That slipped away over time. And I’m glad it did. But it’s also made everything difficult.
Isolation is easier when you have goals. There’s no one to tug you back ten steps when you get too close to a finish line.
I don’t know where Razor’s sweatpants are, the ones he wore last night. I’m sifting through all the damp, musky clothes from he and Xene, and everything’s blending together in the dark.
I need those keys. He locked the office after we left and that’s the only place I can think of to run off to right now. It’s somewhere with answers and a lock, somewhere far enough to give me a head start without a travesty happening.
The faucet turns off, leaving the draining water to whoosh through the plumbing you can hear right through the lack of insulation.
“Shit,” I murmur, rifling down to the bottom of the hamper, squinting through the umbra playing tricks on me.
He must have started his wash routine way earlier than I thought.
“Bunny!” Ora whispers aggressively.
It spikes the adrenaline of being sneaky, fumbling to pick up the socks and underwear that have toppled over and landed on the floor.
Her shadow stretches inside the room. “He’s coming!”
Come on, where’d he take them off at?
Rewinding through the night, I forcefully blow past the ghost sensation of him inside me, mentally fast forwarding to him standing next to my closet with me. After Ora snapped and left, he… Okay, not reliving that right now.
“Bunnyyy!”
Fuck! Okay, focus!
Snapping upright and moving into the center of the room, my eyes dart every which way, playing the visual of him slowly prying his sweatpants down and kicking them off onto my bunched-up sheet.
“Oh, goddamn it,” I seethe, catching a glimpse of Ora aborting mission and running off into the light coming from the living room.
I’m so stupid. My room. They’re inmyroom.
I don’t manage to lift a foot. I can’t even engage a muscle, before the bathroom door is scuffing open.
My heart swells, my stomach falling to my butt. I audibly track the two steps he takes out into the hall, most likely to check in through my open bedroom door, then his footsteps are coming my direction.
Can you do something? Anything at all at any time!
Fear sedates me, trapping a whine in my throat and turning to the predacious presence faltering to a stop just past the doorway.
His brows knit, his eyes sharpening to carve down me. “What’re you doing?”
“Uh, j-just waiting for you.” Instinctively, my fingertips are finding the distressed hem of my shorts, nervously shifting and fidgeting with the denim fluff.
Moving closer to me, he looks around, deliberately taking his time to thicken the air with skepticism. “In the dark? In my room?”
“Uh-huh,” I nod, tracking him coming around me, his heat migrating off his body and separating my skin.
“Just standin’ in here, huh?” he questions, his voice husky and raw, like the truth I’m hiding is the drink he needs.
“Yep,” I chirp, eyeing the door.
Fear stands my hair on end, recounting each time he felt crossed by someone, how scary he becomes, how volatile his hands can be. Deep down, I know I’m different to him. I know he’d never lash out and hurt me the way he doesn’t mind hurting others. But on the surface, I’m scared.
“Bunny…” Stopping in front of me, he lightly cages my jaw, tilting my eyes up to the darkness that haunts his. “What were you looking for?”
He’s asking. Just tell him. Tell him. Just tell him.
