And if I could feel him… Not for the first time, I wonder what I feel like.
I could ask. He’d have to answer, none of them are allowed to lie. But it would be a mistake, it would drag us further into whatever fragile, blurred mess we’re tangled in now.
I nibble on the drawstring of Kane’s hoodie, a gift. The first one I’ve accepted from Kane… Actually, the first gift he ever gave me was a pair of freshly severed kneecaps. Back then, I thought that was a grand gesture.
But this hoodie? This soft, lived-in thing drenched in his darkness? Somehow feels like more.
And this isn’t the only thing they’ve given me. Not even close. Clothing, food… opening my eyes to hidden truths. And if this is supposed to be a friendship—something real—then it has to be equal. I can’t owe them. I won’t owe them.
Me: I was just wondering…
I pause over the message, tapping the edge of my phone,anothergift, and think about how to word this without sounding ungrateful.
Me: I was just wondering, can I keep working with Kacey? Just until the lockdown ends?
Ezekial: Of course.
Me: Great. So do I get a contract or…?
Ezekial: You want an official employee contract?
Me: Well yeah. If I’m going to keep working there, don’t I need one?
Ezekial: Sure. I can get you a contract. But why do I feel like you’re going the long way around something instead of just saying what you want?
Fucker.
Ezekial: We already told you, Jasmine. We’ll give you anything. Just name it.
Me: I just want to be more… independent.
I feel a flicker of anxiety through the bond—barely a spike—but there. I quickly type.
Me: I’ve never even had a bank account, Ezekial. I’d like something that’s mine. Something I own. Something with my name on it.
Ezekial: If you want money, we can give it to you.
Me: NO. No more giving, please. Just let me—
His name flashes on my screen.
Why does the idea of talking to him about this make me feel sonervous?Why can’t we just continue texting? I stare at his name, refusing to accept. I don’t have to answer. I’m still in control.
When his name disappears, I really believe that.
For a second.
Ezekial: You ignore me again and I’ll take that as an invitation to come over.
I should be mad at the threat.
Absolutely.
Am I?
No.
Instead, a heated flush crawls up my neck. I imagine the dark look on his face as he says it, how he’d stand just on the other side of the wall, eyes flashing silver, voice low.
