Page 38 of Lilies from Hell

“As if you’ve never done it.” My silence seems to serve as an answer, judging by the confused look on his face. “Because you have. Right?” he asks a moment later, narrowing his eyes at me. “Oh, for Lucifer’s sake!” I give him a murderous look, signaling him to lower his voice without denying his assumptions. “Now I know why you always have that shitty face. Wait. Then you didn’t complete—?”

“I don’t understand why we have to talk about this shit when we have more important things to discuss,” I cut him, putting another cigarette between my lips.

“Don’t be boring. Best friends talk about these things,” he mutters, raising an eyebrow. Noticing my gaze, he continues in an incredulous tone. “You said you’d give your life for me, so obviously we’re BFF and all that fucking shit.”

“I said I’d get between you and a bunch of bullets and get killed rather than listen to you anymore,” I correct him, recalling one of our recent shootouts. His ability to keep talking would amaze you as if there were no tomorrow, even in the middle of a shootout. He clicks his tongue, dismissing what I said as if it were the same thing he said but with different words.

“For your fucking good luck, I’m here to make your sad days of celibacy a little happier. What would you do without me, huh?” He hits my ribs with his elbow.

“Have some peace,” I reply dryly. I know that I still affect her just as she affects me, and not solely because of the twenty-five tattoos I got for her.

I have no other plan than finishing Carrie after the tragic dinner with my parents downstairs. I can’t leave the house again this week, so I had to give my boxing match tickets to Lance as an apology.

When I open the door and see him lying on my bed with his back against the mattress and his ankles intertwined, my heart almost sinks to the floor. When he sees me, he smiles and sits up.

“Hi.” His hoarse voice echoes off the walls of the room. Or perhaps it’s my head that loves to play his voice over and over again. When I see the black bag at his feet, my heart beats so fast that I can’t breathe normally.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I say in a low whisper, daring to look at him for the first time.

The sight of him makes my muscles clench in fear, but that feeling vanishes when I remember how mad I am with him. I offered him a glimpse into the dark pit that is my mind, and all he did was walk away as if nothing happened. Even though we have hardly exchanged words. He would have no way of knowing. But that’s not the point right now.

“Go away,” I mutter through clenched teeth. My eyes, which once looked at him with adoration and fear, now pretend to destroy him from the face of the earth.

“We agreed I wouldn’t hurt you. You have nothing to fear, love.” Something tells me he’s not being entirely honest with me, but I prefer not to let my curiosity get the better of me this time. I don’t want to end up like the cat.

I press my lips together as memories of the previous night flood my mind and my lower abdomen. The only thing that can get me away from them is his exasperated snort. Then he pulls out a black MacBook and starts typing something.

“Don’t call me love. And what are you doing in my room?”

“I’ll call you whatever I want. Love,” he says with a cocky smile. “You better be here in five seconds.” He turns his attention away from the screen and toward me as I clench my teeth angrily. “One.”

That’s my cue to go down to the kitchen and tell the butler or whoever that there’s a criminal in my room and to call the police. Although that would be useless and sound stupid considering how we ended up yesterday. It would be better to call Satan and make a deal with him.

“Five.” I blink in confusion, focusing my eyes on him. He hasn’t even counted. Before he gets up, I rush to the bed and sit down far away from him, leaning back against the headboard. “Let’s watch movies.”

“Sorry. I don’t think I heard you right,” I murmur, a slight blush colouring my cheeks because, apparently, now I also have problems with my hearing.

“I want to spend time with you. I miss you,” he says in almost a whisper, bringing his fingers close to brush a strand of hair from my face. “And you said we could be friends. Friends spend time together.”

I thank the slight darkness for not making the blush on my cheeks more visible than it already is. Friends definitely don’t do what we did.

“Which one do you want to see?” he asks, moving his hand away from my face. And I almost want to ask him not to.

“None, but I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“You don’t,” he says.

He ends up choosing The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It’s one of my favorites, and almost no one knows about it. Or rather, no one. I want to ask how he knew, but his sudden closeness distracts me from even breathing normally, pushing my complaints into the back of my mind. He pays more attention to me than to the movie.

“Why are you ignoring me?” he asks after a while. I bite my lower lip, trying to hide my nervousness.

“I’m not ignoring you. You were the one who dissapeared and left me on…” The next words get stuck in my head, unable to find a way to express them without my body burning with shame. “I don’t like you. Not anymore,” I end up saying in a desperate attempt to end the conversation.

“You didn’t say that when you were about to cum in my mouth.”

“You tied me up,” I say, ignoring the embarrassment that is about to kill me.

“Your hands, not your legs.” I open my eyes wider than normal and bite my lower lip, not wanting to deny it.