Ruin - By N.M. Martinez Page 0,59

me though I know it's ridiculous to feel that way. I know nothing about him but I remember that he was the one who told me that Jimmy and Brandon were brothers when no one else would.

He glances down at the others then back at me. "You shouldn't be here."

That's the entire point of my life right now. No I shouldn't be here. But I understand what he means. I should be back in the apartment. Henri didn't give me any specific order about the people downstairs, not even an order to avoid them. Maybe he assumed that I'd have enough common sense to know better.

I nod and head back to the apartment and shut the door quietly.

Henri is a large man. I watch him as he prepares dinner, standing at the kitchen counter island with an elbow to prop up my head. It's exhausting doing nothing all day. Much more than I ever imagined. There were so many times between homework and school functions and even hanging out with friends that I wished I could just stay home and do nothing. I had no idea it would be like this.

It's ridiculous to stand at the counter. Henri never speaks to me while he's prepping the food and hardly even speaks to me when we're sitting down to dinner. This is easily the most awkward part of my entire day and the only thing I can say for it is that it's awkward for him too.

I tap on the counter lightly with my fingertips, trying to avoid the annoying sound of nails against the surface. I can't sit still tonight. Something has to be said. I'm not sure if I should tell Henri about stepping out into the hall. It's such a small thing, but it feels like something.

A couple of times, I open my mouth and inhale to start saying something but lose my nerve at the last second. There are plenty of questions that I have, but I know that he won't answer any of them. I glance down at the ground, my hand on my chin pressing up some of the skin of my cheek towards my eye. I have to say something. We're not getting anywhere.

So I open my mouth one last time. "I can cook, you know."

Henri doesn't even look back at me. "No." His answer is too quick and much too easy.

I give a sigh, and roll my eyes, secure that he won't be able to see me. But just as I do, he turns ever so slightly to glance back at me with his sharp, beady eyes.

"Is there something you need to talk about?"

I stand up and take a gulp. Has he heard already from someone else? I don't doubt that he would have heard. Henri doesn't strike me as the sort of man to let anything go unnoticed or unturned.

He only glances back at me. His eyes are back on the food in the pan that's almost done. That doesn't give me much time where we can talk without him shoving something in his mouth to avoid talking about it.

"The people downstairs... who are they?"

Henri is quiet for a moment, focused on the pan and the food. I half expect that he'll just ignore the question completely. Then he speaks. "Don't go downstairs."

I swallow again and shift my weight from one foot to the other. This isn't something he told me before. I'd remember if he'd said something like that before and so directly. "Why are they down there?"

Henri slides the food out of the pan onto two waiting plates. "There's nothing wrong with them being down there. They keep an eye on things."

The implication is partially clear and somewhat disconcerting. I'm trapped here on these upper floors, unable to go downstairs. I don't know what would happen if I did go downstairs. My brain answers for me, imagining them holding me down while others rip at me and my clothing. The thought surprises me with its strength and I have to fight it back by reminding myself that it isn't real.

Henri hands me my meal without saying anything more. I'm sure as far as he's concerned everything that needs to be said has been said and anything not said isn't important enough to get the time or his attention. My breath comes short. It's like that time I got stuck in a box while trying to play a trick on my friends when I was little. I had to kick and