Go away, I think desperately, trying to beam my thoughts in his direction. Please, please, please just go away.
“Answer him,” the intruder murmurs, so quiet I almost miss it.
I swallow. My throat is dry and tight. “I’m—I’m fine, Elliot!” I push the words out and try to sound normal. “It’s just the breaker. I’ve got it.”
“You sure? I’ve got a flashlight. I could come in and—”
“No!” Too fast, dammit! I’m making it totally obvious that I’m in distress. I dial it back. “No, really. I’m good. I was already in bed. Thanks, though.”
I can picture him out there, shuffling from foot to foot like an awkward pigeon, debating whether to push it. Elliot is a pusher. Not in a threatening way, though. More in a Let me carry your groceries for you even though you said no over and over again way.
An
