That would fit perfectly, wouldn’t it?
My eyes move over the man’s body, analyzing him. He wears a black tactical quarter-zip shirt made of breathable fabric that clings to his broad chest. Over it, he has a lightweight black softshell jacket, unzipped, the kind used by private security contractors. His pants are dark ripstop cargos. Black tactical gloves cover his hands, and his boots are matte black, military-grade tactical boots.
And, of course, he wears his signature mask over a balaclava.
So the question I once asked is back:
Could he be… Bay?
Something doesn’t fit though.
He seems taller, better built than Bay. But he could grow. And the scent? It isn’t his. These are clearly the pheromones of a stranger… though I’ve heard of artificial pheromone sprays. These may smell very natural, and science keeps advancing. Who knows what’s on the market.
Fuck, my confusion grows, I don’t know anymore, maybe it isn’t him. Maybe someone he sent?
"Who are you?" I whisper weakly.
A short pause.
The stalker lifts his hand and grabs the edge of his mask, but then sudden panic hits me.
I grab his elbow and stop it mid-move.
"No! Don’t reveal yourself! If you’re him… it would… crush me. Don’t fall out of the role, please."
His hand drops.
Why did I stop him?
I realize that if he had said he was Bay, it would have destroyed me. Torn me into pieces. That once again he would be doing something wonderful, helping me, protecting me, and yet I still would NOT be allowed to have him. It would feel like being shown a treasure and then having it locked behind bulletproof glass.
Maybe it’s better to keep lying to myself, clinging to hope, fantasizing, hesitating, yes or no, yes or no…
My head keeps buzzing and spinning, my emotions boiling.
But there is still a corpse in my bedroom.
"Will you help me… with him?" I whisper even more quietly.
He nods once and turns toward Oswald, no questions asked, straight to it. Then he leans down and lifts him almost effortlessly.
"So… you’ll take care of… everything?"
No answer, but it’s not needed. I know he will, I love him for it…
Wait, what the fuck did I just think?!
I love him?! Where did that come from so naturally, so effortlessly, almost as if my body suggested it to me?
I’m clearly in a bad place now, my mind confused. I need to get a grip.
When he turns to leave, a sudden wave tears through my body, my heat demanding its rights, refusing to be smothered by everything that just happened.
"Wait," I shout.
He stops, the black mask turning toward me.
"I’m in heat, in case you somehow didn’t notice, which I doubt, but I admire your self-control, it’s very gentleman-like," I rattle out at a hundred words a second, "But I’m suffering, it’s my first heat, unfortunately other people repulse me for some reason…" I almost choke on the words, "you’re the strange exception, somehow…" and I feel my cheeks burn.
