Page 89 of White Noise

The only thing I keep avoiding is the chat history.

Void’s name is still there in old messages.

He was always around.

Three years of stupid comments, tips, private calls, coffee money, and pretending he was one of the safer ones.

Now he’s dead, and eventually people are going to notice he stopped showing up.

Graveyard will ask.

Kev probably will too.

Someone will make a joke about Void finally getting a life, and I’m going to have to sit there knowing exactly why he isn’t answering.

Knowing what Silas did and how I had to sit there, and watch it happen.

That thought follows me into the bathroom when I start getting ready.

By eight, my hair is dry and straight, falling past my chest with the platinum pieces framing my face. I keep the makeup heavier than usual, dark around my eyes with a sharp liner and muted lips, mostly because VioletHex looks better when she appears slightly dangerous.

The outfit matches.

Black lace bra top with sheer panels and structured detailing through the front, black high-cut underwear, and a loose cropped shirt over it that barely covers anything once I lift my arms. The whole thing looks casual until you actually pay attention, which is exactly the point.

Tattoos stay visible across my stomach, thighs, and arms, and the silver jewelry catches whenever I move.

I stand in front of the mirror for a few seconds, looking myself over.

“Yeah,” I mutter. “That’ll do.”

The girl staring back at me looks fine.

Normal.

Like she didn’t watch one of her regulars die and hasn’t spent the last few days arguing with something living inside static.

Like the slightest electrical hum doesn’t make her body react before her brain can catch up.

Fuck I hate that part the most.

When I cross back to the bed, the speaker gives a soft pop as it connects to my phone, and my entire body responds before I can stop it.

My thighs tense, my stomach pulls tight, and my pulse gives one sharp kick.

I freeze.

The speaker does nothing else.

No static or voice. No sign of Silas.

Just Bluetooth connecting like it has a hundred fucking times before.

“For fuck’s sake.”

Apparently my nervous system still thinks every electrical noise means six feet of possessive nightmare is about to crawl out of a screen.

Love that for me. Seriously.