Still Breathing [Jacob Black]

Chapter Four

Sometime later, after what must have been two or three hours, I woke up. It was dark as I stumbled out of my room toward the kitchen. Hearing the crunching sounds coming from in there before I even entered, I wasn't at all startled when I saw Paul sitting at the small table, chomping his way through what looked like an entire bag of chips. His face still looked tired, indicating that'd he'd just woken up, as well.

"You should've woken me up instead of eating that crap.," I told him. "It has to be dinnertime by now. I would have made something. Now you've spoiled dinner."

Paul gave me a droopy smile. "You know by now that I could still eat three dinners after this tiny bag of chips." He paused, studying the part-sized bag of Lays. "Maybe four."

I laughed. "Probably five."

"See!" He pointed at me. "You know what's up."

Rolling my eyes, I began to root through the refrigerator, trying to decide what I could make for us. I hadn't taken anything out earlier, since I'd been in a rush to get to school after work this morning, and then I'd been eager to get in bed to nap after returning home from school.

"Hey," Paul said, his hand landing on my shoulder. I flinched a little. How did he move across the kitchen without making a sound? "Go put your shoes on. We'll go somewhere else to eat tonight."

My eyes widened. I could not afford to eat out right now. I was saving what I could to get my own place—one that wasn't sponsored by Elijah Logan. Every spare penny that wasn't for food went to that fund.

Paul read my expression and sighed. "Don't worry about paying for anything. Just put on some shoes and let's go." He moved to walk out of the room, likely to follow his own advice and grab some showed. And probably a shirt, too, since his muscled chest was currently very bare.

I remained in the same spot, shifting on my feet. "Where are we going?"

Apparently understanding my thoughts again, Paul said, "You look great. Don't worry about changing. Just go put on some shoes." I could tell his patience was wearing thin, so I complied. Paul was nice and had been a good friend so far. I could trust him.

Once I had shoes on, I met Paul by my car. He had, in fact, put on a shirt. "Keys," he ordered, holding his hand out and wiggling his fingers.

Shrugging, I handed them over. Not like I was particularly itching to drive anyway. And it seemed to be one of the days where Paul was here without his own mode of transportation. Sometimes he arrived with a car, and other times he got her seemingly on foot—which was odd, especially this far into winter when it was still freezing outside, but I didn't question him. He was my friend, but he also had a right to some privacy.

"So where are we going, exactly?" I asked once we were on our way.

He peeked at me from the side of his eye. "Promise not to freak out."

I froze. "What?"

"Promise not to freak out and start yelling or hitting me or whatever and I'll tell you where we're going."

My brow furrowed. "Where are we going?"

"Do you promise?" he pressed.

I paused. Why would I even freak out? I did not like the sound of this. But I also had no plans to yell at or hit Paul, so I said, "Promise."

He released a breath, then said, "Sam and Emily's."

"What?" I gasped, my breathing coming too fast now. "No, no, no. Paul, no."