Then vanished, gone as if it had never been there.
Playing it smooth, I cleared my throat, shifting back just enough to let her sit up.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, forcing a smirk. “Just thinking how old you look up close.”
What the hell had I just seen? Was I so hyped up on sugar that it was making me hallucinate?
She shoved my face away, chuckling to herself, “Dick.”
But even when we started laughing again, I couldn’t shake it. Because for that split second, It didn’t feel like I was pinning Misfit to the mattress. It felt like something older had been staring back at me.
“Right. Ceasefire, remember? You’re lucky I’m merciful.”
She gave me a look. “You’re lucky I don’t have more snacks.”
“Terrifying,” I smirked, tossing a stray popcorn piece at her head. “Truly.”
I don’t know when it shifted. When I started noticing how I scanned a room the second we entered it. Not for exits, but for threats.
Threats to her.
The all too familiar feeling I used to get about her in juvie before, well, we tried to kill each other.
If someone even looked at her wrong, I’d feel that spark ignite low in my spine. Not jealousy but protectiveness. Like I’d drag someone outside by their teeth if they ever tried to approach her.
She never said anything, but I felt Misfit watching me. In those quiet moments where I’d mentally slip away, lost in whatever excuse I was building next. I could feel the questions pressing behind her eyes, even if they never made it to her lips. But I always answered them, just not out loud.
I’d disappear for a day or two, sometimes three. “Family shit,” I’d say or “Old debts.” And she’d nod, just once, and I’d hate myself a little for how easy she let me lie.
But the truth was Selene. She’d call, asking me to stop by. Never quite begging, but there was always something laced beneath her words. Something that always made it hard to say no, yanking on the invisible leash tightly wrapped around my neck.
She’d always be waiting; eyes glazed with something more dangerous than alcohol. And every time I told myself it would be the last time, she never made it easy. Her fingers would hook into the collar of my shirt before the door was even closed. Lips on mine, hot and desperate, like I was the only thing keeping her from burning to ash. There was even a time in the tiredness that I would see Misfits' face rather than Selene’s, causing me to jolt backwards until I regained myself.
It was always a blur, low lights and half-empty bottles of expensive wine. I’d lie in her bed afterwards, her head on my chest. And she’d say things like “I could run away with you.”
Not a chance! This was a transaction, nothing more. All part of the service, if you could call it that. If she was catching feelings, then that was her problem. I’d never answer her, but continue tracing lazy circles on her back, waiting for the guilt to crawl back in.
I’d just come out of the shower, towel slung low on my hips, when I heard the front door rattle. Selene’s head snapped toward the hallway, eyes wide.
“Shit,” she hissed. “It’s him. He’s not supposed to be back ‘til tomorrow.” My blood turned to ice. She was always careful, but I’m guessing that in the height of all the drugs she had been taking lately, her perfect facade was slipping.
I’d only seen her husband once before, a tall, grey-haired businessman who spent way too much time using sunbeds. Thatfirst time was a chaotic foreshadowing of what was to come. She had called me earlier than intended, already shit-faced at midday. I turned up like the good little lap dog I was, only to find his car still in the driveway. I retreated fucking quickly, hiding myself amongst the well-trimmed hedges, waiting for him to leave. After about an hour, he finally fucked off, driving down the street in his swanky BMW. She was already waiting at the door when I emerged, giving her a disgruntled glare.
“What the fuck Selene!” She just giggled and dragged me inside.
She shoved me toward the closet with surprising force, whispering fast, “Get in. Don’t say a word.” The space was small and stifling, her fur coats and designer dresses brushing against my damp skin as I wedged myself between them, heart hammering.
I heard the front door open. The familiar grunt of her husband’s voice, followed by the sound of his shoes hitting the tile.
“Thought you were in the city?” Selene’s voice was too steady, surprising considering the amount of booze she had thrown back.
“Got back early. Missed my own bed,” his deep, muffled voice sounded from the hallway.
I held my breath as he passed the bedroom, the floor creaking beneath his weight. He lingered outside the closet door. “Smells like cologne,” he muttered. Selene let out an all-too-fake laugh.
“It's yours. I sprayed some on the pillows last night to help me sleep.” A long pause.
