“Couples hold hands, so it’s perfectly normal,” I tell her. “Because we’re a couple, aren’t we?”
She winces. “An unconventional one…I think. Maybe. Possibly…”
Unconventional. The best kind. “Because you’ve only agreed to associate with me outside a work setting in an effort to make me suffer?”
Her eyes shift around us, searching for prying ears, then she hesitates, “W-well…”
Feigning surprise, I draw in a breath. “Dear little dove, don’t tell me… Have your feelings for me changed already? Or is this but a new method to torture me? You got me excited when youtold me you were going to be cruel. Unfortunately, you’ve done a pitiful job since.” Leaning in, I let my fingers graze the bruise I’m proudly wearing around my throat as I whisper, “Shall I assume getting my hopes up is part of your wicked plan? Or should I assume that…after the ecstasy you supplied me with last night…you’ve maybe, possibly fallen for me unconventionally?”
Her gaze slices toward my neck, furious, disgusted, outright repulsed—then nothing. It’s gone. She shoves all that glorious emotion right on down.
Smile still in place, I poke, searching for it. “Just so you know…strangling me isn’t cruel when I like it.”
Conflict rears, suggesting the reason behind the shift in her behavior today. So that’s it. I see.
She snapped. She strangled. She remembered murder is illegal. She latched onto the romantic application in her rage-prompted action. So she now searches for the balance between me knowing she’s only doing this to make me suffer and her needing us to appear like a regular couple in front of any witnesses, so that the bruises around my neck don’t further incriminate her.
That’s absolutely, hilariously adorable.
Losing her toothy almost-smile, Azalea regains her aptitude for emoting and glares. I readyou should already be dead by nowin her eyes.
Poor thing.
Such a shame she left her burner behind. Such a pity she never got “Junction’s” text.
Which sent minutes after she left her vehicle to meet me in our place of employment’s parking lot.
If only she knew that plans had changed and my murder had to be rescheduled.
Tut tut. What poor luck for her and what a boon for me.
I’d kill to see how she reacts when she opens that message.
Unfortunately, I’ve not quite resorted to using my privileges as the owner of our building to plant cameras in her living room.
Few though they may be, I do happen to possess morals.
Well.
Moral, anyway.
At leastthis one. Because spying on the woman I love via camera goes a bit far, I think.
Tilting my head, I say, “What a nasty look. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you hated me and wanted me dead.”
Her brows release, and panic widens her eyes, then the corner of her mouth hooks up in an odd, shaking way. Bit by bit, she struggles through her words. “I…admit…” Thetexits her in a sharp, curt burst. “…there was a…” Her eye tweaks out. “…certain…charmto…” Man, this looks painful—for her. I’m having a great time. “…whathappenedlastnight.”
Those last four words spill out of her in a rush. Once freed from her mouth, she deflates, releasing air.
It takes years of skill to keep from laughing my head off.
My goodness. What an ordeal it is to suggest that she enjoyed anything involving me.
I’d feel bad if I weren’t so happy, if I weren’t so relieved to know that her emotions are accessible in a real way, if…I had a soul. Probably mostly that last one.
Chipper, I clasp her hand myself, weaving our fingers together and ignoring the gurgled, revolted sound that pops out of her throat in response to the action. The line for the roller coaster moves, so I drag her along, merrily. Before her head can spin and spiral, I distract it. “Was it your first time?”
“Huh?”
