I follow, and the world narrows to little noises.My breath catching, his going ragged for a second before he reins it back.“Pussy,” I whisper, sudden and brave.“Cassius, I want to hear you.”
A pause that feels like a shiver.Then he lets me.The sound he makes isn’t loud, but it lands low in me, heat answering heat.“Good girl,” he says, reverent, as if the words might break.
“Cassius,” I say, because I need his name in my mouth.
“I’m here.”The bed on his side creaks.
“Every second.”A quiet laugh, ruined at the edges.“Tomorrow, I’ll be good again.”
“Tomorrow,” I say, and let the word hold both of us while the line hums warm between our ears.
“Look at your wrist,” he says, when I’m close.“Say my name once.”
“Cassius.”It comes out like a prayer.
“Again,” he whispers.“Good girl.Now—don’t be quiet for me.”
The world tips.I hear my own breath, his praise in my ear, and then it hits—bright and dissolving.I ride it with his voice holding me steady, the lamp flicker, my heartbeat everywhere.
Silence hums.I realize I’m smiling at the ceiling, sweaty and boneless.
He’s the first to speak, voice rough with something that sounds like awe.“Still with me?”
“Yes.”It’s a sigh.
“Good.”A softer hush.“I won’t ask for anything else tonight.”
“You already got everything.”
“Yes.I got to hear you,” he says.“That is everything.”
We breathe together for a few beats that feel like more than beats.
“Drink some water,” he adds, and somehow it’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever ordered me to do.
“Call me tomorrow?”I ask, surprising myself with how much I want it.
“Of course.”A pause.“Good night, Lindy girl.Sweet dreams.”
“Good night, Cassius.Stay safe,” I say, unsure why.I don’t know it, but somehow I know he’s in danger all the time.He may be dangerous but that terrifies me less than the thought of something happening to him.I listen to him breathe for a few more heartbeats and then hang up the phone.I plug it back in, ensuring my alarm is set for work before I roll over and fall asleep too exhausted despite all the thoughts swirling around my brain about the supposed bad man who saved me today.
On the way to work the next morning, everything looks darker through my windows.I frown at the glass.Tint I don’t remember being this deep.It makes the city feel safer.It also makes my stomach swoop.I tell myself it’s a trick of the sun.
At my desk, the kitchen ghost is replaced by the office ones: a woman in a beehive and cat-eye liner tapping an invisible cigarette at the copier; a man in rolled-up sleeves and suspenders leaning by the water cooler.Last night’s call with Cassius hasn’t shaken out of my system.His is voice still threading through my ribs, so of course the dead are dialed up.
I’m lost in the world of the manuscript I'm editing, when Wyatt appears at my cubicle entrance.The air between us is charged with an awkward tension left over from yesterday.I pause, fingers hovering over the keyboard, and look up.
“Hey, Melinda,” Wyatt starts, his tone trying for casual but not quite hitting the mark.“I was thinking, maybe we could have lunch again today?”
I offer a smile, my mind racing for a polite decline.“Thanks, Wyatt, but I actually brought my lunch today.Maybe some other time?”It's a half-truth.The reality is, after our lunch, I know I have to set boundaries.I don’t get the sense that he wants to be my friend and I know I don’t want to be anything more to him.This can’t be like before.I refuse to give another man the excuse that he thought I was interested.London taught me the cost of being “too nice.”I didn't cross the ocean to relearn the same lesson in a different time zone.I came here to be brave, and part of that is setting boundaries and not feeling guilty when they make someone else unhappy.
Wyatt nods, looking a bit deflated but accepting my answer.“Sure, no problem.Maybe another time.”He retreats, and I can't help but feel a pang of guilt.I'll have to have a conversation with him soon, one where I make it clear I'm interested in keeping our relationship strictly professional.As he leaves, the beehive-hair ghost by the copier taps ash that isn’t there.
The fluorescents steady after Wyatt walks away.Lights always flicker differently when danger brushes close—edges sharpen, the center blurs, like film catching fire.Boundaries.Stick to them.If they keep doing that around Wyatt… I shudder, goosebumps rising along my arms and calves.I don’t want to know what it means for me if the lights keep doing that.
The morning slips away into the afternoon, and as I'm pondering whether to eat at my desk or brave the break room, a voice interrupts my thoughts.
“Hi, you're Melinda, right?I'm Victoria.I don't think we've met officially.You wanna grab lunch?”Victoria is much shorter than my five-seven plus heels.Her thick mane of dark hair cascades around her shoulders, framing her face in a way that seems effortlessly chic.Observing her attire, black heels, snug jeans, a flowing top beneath a cropped black leather jacket, complemented by minimal jewelry, just a few rings and a pair of dangling earrings, along with her flawless makeup, I can't help but admire her beauty.The thought of fitting in here, of making friends, stirs a mix of jealousy and overwhelming anxiety at her lunch invitation.
