I flipped the top slice of bread on top, sliced them diagonally, licked the knife clean and placed it in the sink. I placed a handful of chips on the plates between the wedges, before closing the mayo jar and placing it back in the fridge. I placed the two plates, cup of coffee, and a bottle of water onto a carrying tray and headed back upstairs. On my way past the stack of books, one of many, I grabbed a well-loved copy of Stephen King’s IT. It seemed that all those years of waitressing paid off, I thought. I placed the tray on the dinner stand, next to Dameon’s bed. Book in hand I sank back into the chair and let the first few seconds of luxury relax me. I turned to look at Dameon, his hand was just outside the covers. I reached for it and opened the novel. I smiled at his chilly touch, happy to share my warmth with him. I read aloud, just loud enough for Dameon to hear. Images of a young Tim Curry came to mind, with his face covered in white makeup, frizzy red hair, a crimson nose, bloodshot eyes, and razor-sharp teeth.

Snippet from my WiP, including mention of famed author Stephen King's IT.

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