Her rituals, her constance, everything about her feels like the calm in a world that only creates chaos.
She's so perfect all the time, I find myself wondering what it would take to shatter her immaculate persona.
Even when she finds a stranger in her home, she's put together and pristine first, afraid second.
Her sweet, decadent sounds as I possessed her mouth with mine were just a glimpse into who she could be if she allowed herself to be wholly unleashed. Just a few minutes of her lips pressed against me, opening for me, welcoming me inside, made me feral.
I cannot believe that the night we met for the first time wasn't the same, but if, as she said, she was in a relationship at that point, she wouldn't have been open to the connection between us.
I can only hope I didn't kill the man she was with.
That definitely seems like something I might have done. Even now, the temptation to do so crawls under my skin, itching to escape.
Every moment since the kiss, I've been fighting against the instinct to discover who it was. But I don't trust myself not to remove him from this plane of existence if he's still on it.
So I've ignored the incessant buzzing for violence that exists inside me now, clinging to Brigit's steadiness to keep me afloat instead.
Because I'm so attuned to her, likely due to the years spent watching her, I know exactly what she's doing tonight. She's going to be here.
I can't even bring myself to be disappointed that I won't have an excuse to let myself into her home again.
Of the two options presented, this one at least gives her a semblance of control and safety. She's coming to me, yes, but in a public place, likely thinking that will keep her from succumbing to her darkest desires that rear their heads in my presence.
I roll up the dark gray sleeves of my shirt, the fiddling calming my racing heart. There's electricity in the air tonight. Skyler's fighting again; he disappeared into his office to get ready ten minutes ago, and I've been frozen here, up above the fray of people bustling in, purveying this strange kingdom we've built.
From this vantage point, I can see not only the entire ring and every exit, but I have the perfect view of Brigit's usual seat.
When she shows up tonight, as Iknowshe will, I'll have the best seat in the house to watch the excitement in her eyes as she soaks in the violence, the heady, deep depravity she only allows herself to indulge in here.
As announcements of tonight's fighters bounce off the walls around me, my only focus is on that empty seat. Lights flash and buzzers squeal, half-naked women hold up signs and rally their captive audience, and yet all my attention is stuck on a black cushion and the person who should be in it.
Halfway through the second fight, as if I'd manifested her from my dreams, she appears.
Nervously toying with the hem of her dress and holding a small manila folder in her other hand, she parades through the crowd of our screaming sycophants of savagery.
Her gaze darts around, searching, almost frantic in her desire to find me. The truth of that makes my heart pound. She's desperate to be near me again. She can tell herself all she wants that it's just to end this; to give me what I asked for and leave.
But deep down, we both know the truth. She could have dropped it off this morning or this afternoon during the off-hours. She could have brought friends with her to keep up the facade and stay upstairs.
She didn't.
She walked into this place knowing exactly what she would find and what awaited her.
Sinking into the plush seat, her legs disappear from my view, hidden by the table. A drink, her usual, appears on the table, the server disappearing as quickly as they arrived.
Brigit's immaculate nails tap on the folder as it rests on the table, her eyes still bouncing around, scouring this giant room to find me.
I can't help but wonder how many nights we spent just like this.
With me silently purveying her from above, Brigit never the wiser to where I am. She's been here enough times that she has a standingreservation, though that might be more my doing. Keeping my life open to her without ever approaching and letting her into it.
Whatever I was doing before, I was just wasting my time. Watching her from afar isn't enough.
Blending into the crowd, I wind through, stalking towards my destiny and the truth she holds about our past.
I slide onto the couch beside her and watch as every decadent muscle in her body goes rigid.
The only movement is the muscles in her neck as she swallows down the fear.
