Page 54 of Hunt Me

The bubbles run down the drain, clinging to remnants of pepper spray, glitter, spit, and sweat. It feels a bit like I’m letting this whole incident disappear, though I know it’s just for now. Just in this moment.

I won’t ever truly forget what happened tonight.

When we step out of the shower, Archie wraps me in a towel and dries me off, letting his eyes rove over me. But he says nothing, like he knows I need this moment of stillness and quiet. We’re both still naked as he takes my hand and tugs me out of the humid air of the bathroom, and as I breathe in the coolness of his basement room, I feel him watching me again.

‘Want clothes?’ he asks when I turn toward him, and I shake my head. I want to feel nothing but cool sheets and his warm skin.

Tossing the towel to the side, I climb under the soft blanket and hold the edge back for him to follow me, but he doesn’t. Not right away.

‘Join?’ I ask. Maybe he needs me to be a bit more explicit.

That seems to do the trick because he nods and slips onto the bed next to me. He’s stiff for a moment, but then he rolls over and takes me by the arm, tugging me against his body. I nestle my head against his chest, and his nose brushes my hair.

As I bask in his hold, my eyes move around the room, and they catch on the coffin. I know about them—about his collection now, and that it’s a special interest for him, but I still don’t quite understand.

I tap his chest, and he leans in, his gaze fixing on where my fingers are pressed against his sternum. ‘Why do you like coffins?’

‘Many reasons,’ he answers, and I arch my eyebrows. His fingers flutter in thought, and then he shrugs. ‘If you ask me this, I may talk too much. INFO DUMP,’ he spells.

I fight off a laugh because I don’t want him to think I’m making fun of him. ‘I’m a teacher. I kiss-fist info dumps.’

He rolls his lips between his teeth and then begins. ‘I like the way they squeeze around my body when I lie in them. I like the shape and design of them. The angles and the lining. It’s very precise. And I enjoy learning how they’re made.’

I wait, his fingers fluttering before him. Then he sits up a little, leaving me to prop myself up on the pillows behind me.

‘Coffins have a unique history. Different cultures use different structures.’

He meets my gaze, and I nod in encouragement. This is definitely taking my mind off being attacked. I don’t want him to stop. I want him to tell me everything he knows so I can get lost in the facts.

‘The designs are based on the culture’s beliefs in death and the afterlife. For example, you know in Ghana, they have fantasy coffins.’ He fingerspells this so it’s clear what he means. ‘They’re shaped like fish or airplanes or whatever someone likes. For example, if someone like fishing, and you die, you get a fish coffin. You eternal sleep in something you love.’

His eyes flick away from me, and he adds, ‘And I’m really fascinated by graves from Victorian England. It was like an art form. The coffins were elaborate. They’d have black cloth, brass handles, viewing panels. But you know what I really think is interesting?’

I shake my head and smile, but he doesn’t smile back.

‘Too much?’ I think far too many people have told him that.

I reach out, snagging one of his hands, and kiss his fingers. ‘Never too much. More. Please.’

He bites his lower lip, then raises his hands again. ‘Coffins beds.’

‘Like yours?’ I gesture across the room.

He shakes his head hard. ‘No. Different. I learned about it when I was hyperfocused on something else…’ He squirms a little on the bed, and my heart thumps wildly in my chest. I’ve never seen him say so much.

And I fucking like it.

‘So back in Victorian London,’ he spells, ‘they had all these…’ He wiggles his fingers like he’s trying to figure out the sign. ‘Home-none?’

My eyebrows rise in confusion.

‘Homeless.’ He fingerspells that word, and I scrunch up the side of my nose to tell him I understand.

‘People could pay a few pennies and rent out a coffin to sleep in. They were popular because they were private and kept people warm.’

‘Is this why you have one?’

He shrugs, then shakes his head. ‘I had one before. They’re comfortable, and mine is much nicer than what they had. Back then, it was just a wooden box.’ We stare at each other for a moment, and then he asks, ‘Want see picture?’