“So, scaring the piss out of people feels right to you?” he deadpans, and I lift a brow, even though he can’t see it.
“Darlin’…” I drawl before inhaling the last bit of my cigarette, then flick the butt across the gravel parking lot. “I think you know how much Ilovethe smell of piss.”
“Oh,” he squeaks. “Right. I…”
“Yeah, treat. I remember.”
“No-I-I know, I just…”
“I know.”
“Feels like-like another life.”
I inhale deeply and stare up at the crystal-clear sky. The stars are out and bright tonight. I find the big dipper easily andtrace each star back and forth as I listen to Madison breathing in my ear.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Just so much has changed in such little time.”
“Mmm.”
“You don’t agree?” he asks timidly.
I shake my head and drag my fingers through my hair, tugging it away from my sweat-dried face. “It’s not that I don’t agree. I just feel a bit different, is all.”
“How do you mean?”
I chuckle darkly as I lean back against the building, the paint peeling off in flakes around my feet. “I’ve always been a do first, think later typa person. But I know you’re the exact opposite of that.”
“I…” I hear his swallow. “I am.” He sounds confused, poor thing.
“So, we think about things differently, but that doesn’t mean I don’t see your point of view.”
There’s a pause, and then, “You know, you’re very reasonable for a stalker.”
I bark out a laugh at his whit. “Thanks, darlin’. I try to be.”
The creak of the back door opening pulls me from my moment with my treat. I lean forward to meet Booker’s gaze. “Yo, Ricky, you gonna come join us at some point?” he asks loudly.
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Tell them you’ll fuck ‘em later!”
“Oh!” Madison squeaks, and my eyes narrow as Booker snickers and dips back inside, his stitched-up tuxedo still in place.
“Ignore him. They’re all rude fucks,” I speak into the line.
“No, it’s okay. You get back to… whatever it is you were doing…” he trails off, and I reach up to trace my bare neck. It still feels strange to perform without my collar, but I love knowing that it’s sitting on Madison’s shelf.
“Can you see it?” I ask him.
“See what?”
“My collar.”
“Oh. Uh, um. Y-yes.”
“Good. Put it on.”
