She linked her arm with mine and walked us up to the bar, cutting in front of everyone, and ordered us two beers. She handed a can to me, and I cracked the top. I should have refused. I didn’t know her, or why she was helping me. But I wasn’t going to refuse. Not after what she did.
She led me to a tall circular table, and we both climbed up onto the high stools. As we sipped our drinks in silence, I studied her. Jet black wispy hair, a soft face, with purple eyes that seemed not-quite-right, the pupils a strange shape. She seemed familiar somehow, though I didn’t know from where. She caught me staring.
“They’re colored contacts,” she explained. “I always wanted purple eyes.” She reached over and grabbed a lock of my hair. “And blond streaks.”
The woman’s hair was dark, almost black. It would be difficult to dye. But I wanted to thank her somehow. And I wanted a friend, even if it only meant hair dye and beers.
“I can help you dye your hair,” I said.
She grinned. “I’m only joking,” she said. “Midnight black is my color. But thanks, babe. That’s sweet of you.”
I had to stop myself from furrowing my brows. She seemed so familiar, but I couldn’t place her. “Do I know you from somewhere?”
“Somewhere, I’m sure,” she said. “Another life, another time? Who knows. But we all know each other from somewhere.” She placed her hand on top of mine and squeezed it. “But that guy? He was a dick.” She lifted her can and drank a sip. “I don’t care what happened. No one deserves that kind of harassment.”
I have this weakness when it comes to people who are nice to me. Any hint of kindness makes me melt into a loyal little puppy, because if kindness meant a home, a place where I could feel safe, then I would do anything for that person. Time, and time again, I learned that it was a foolish mistake to think I had found a home. Everyone left in the end. My parents did. Even Heather was leaving me here.
So I left them before they could leave me.
But the weakness had set in. I had resisted Grant’s kindness, almost entirely, but that energy was gone. I wanted to enjoy this, even if it was only a stranger being cordial.
But something stood out to me.That guy?She had known his name. Oliver. I remembered him. He had been there that night, before I realized I was over Dean. That guy had teased Dean, told him to hurry up so he could use the room too. They had been friends.
But that guy? He was a dick.
“How do you know Oliver?” I asked.
She shooed the question away. “I turned him down earlier. Can’t keep his rage, or his raging hard-on, in his pants.” She squeezed my arm, and I smiled. “There it is,” she said. “I knew I could make you smile. Do you come here often?”
How could I explain myself? I glanced around. Most of the people in the lounge had resumed their conversations, but a few people were staring. At the table across from us, a curvy brunette with a ballerina bun caught my gaze and quickly turned away, pretending like she wasn’t staring, while an orange-haired woman rolled her eyes at her friend. The brunette knew me. Like Oliver had. I had come here a few times, and I had loved it here, more than being at Eric’s penthouse. It had almost felt like I could be myself here.
But that had changed.
“Not anymore,” I said.
“It’s been a while, then?” she asked, then she shrugged. “I’m not new to kink, but I am new to formal dungeons. I’m Christine, by the way.” She offered her hand. “We should stick together.”
“Hazel,” I said. I shook it. “I’m not really a newbie either.”
She winked. “I’m sure there are a few tricks I can teach you.”
After a few minutes of small talk, we exchanged numbers, and Grant stood next to the table. “You ready?” he asked. I nodded.
“Boyfriend?” Christine asked.
“Roommate.”
“Ah, more muscles for me, then,” she said. She winked and laughed, then smacked Grant on the arm. It seemed like such a forced joke, but I politely laughed anyway. “Kidding. Take care, now. Be good to her.”
I didn’t fight Grant the whole way home. I didn’t speak at all. I should have told him I was pissed off at him. He had to have known that I was following him; why didn’t he warn me where he was going? But I didn’t say or do anything. I was glad that he had offered a ride back. It had been a long night, and it wasn’t even midnight yet.
While I took off my makeup, my phone dinged.Unknown Number. Three pictures of Christine and me talking in the lounge. No words to accompany it.
“Say something, fucker,” I whispered, jamming my fingers into the phone.Who are you?I texted back.
My fingers were shaking. I locked the phone and threw it on my bed, as if throwing my phone would get this weird person away from me. Was it Oliver? Had he been watching us from afar, trying to get closer so that he could hurt me? Was it that woman that was sitting at the table behind us, pretending not to stare? I hadn’t seen her with a camera at the time, and the angles of the photos didn’t make sense, but I hadn’t watched her that closely. In fact, I had avoided looking at her at all.
Was it Grant? Messing with me? Leading me into his trap?
