Free Hell Without You by Ranae Rose

it was obvious that he was right. His brow was furrowed and he’d pressed his full lips into a hard line. His sculpted cheekbones seemed sharp when he was angry, like knives. The truth of his words radiated from him like poisoned energy.
    “So what, I have to stay here or else you’ll run naked into the night with a knife in hand?”
    “You hid the knife last night.”
    “Still. I have to leave eventually.” That she was even considering staying was absurd.
    “You don’t have to stay at a shithole like the ones you’re talking about. Just stay here. No bill, no bedbugs. What’s the problem?”
    “The problem is that I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight. I’m going to lie awake worrying about you.”
    He arched a brow, half-sneering. “Yeah? That bothers you, but you’re okay with me lying awake worrying about you ?”
    She sighed. “Fine. I’ll stay until the townhouse repairs are finished, or until you admit that you’re tired of having me around – whichever comes first.”
    He strode to the hall closet, plucked a backpack from a hook on the inside of the door and walked back into the kitchen. “See you at a quarter ‘till nine.”
    When she couldn’t hear his truck’s tires crunching on the gravel driveway anymore, she retreated upstairs, crawling into bed. She might as well get some rest now – she wasn’t going to get any that night.
     
* * * * *
 
    “I forgot to tell you – a man stopped by earlier today, when you were in the shower. He said he had a question about the house. I asked him to come by again later.”
    Donovan slung his backpack onto a chair at the kitchen table. “He give you a name?”
    “Hugh Jeffrey. Is he someone you know?”
    “Never heard of him.”
    “He came by again while you were at class. I’d forgotten all about him. He seemed annoyed, though he said he’d try again later.”
    Donovan shrugged and dropped a textbook on the table.
    She retreated upstairs, dug her e-reader out of her suitcase and settled on the couch in the living room. It’d been forever since she’d downloaded anything new, and without an internet connection in the house, she didn’t have that option now. Still, she’d had her fill of TV – re-reading an old book would be better.
    An hour crept by, then another. Halfway through a mystery she’d first finished six months before, she realized that it was late. As if on cue, the sound of a heavy book closing came from the kitchen.
    She strolled into the room, taking a glass from the cupboard and filling it at the tap. Being in the house felt so easy, so familiar – even with Donovan there. Especially with Donovan there. “Heading to bed?” She tried to sound casual.
    “Yeah. You planning to join me at the garage tomorrow?”
    “Yes. Is that all right?”
    “Fine with me. Goodnight.”
    He strode upstairs without another word, pausing only to hang his backpack in the hall closet.
    Alone in the kitchen, she finished her water, hyper-aware of its coolness pooling in the center of her being.
    What now? Bed? Yes. But not sleep. Feeling the effects of her ultra-early morning and knowing that real rest would be impossible, she climbed the stairs too.
    In the fleur-de-lis room, she took as long as possible changing into her pajamas, then checking her e-mail on her phone. The 3G connection in Willow Heights was pitiful and it took forever, but that was the point.
    No replies to her job e-mails yet. Maybe someone would call the next day. Breathing a sigh, she turned over in bed, letting her phone rest on the silver-grey carpet, where a nightstand had once stood. The lights were out, but she was on, anxiety and expectation zipping through her veins like electricity.
    After an eternity, she slipped into a state of half-sleep, one where she listened and waited, breathing lightly. Maybe it was the same way Donovan had slept in Afghanistan when “outside the wire”, as he’d put it. It was a terrible excuse for rest.
    The subtle creak of a