Read Online Rock N Soul by Lauren Sattersby - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lauren Sattersby
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started drifting around my apartment, running his fingers lightly over things even though he couldn’t feel them.
I shrugged, more for myself than for him since he wasn’t watching me. “I found your body. So I’m a suspect.”
He did turn to me at that. “You were a suspect?”
“No,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Not to anybody who wasn’t two brain cells away from comatose. But to the crazier conspiracy theorists, sure.” I took off my hat and tossed it onto a table by the door along with my gloves. “And to Carmen, yeah. She kept saying I’d killed you, or at least that it was my fault you died because if I’d gotten to your room sooner I could have saved you. But whatever. She was a bitch anyway and I’m better off without her.” I grabbed some warm clothes out of my chest of drawers and gave Chris a look. “I’m going to go change out of my work clothes. Try not to die any more than you already have.”
He pursed his lips, clearly affronted, but I just turned around and disappeared into the tiny bathroom before he could say anything. I stripped out of my formal work clothes and draped them over a towel rod, then quickly bundled myself in a sweater and a pair of sweatpants. I sat down on the closed toilet lid and put on two pairs of socks, then just stayed there, my elbows on my knees, and tried to process everything.
To be honest, I wasn’t absolutely sure that I wasn’t losing my mind.
I mean, I was handling it pretty well, I guessed, all things considered. Either there was a ghost standing in my living room putting his ghosty hands all over my shit, or I had gone off the deep end and needed psychiatric help. Really, neither option would bode well for me. Haunted or crazy. Talking to a ghost or talking to myself. Normal people don’t have to wonder about this sort of thing.
I sighed and stood up, putting my hands on the edge of my bathroom sink and leaning forward to gaze into the mirror.
“Tyler,” I said to myself, “you crazy.” I nodded knowingly at my reflection. But I didn’t really look like an insane person. Most crazy people have wild beards and eyes that are way too white around the edges, and I was just a clean-shaven bellboy with dirty-blond hair and greenish eyes that were the appropriate level of white around the edges.
I pushed away from the sink and opened the door back into the living room. Chris was looking through my movie collection. Probably judging me, the fucker. But it wasn’t like I’d had time to run home and hide all the embarrassing shit before he decided to be less dead than I’d expected and follow me to my apartment. He was just lucky there weren’t days-old bags of fast-food scraps all over the floor and several nights’ worth of used tissues in a pile beside the bed.
I leaned against the bathroom doorframe and crossed my arms. “Find anything interesting?”
He glanced up at me and shrugged. “You don’t have terrible taste. You definitely are a nerd, though.”
“Yeah,” I said, walking over to the couch. “Did you want to watch Supernatural or what?”
“I do.” He straightened up from the stooping position he’d taken to see the bottom row of movies. “Put it on.”
I found the remote, then settled down on the couch and tucked a blanket around me. Chris walked over and perched on the other end, watching me curiously.
I navigated through the menus of the streaming service and then couldn’t stand the staring anymore. “What?” I asked, letting the exasperation creep into my voice.
“So . . .” He shifted a little on the couch. “You weren’t lying. About the not being able to afford heat.”
I frowned and pushed play on the first episode.
“So he’s spent his whole life tracking and killing monsters and demons and shit, and he’s afraid of airplanes ?”
“Yeah,” I said, yawning. “They said that like two minutes into the episode. It took you the whole time to figure it out?”
“I thought there would be a twist
I shrugged, more for myself than for him since he wasn’t watching me. “I found your body. So I’m a suspect.”
He did turn to me at that. “You were a suspect?”
“No,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Not to anybody who wasn’t two brain cells away from comatose. But to the crazier conspiracy theorists, sure.” I took off my hat and tossed it onto a table by the door along with my gloves. “And to Carmen, yeah. She kept saying I’d killed you, or at least that it was my fault you died because if I’d gotten to your room sooner I could have saved you. But whatever. She was a bitch anyway and I’m better off without her.” I grabbed some warm clothes out of my chest of drawers and gave Chris a look. “I’m going to go change out of my work clothes. Try not to die any more than you already have.”
He pursed his lips, clearly affronted, but I just turned around and disappeared into the tiny bathroom before he could say anything. I stripped out of my formal work clothes and draped them over a towel rod, then quickly bundled myself in a sweater and a pair of sweatpants. I sat down on the closed toilet lid and put on two pairs of socks, then just stayed there, my elbows on my knees, and tried to process everything.
To be honest, I wasn’t absolutely sure that I wasn’t losing my mind.
I mean, I was handling it pretty well, I guessed, all things considered. Either there was a ghost standing in my living room putting his ghosty hands all over my shit, or I had gone off the deep end and needed psychiatric help. Really, neither option would bode well for me. Haunted or crazy. Talking to a ghost or talking to myself. Normal people don’t have to wonder about this sort of thing.
I sighed and stood up, putting my hands on the edge of my bathroom sink and leaning forward to gaze into the mirror.
“Tyler,” I said to myself, “you crazy.” I nodded knowingly at my reflection. But I didn’t really look like an insane person. Most crazy people have wild beards and eyes that are way too white around the edges, and I was just a clean-shaven bellboy with dirty-blond hair and greenish eyes that were the appropriate level of white around the edges.
I pushed away from the sink and opened the door back into the living room. Chris was looking through my movie collection. Probably judging me, the fucker. But it wasn’t like I’d had time to run home and hide all the embarrassing shit before he decided to be less dead than I’d expected and follow me to my apartment. He was just lucky there weren’t days-old bags of fast-food scraps all over the floor and several nights’ worth of used tissues in a pile beside the bed.
I leaned against the bathroom doorframe and crossed my arms. “Find anything interesting?”
He glanced up at me and shrugged. “You don’t have terrible taste. You definitely are a nerd, though.”
“Yeah,” I said, walking over to the couch. “Did you want to watch Supernatural or what?”
“I do.” He straightened up from the stooping position he’d taken to see the bottom row of movies. “Put it on.”
I found the remote, then settled down on the couch and tucked a blanket around me. Chris walked over and perched on the other end, watching me curiously.
I navigated through the menus of the streaming service and then couldn’t stand the staring anymore. “What?” I asked, letting the exasperation creep into my voice.
“So . . .” He shifted a little on the couch. “You weren’t lying. About the not being able to afford heat.”
I frowned and pushed play on the first episode.
“So he’s spent his whole life tracking and killing monsters and demons and shit, and he’s afraid of airplanes ?”
“Yeah,” I said, yawning. “They said that like two minutes into the episode. It took you the whole time to figure it out?”
“I thought there would be a twist
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