“What’s that for?”
“I just thought how weird it’s going to feel if someone buys one of my paintings.”
“One?” He gives a snort. “If I were you, I’d be preparing how it will feel to sell all four.” He rests back on his heels, tilting his head as his calm gaze rests on me. “Are you worried about making sales?”
“No, I’m…” my words trail away, even as I wave my arms, trying to capture them into little packets of sense. “Part of me might be hanging inside someone’s home in a weeks’ time. It’s just… odd.”
“Better than cutting off pieces of yourself and putting them on display.”
“And far less messy.” I grin at him, appreciating how he gets me, the understanding coming with less and less effort the more time we spend together. “I love you.”
The words slip out without thinking, though it’s surprising they’ve stayed contained up to now, given how long they’ve been bouncing around inside my head. But I’ve resisted saying them aloud, some part of me waiting, hoping he would get there first.
And I don’t doubt his love for me, I see it every day just as I’m sure he sees mine. But the words contain so much power, I feel exposed as Zane goes still, then slowly gets to his feet, tossing the cloth aside on the workbench.
A chorus of old voices chime inside my head and the longer the silence stretches, the more sense they make.
He puts his arms around my waist, pulling me hard against him. “Well, about time,” he whispers and the tension inside me dissipates in a giddy rush. “Because I’ve loved you from the moment you turned down my kind offer to walk you to class and told me to go find some other girl to hassle.”
The relief makes me giggle as much as the memory. “Lucky for me you didn’t do that.” He presses a soft kiss to my lips, arms clutching tighter before he raises his hand, fingers plunging into my hair, finally grown enough for him to do that.
He draws back, lightly frowning. “I thought you were getting your hair dyed today?”
My lips twitch. “I did. It took ages.”
He stares at the pale purple mop on my head, the same shade as when I left this morning, eyes narrowing. Then his lips curl. “Should I start an investigation?”
And why bother to ask when he’s already lifting my skirt, curling his eager fingers into my underwear, quickly tugging everything away to reveal my bright green trimmed pussy with zigzag strips shaved along either side.
“Beautiful,” he says, eyes twinkling as he begins a far more thorough exploration, making sounds of approval all the way.
ZANE
March - Seven months later
The fries are crisp, crusted with salt and greasy from the fryer. They’re also piping hot, the first time in eleven months I’ve tasted them minutes after cooking instead of eating them after a ten to fifteen minute drive to my home, growing sadder and soggier on the way.
The noises of appreciation appear to startle our fellow diners. Avon laughs as I chew another one, eyes half-lidded in ecstasy, then switch to my burger, taking the largest bite I can fit into my mouth. Sauce squirts from the sides onto my fingers, requiring my dextrous tongue to set to work.
“Hey! You’re giving that burger more attention than me,” she grumbles, giggling as I wave my sticky fingers close to her face.
“It’s practise,” I declare. “Later, you’ll thank me.”
It’s strange the things I’ve missed since becoming trapped in my home, locked away from ordinary pleasures. I should have made a list, then I’d be better prepared, but until the monitor was removed and the base unit taken from my property, I couldn't believe it would really happen. That I wouldn’t somehow stuff it up.
“A movie,” I decide. “I want to sit in a dark theatre with buttery popcorn and the speakers so loud my eardrums are in danger of bursting.”
“Which one do you want to see?”
“I don’t care. It’s about the experience.”
“Buckle in for a rom com, then.”
I lick another trail of greasy goodness from my fingers. “Sounds fantastic. What do you want to do?”
She laughs, knocking her foot into mine. “It’s not my day.”
“Sure, it is. It’s not every day your boyfriend gets off house arrest.”
