Free Jealousy by Lili St. Crow

oblivious.
    Hey, I was young. And I didn’t even know djamphir existed. I’d heard of suckers, of course—everyone who interacts with the Real World knows about them. But Dad never said a word about half-sucker vampire hunters. I never had a clue.
    I had the scissors and was cutting his tank top before he realized it. “Settle down,” I told him, slapping his left hand away. “Let me look. I patch up Dad all the time.” When I glanced up, he was looking at me, and his eyes were dark again.
    “It’s no problem, Dru. I heal quick.”
    He did. They were already fading, the claw swipes on his chest. “Jesus.” I ripped open a packet of gauze. “I’m going to clean them anyway. You never know.”
    “If it makes you happy.” He shrugged, wincing, and lifted the vodka bottle again.
    He stayed long enough to change into fresh clothes and smoke one of his weird foreign cigarettes while I fixed an omelet. He lived on eggs and vodka. Said it kept him young. I mean, he was what, twenty-five? At least, he looked twenty-five. God knows how old he is. If I ever see him again, maybe I’ll ask.
    Then he told me to stay inside, stocked up on ammo again, and was gone inside twenty minutes. Leaving me staring at a pile of bloody clothes, the ashtray with a still-smoking butt, two spent clips that needed to be refilled, and his plate on the table.
    At least he’d promised to bring home some bread. Maybe just to shut me up, I dunno.
    I bolted for the window in the bedroom. Sometimes if I was quick enough I could catch a glimpse of him on the street, moving with his head up and a spring in his step. Sometimes he might as well have vanished as soon as the apartment door locked.
    Outside, streetlights fought with the darkness. It wasn’t raining. It was foggy, a wet cotton-wool fog, and the Hefty bags of trash stacked on the sidewalk were just like they always were. The trucks came around twice a week, but the amount of trash never seemed to go down. It was filthy here, and cold. I wouldn’t have minded if I could get out and see some things—I’d’ve loved to go to the Met, or even just walked around downtown and seen stuff.
    But August said no. And he was gone every night.
    I sighed, resting my forehead on the cold glass. Every time he left I wasn’t sure he’d come back.
    Story of my life.
    I finally slid off the bed and plodded out into the living room. At least I could clean things up while he was gone. So that if— when —he came back, he’d see I wasn’t any trouble. I was pulling my own weight.
    Besides, it was something to do until Dad came back.
    If . . . when he came back.

CHAPTER SIX
    It was early afternoon by the time I switched the computer off. I stretched, yawned, padded for the bed and dropped down. That woke Graves up, where my clicking at keys and sometimes swearing under my breath hadn’t.
    “Huh?” He half-sat up, and I took the chance to rescue one of the pillows from under his head. “Whaaa?”
    “Nothing. Go back to sleep.” I squiggled around, getting comfortable. “I just finished, that’s all.”
    “Okay.” He settled back down again, and I lay there for a few seconds feeling him move around before I opened my eyes and found him almost nose-to-nose with me. His silver skull-and-crossbones earring glinted at me. His irises were oddly luminescent, and a shadow of stubble spread over his jaw.
    Weird. He kind of was getting hairy, but it was just a five o’clock shadow. I had the sudden urge to touch his jawline, a feeling so intense my fingers itched. The skin underneath, on the curve where his throat made a hollow before his collarbone and shoulder, looked so fragile. His lips were slightly parted, and we looked at each other for a long few seconds before he moved back slightly. “Sorry,” he half-whispered. “I haven’t brushed my teeth.”
    “It’s okay.” I stayed where I was. He was still inside the personal-space boundary, the one that even friends don’t cross. “Look . .