his hands.

“It is nice...finally...you.” The stranger says, but the words get lost in the air.

The world has descended into Dutch tilt.

“Scarlet.”

My eyes roll.

“Scarlet!”

And for the second time in twenty-four hours, I black out.