Monster in His Eyes
Page 80
I finish unpacking, almost everything I own belonging in the bedroom, before I head downstairs to the den. I take the few DVDs and books I own and put them on his shelves, mixed in with his. When I'm finished, I glance at the time. Barely ten o'clock in the morning. I have at least two hours until Naz gets back, so I do what any self-respecting woman would do when left all alone with her guy's belongings for the first time.
I snoop.
I've seen what Naz has on the surface, but I dig deeper, wanting to see more of the man, the parts of him that are tucked away. I rifle through shelves and cabinets, even searching his junk drawer in the kitchen, before heading back to the bedroom and turning to his things.
You can tell a lot about a person by what they keep hidden in their underwear drawer. It's their private spot, the one place they don't expect anyone to touch out of decency. It's where I always hid my love letters, my birth control when I got it at sixteen without my mother's consent, the vibrator I bought on my eighteenth birthday… but Naz's drawer is a ghost town.
What a letdown.
I shut the drawer, glancing in the others to find nothing out of the ordinary, before heading to his closet. I count a dozen black suits, not including the one he's wearing and whatever's dirty, but he has a good bit of other clothes. I wish he'd wear the others more often. I'm checking out his tie collection, most solid colors, when my eyes drift to the shelf on the top of the closet.
A silver metal case, no bigger than a shoebox, sits in the corner. Curious, I reach up on my tiptoes and pull it down, nearly dropping it as soon as I get my hands on it. It's heavy. I can hear stuff jingling around inside. There's a lock on the box, but I haven't found any keys during my search that would open it.
Scowling, I shake the box, trying to figure out what's inside, before straining my muscles to shove it back up on the shelf.
Another letdown.
Giving up, I head out of the bedroom, looking in closets and scarcely furnished guest rooms, before heading back downstairs. Every other room is exactly as expected… nothing but laundry stuff in the laundry room, a spare room full of exercise equipment, and the massive garage is full of tools, old faded stains on the concrete.
I find a door leading down into what I assume is the basement, a musky, dank odor wafting out of it. There's no light switch, and the stairs are flimsy, the little bit of light filtering down from behind me illuminating tons of cobwebs, so I don't dare go down there.
No thanks.
It's twelve o'clock on the dot when I hear the front door open. I'm sitting on the couch in the den, my feet tucked beneath me as I flip through channels on the television. Naz walks in, letting out a deep sigh as he flops down beside me. He looks older than when he left just hours ago, the bags beneath his eyes heavier, a weariness in his face that hints at exhaustion.
"You look tired," I say, settling on some cooking show.
"I am," he says. "I feel like I could sleep for a week."
"Take a nap."
"I'm not a toddler."
I shrug. "I take naps."
"Yeah, well, it's beauty sleep for the beautiful," he says, looking at me, "but there's no rest for the wicked."
I roll my eyes. "I wouldn't call myself beautiful."
"I would."
"I wouldn't call you wicked, either."
"I would."
"Regardless," I say, "if you're tired, you should go to sleep."
"Yeah, I should," he admits, although he makes no move to go upstairs, settling in on the couch as he kicks his shoes off. "You find anything interesting today?"
My brow furrows. "When?"
"When you went through my stuff."
My heart seems to stop for a second as I turn to him. "Why do you think I went through your stuff?"
"Because you're human," he says. "It's normal to be curious, and you're a smart woman… I'd expect no less."
I'm not sure what to say. He doesn't sound upset in the least, but his matter-of-fact tone, pegging my actions from the start like he knows me better than I know myself, still unnerves me. "No, I didn't find anything."
"Figured you wouldn't," he said. "Nowhere near as interesting as what I found in your drawers in the dorm."
Now my heart does stop. My eyes widen. "You went through my stuff?"
"Of course. I'm human, too."
"What…? When…?"
"When you were sleeping that first night. You woke up and caught me."
I know when he's referring to… he'd been looking at the picture frame on my dresser when I woke up. "So that's what you were doing."
"Yes," he says. "Although, I have to say, I was surprised you only had one vibrator. That's at odds with the vixen you turn into when I get you naked."
Blood rushes straight to my face. I can feel my cheeks flame with embarrassment. I look away from him, covering my face with my hands, as he lets out a loud laugh. Before I can think of something to say he grabs ahold of me, laying down on the couch and pulling me into his arms. I tuck in against him, my head on his chest. "Ugh, I'm so embarrassed."
"Don't be." He kisses the top of my head. "Do you use it often?"
"Oh God," I groan, closing my eyes. "You're not helping me not be embarrassed, Naz."
"There's nothing to be ashamed of… I'm just curious."
I snoop.
I've seen what Naz has on the surface, but I dig deeper, wanting to see more of the man, the parts of him that are tucked away. I rifle through shelves and cabinets, even searching his junk drawer in the kitchen, before heading back to the bedroom and turning to his things.
You can tell a lot about a person by what they keep hidden in their underwear drawer. It's their private spot, the one place they don't expect anyone to touch out of decency. It's where I always hid my love letters, my birth control when I got it at sixteen without my mother's consent, the vibrator I bought on my eighteenth birthday… but Naz's drawer is a ghost town.
What a letdown.
I shut the drawer, glancing in the others to find nothing out of the ordinary, before heading to his closet. I count a dozen black suits, not including the one he's wearing and whatever's dirty, but he has a good bit of other clothes. I wish he'd wear the others more often. I'm checking out his tie collection, most solid colors, when my eyes drift to the shelf on the top of the closet.
A silver metal case, no bigger than a shoebox, sits in the corner. Curious, I reach up on my tiptoes and pull it down, nearly dropping it as soon as I get my hands on it. It's heavy. I can hear stuff jingling around inside. There's a lock on the box, but I haven't found any keys during my search that would open it.
Scowling, I shake the box, trying to figure out what's inside, before straining my muscles to shove it back up on the shelf.
Another letdown.
Giving up, I head out of the bedroom, looking in closets and scarcely furnished guest rooms, before heading back downstairs. Every other room is exactly as expected… nothing but laundry stuff in the laundry room, a spare room full of exercise equipment, and the massive garage is full of tools, old faded stains on the concrete.
I find a door leading down into what I assume is the basement, a musky, dank odor wafting out of it. There's no light switch, and the stairs are flimsy, the little bit of light filtering down from behind me illuminating tons of cobwebs, so I don't dare go down there.
No thanks.
It's twelve o'clock on the dot when I hear the front door open. I'm sitting on the couch in the den, my feet tucked beneath me as I flip through channels on the television. Naz walks in, letting out a deep sigh as he flops down beside me. He looks older than when he left just hours ago, the bags beneath his eyes heavier, a weariness in his face that hints at exhaustion.
"You look tired," I say, settling on some cooking show.
"I am," he says. "I feel like I could sleep for a week."
"Take a nap."
"I'm not a toddler."
I shrug. "I take naps."
"Yeah, well, it's beauty sleep for the beautiful," he says, looking at me, "but there's no rest for the wicked."
I roll my eyes. "I wouldn't call myself beautiful."
"I would."
"I wouldn't call you wicked, either."
"I would."
"Regardless," I say, "if you're tired, you should go to sleep."
"Yeah, I should," he admits, although he makes no move to go upstairs, settling in on the couch as he kicks his shoes off. "You find anything interesting today?"
My brow furrows. "When?"
"When you went through my stuff."
My heart seems to stop for a second as I turn to him. "Why do you think I went through your stuff?"
"Because you're human," he says. "It's normal to be curious, and you're a smart woman… I'd expect no less."
I'm not sure what to say. He doesn't sound upset in the least, but his matter-of-fact tone, pegging my actions from the start like he knows me better than I know myself, still unnerves me. "No, I didn't find anything."
"Figured you wouldn't," he said. "Nowhere near as interesting as what I found in your drawers in the dorm."
Now my heart does stop. My eyes widen. "You went through my stuff?"
"Of course. I'm human, too."
"What…? When…?"
"When you were sleeping that first night. You woke up and caught me."
I know when he's referring to… he'd been looking at the picture frame on my dresser when I woke up. "So that's what you were doing."
"Yes," he says. "Although, I have to say, I was surprised you only had one vibrator. That's at odds with the vixen you turn into when I get you naked."
Blood rushes straight to my face. I can feel my cheeks flame with embarrassment. I look away from him, covering my face with my hands, as he lets out a loud laugh. Before I can think of something to say he grabs ahold of me, laying down on the couch and pulling me into his arms. I tuck in against him, my head on his chest. "Ugh, I'm so embarrassed."
"Don't be." He kisses the top of my head. "Do you use it often?"
"Oh God," I groan, closing my eyes. "You're not helping me not be embarrassed, Naz."
"There's nothing to be ashamed of… I'm just curious."
