Page 36 of Maksim

Her eyes, so blue and fierce, show every bit of the hatred she claims to have for me, but they also shine with pain I know in a moment I’ll regret bringing on.

As soon as Anya storms away, the waitress returns with my card, as if she knew better than to interrupt our argument. We could’ve used the interruption.

I follow after Anya and see her climb into the passenger seat of a raised pickup with an obnoxiously loud idle. I don’t have to guess who that is.

“Anya,” I yell, walking to the truck, but she slams the door shut, and the truck roars away.

“It’s your house too,” I say to the air, letting my shoulders sag.

But that isn’t what I said, is it? My house. My couch.

I let out a sigh and shake my head before heading home, heavy with regret.

When I open my bedroom door and don’t immediately see Elira, my muscles wind tight. A flicker of panic tightens my chest.

“Elira?” I call, walking to the bathroom and peeking inside the empty space. I go to the closet next, remembering suggesting to her that she hide inside. She may have heard me get in and thought I was my ‘roommate.’ Having her hide in a closet is probably overkill. With the way things with Anya went tonight, she won’t be back for a while. But what would I tell her if she did find Elira?

I don’t want to think about it. I’d rather Elira just hide.

My breathing becomes shallow as I scan the empty closet.

Shit.

But the alarm didn’t go off. How could she…?

My eyes find blankets stacked on a shelf that shouldn’t be there, and I remember the chest. It commands my attention now, my head tilting as I stare at the four by three box. Jesus, she actually stuffed herself in there?

I go to it and open the lid to reveal a cramped Elira with her eyes clenched shut as if she still thinks she’s hiding from me.

“Hello,” I say, barely hiding my amusement.

She opens her eyes and turns her head toward me. When she speaks, her voice is a cautious whisper. “Is he here?”

“No, he’s gone for the night.”

She lets out a relieved sigh before slowly untangling her limbs and lifting herself out of the chest. I consider helping her, especially when her face twists with pain, but I stand still. When she’s finally upright, she presses her hand to her lower back and cringes, arching backward as if her body is a glow stick and she’s trying to light up the sky.

I assumed she heard me come in, but she doesn’t look like she just jumped in that chest.

“How long have you been hiding?” I ask, stepping from the closet and welcoming her out with me. Even knowing my fake roommate is gone, she still seems hesitant. She isn’t nearly as afraid of me as she is of my imaginary friends.

“Since three.”

My face has been soft, merely curious, maybe even a little amused, but now I feel my skin tighten.

“What?”

She glances up at me while following me from the closet into my freshly cleaned bedroom. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it when I walked in. The floor is bare as well as my nightstand, and after a quick sweep I still don’t have a clue where any of my shit went. I’m a little too stunned to care.

Three? It’s nine. She’s been in there for six hours?

“You said he usually comes home at four.”

“I said…”

I said he doesn’t come into my room.

I don’t finish the sentence. I’d be an idiot to. Am I even sure Anya doesn’t come into my room? How would I know when there’s no camera in here? Wouldn’t it be safest not to assume these things?