“It happens.” She smiles, but is clearly in a hurry, slinging a quick, “Thanks for keeping me upright,” over her shoulder as she dashes for the bar.
With her employee card in hand, I weave through the throng of patrons and tables, all veiled in darkness, until I find a staff-only door. Swiping her card, I sneak inside and dart to the left since that’s the direction of the stage. I pass a few employees, but no one seems to question whether I belong or not—a clear indication Rena has picked an unsafe establishment to frequent. A claustrophobic maze littered with metal doors designated for staff-only areas eventually leads me to her, where I lurk in the shadows, my phone vibrating with the text of the empty parking spot while I wait.
Again, as though Rena can sense me, she swings her gaze to the curtain behind her, searching before returning to the audience. As the song switches, she bends toward the lead singer, sayingsomething. The girl announces Little Moon’s exit and urges applause from the crowd before Rena retreats backstage, her investigative gawk flicking to all the concealed corners.
She jumps when I emerge, forcing her back to thump into the wall and her backpack to slide off her shoulder. “You’re here,” she rasps, her voice worn from belting out songs. “I knew I saw you.”
“Of course I am.” I have no other words. This has been the most harrowing two weeks of my life, but she’s right in front of me, and I’ve got no idea what to say.
My fingers thread into her flowing pink-and-gold tresses, thumb drifting over the bruise marring her cheekbone. Did he hit her? Backhand her? Force himself on her? Was she scared? Is that why she was drinking, why she texted me? I should have found her sooner. I should’ve been here. His nose was broken. She fought back. My tough girl.
Mine.
I’m not sure when that changed or if I should give credence to it. Or if I even have a choice in the matter.
Powerless.
She makes me weak.
But also … I think one taste would be revitalizing. New life. A strength I’ve never known.
Or the poison that finally does me in, forcing me to give up the fight and succumb to the beast.
Would she still want me if she knew? She shouldn’t. She deserves so much more.
There’s something about her that doesn’t exist in any other realm. Not in this life or the last. Dangerous and enticing. A healing death.
It’s selfish to drink her in like this, but I can’t stop. Every fiber of my being wants to finally trash that morality fence, lay it across the moat, and storm her castle.
“Why?” she chirps.
Why am I here?
Her throat works on a swallow, the column rolling along her dainty, swanlike neck. Even her pulse point is visible, or maybe that’s my imagination. I graze my fingers over it, savoring the hammering beat and the flush of her porcelain skin. This outfit is divine and lethal, the swell of her perky breasts greeting me with a whole lot of enthusiasm, begging to be squeezed and sucked and tweaked.
Jesus, she’s exquisite.
Moving to her mouth, I indulge one of my cravings, dragging my thumb across her luscious pink lips. Plump and soft and perfect. She’s so fucking pretty.
So, I avoid declaring a reason for being here and instead share my infatuation. “You were incredible up there. So talented. Radiant.”
It’s more than I should say, but she’s got me so damn off-balanced.
Her hands skim over my chest as she tracks every subtle motion I make, her breath hitched so long that I’m surprised she’s not turning blue.
Blue.
Blueberries and rain—like the rims of her eyes. While the centers are the grayish-green fields with the dusty-brown aisles. A mosaic of freedom.
I want to dive inside them and let them devour me, break me apart bit by bit, until I reemerge as the warrior she needs.
“Radiant?” she chokes out. One airy, expectant, and timorous word.
“That’s an understatement. You’re fucking stunning,” I admit before gliding my hand back to her pulse point and losing myself inside her again.
Seconds tick by. I’m adrift in the abyss of her beauty, her essence, her scent—apple today, accompanying the berries, and only a hint of butterscotch.
It’s as though the world has stopped. The patrons and music and strobing lights. The flashbacks and demons and weight of all Ican’t control, all the ways I’ve failed. It ceases to exist, suspended to whatever this gravitational force is between us.
