Ever.
“Liar,”Good Wolf whines.
The humming returns, accompanied by water lapping against porcelain. The sounds grow louder and louder, an ocean now, and all I can smell is blood and lavender soap and the stagnant, powdery rot of mildew.
Friday night surfaces unbidden.
Again.
I’ve lost count of how many times it’s resurfaced.
The alley behind The Hollow Point. The warmth of Kai’s body. His lips, his hands.
The pathetic sounds he made.
…you can’t look at Haven without thinking about me, and we both know how you feel about me…
I open my eyes. My reflection stares back from the darkened glass.
Gaunt, hollow-eyed, grim.
Every bit the monster I pretend not to be.
…wouldn’t last a day…
The bourbon has warmed in my hand. I don’t remember picking it up. I drain it anyway, using the burn to cauterize the wound the memory opened in my chest.
This maudlin-style self-reflection serves no purpose.
I am not weak.
I am not sentimental.
I take what I want without recompense, and what I want isthem.
Both of them.
On their knees, in my bed, bound so tightly to me they forget they ever belonged to anyone else.
Kai’s discomfort was temporary. A means to an end.
So why can’t I stop seeing his face?
Not the defiant smirk he wears like armor. Not the cruel snarl he sometimes gives Haven when he thinks no one’s looking at him. The other face. The one I glimpsed in that alley, just for a moment, before Bad Wolf lunged.
Angry.
Needy.
Scared.
My glass of bourbon shatters against the window.
I stare at my empty hand, chest heaving. When did I decide to throw it?
This is unacceptable.
I am in control. I am always in control.
