Mitch suddenly jumps up from his bed and rushes to his drawers. He yanks out a pair of winter gloves and hurries back.
"It makes sense. Put these on," he says, tossing them to me.
I pull the gloves on, still confused. As I slide on the last one, Mitch picks me up and throws me onto the bed. He climbs on top of me, snuggling in close. I gently wrap my arms around him.
"You wouldn't hug me or touch me because you're scared you'll lose me. I don't care if you're dead. You're here—and that's all that matters," he murmurs in my ear.
I smile and close my eyes, hugging him tighter.
I can't believe he's accepted me.
He sits up and glances at my abdomen.
"When did you last eat?"
"This morning before work…"
"Well, you obviously need something to eat," he smiles.
I sit up quickly and look down, panicking.
Do I look thinner? Sunken in? Or did my stomach just rumble so loud it scared him?
"Calm down. Tell me what you eat—we probably have it," Mitch says calmly.
"Bloody raw meat?" I mutter, shifting my gaze away from Mitch, feeling embarrassed.
"Raw meat? So you're like a zombie, but not the brain-eating kind?" he smirks.
"Funny... but yeah, pretty much." I smile faintly.
Mitch nods and heads downstairs.
How the hell is he going to get that without raising suspicion?
Moments later, someone jogs up the stairs and swings the door open.
Mitch enters, holding a tub of meat.
"How did you get it?" I ask in disbelief.
"They're in the living room now," he grins, handing me the tub.
I open it, glance at Mitch, then back at the meat.
"I wouldn't watch if I were you," I warn.
"Why? I don't mind."
"Don't freak out then," I say with a smirk.
I grab a steak and tear into it. Mitch watches in amazement.
"This is fascinating. Your eyes… they're black. Do they change for a reason?"
I can't respond. My body's gone full zombie—ripping into the bloody steaks like an animal. I eat like I haven't had a bite in days.
What the hell even am I? A zombie? Demon? Something worse? No wonder I freaked myself out.
"We need to find out what you are. You're not a zombie—we know that much. Who else knows?" he asks.
I growl—deep and demonic. It scares even me.
"Okay! I'll ask later!" Mitch says, hands raised. He steps back, looking scared but intrigued as he watches me devour the meat.
I finish the last piece, full now. My eyes return to normal. I look over to Mitch.
"Okay… who else knows?" he asks again.
I hesitate. My chest tightens.
I didn't want to say it. Speaking it aloud made it real. But he deserved the truth.
"Millie," I finally say.
"Your sister?" he exclaims, tossing a black towel toward me.
I nod, then wipe my hands and face.
"My mum was a witch. She made a deal—performed a spell to bring me to life. I was stillborn. She left her books to Millie. Millie figured it out when I woke up… in a morgue."
"So witchcraft is real?" Mitch asks curiously.
"Very real. But what my mum did has consequences."
"Like she traded her life for yours, and when she dies, you do too?"
"Something along those lines."
Mitch stands and wraps the towel around his hand, gently cleaning my face. The awkward silence fills the room.
He's scared of me now. I knew it.
We both get dressed, sharing quiet awkward smiles.
"Before we finish getting dressed…"
I walk over in just my underwear, grab the gloves, and slide them on. I pull him close. We kiss—slow, passionate. I pull away slowly, biting my lip.
"Please never leave me," I whisper.
"I promise," Mitch replies.
We lay down, kissing again—until the door bursts open.
Mitch jumps up. His younger brother stands in the doorway, wide-eyed.
"What have I told you about knocking?!" Mitch yells, throwing a cushion.
"Sorry! I can't unsee this…" his brother stammers.
"GET OUT!" Mitch roars.
The door slams. Mitch sits beside me.
"It's okay," I smile, pulling out my clothes and slipping on my shirt.
Mitch gets dressed too. I sit on the couch, eyeing the beer in my hand.
I've never had alcohol before. I take a sip. No reaction yet.
"I'm sorry about my brother. You'd think being seventeen he'd know to knock," Mitch mumbles.
I laugh. "I've got a younger sister. I know that problem too well."
"Oh yeah," he chuckles.
"She's getting better though—she knocks now."
Mitch sits beside me, wrapping an arm around me. I lean into him.
"How are we going to work?" I ask, sipping the beer again.
He grins, takes a gulp from his bottle, and kisses my head.
"I'll make it work, Pup."