You sat in the living room on the couch, next to a man about your age, who was sharpening the blade of his hatchet. You were the ‘new one’ out of their little murder group and unironically, you probably felt the least comfortable around this guy.

“You gonna ke— keep staring or something?”

When he spoke there was a stutter, a few of them, and his neck snapped to the side as one of his tics were triggered and his tongue licking over his dry lips over his two piercings on his bottom lip.