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“Concerned? By going out with my fiancé?”
“No, Espie. That’s just it, he isn’t your fiancé. He hasn’t even proposed to you!” She explodes and I shake my head.
“I don’t even want to be with him!” I whisper-yell, a weight in my chest that tells me I’m betraying a part of myself that has become addicted to Adrik. But I know it’s not a good addiction. Are any addictions ever good? He can’t be healthy for me, and wouldn't make a good husband because he’s constantly so back and forth with me.
A while ago, I stopped reminding myself that it was a game, and started playing along. Nonetheless, that doesn’t mean that what I’ve said is not true. I can’t marry him, might be a better statement, but saying,won’t, is one-in-the-same— at least that's what I’m choosing to believe. So, I stick to it as she shifts her face into something a little more relaxed. As if this is what she was looking for from me the entire time.
“Then I would like to chaperone your dates from now on.”
“Wait… Olive that’s—“
“Necessary? More like, critical to insure you’re left untouched by easily persuasive and evasive-in-more-ways-than-one, Adrik Mikhailov.” I swallow hard, thinking about what this means I’ll be giving up. But perhaps it’s better to rip the bandaid off now, rather than when Vince breaks us apart.
Going cold turkey is usually not ever a great idea. That’s what I’ve read, anyway. Yet, this might be the only way to get out without anyone knowing how far we’ve gone, or going any further with him in general.
“Okay.” I say through my teeth, and she throws her arms around me. As I meet her in a less enthusiastic hug, I remember the other part of that thing I read; Quitting all at once often leads to an even worse relapse.
Chapter Twenty Three:Adrik
I’m buzzingin the best way possible because I’m so close to fucking Espie I can taste it. Literally— I can still taste her sweetness on my tongue. I step into the shower and rise off the smokey smell that I like and wanted to just keep, but it’d give us both away. And I can’t do that, not when I’m so close to winning.
You know, it is weird, though. The thought of not seeing Espie every day. Not getting to talk to her about shit, or fight with her, or make-up in the way we always do because she can’t resist my touch any more than I can resist hers. This is the most real fake relationship I’ve ever had, so perhaps my strange mixture of feelings has something to do with that.
I used to find her so annoying, but the irritation seems to have faded. Like, I don’t get bothered by it anymore. All the frustrating ticks she has, her prissy attitude, her quick temper when saying things I know she’ll hate. It’s all become familiar in a good way. That thought alone is enough to make me feel uneasy.
I wash my hair, letting the hot falling water carry away everything but the scent of my shampoo and body wash. The steam in the glass shower fogs up the glass so that I am surrounded by its cloud, and it reminds me of Christmas Eve all over again. A month ago, though, it's still fresh in my mind.
“Olive and I have a Christmas tradition.” Espie looked up at me as I stood in her doorway, annoyed about something I can’t remember now because it was stupid, and she’s hot and that’s more of what I remember— her looking perfect.
“Well, I’d like to join.” I asserted, really pushing myself into the entire idea of it all. She didn’t seem too pleased with me or my willfulness. Her eyes flitted between mine, that green look of frustration giving way to relent.
“Fine.” She growled, shoulders dropping as she cracked the door open to reveal a Christmas tree by the window.
“Why is there a tree here? The boss has strict rules against—“
“Lighten up, Adrik. We had a friend grab it for us from the forest behind the safe-house.” Espie rolled her eyes as Olive sat by the fireplace in an atrocious Christmas sweater, stringing cranberries on a long thread.
“Let me guess, that friend was Barth?” I glanced past Espie and Olive shrugged with a grin, keeping her eyes focused on her work.
“Does it matter who?” Espie’s eyes looked back to mine, glowing like a child’s— all hopeful and light.
I sighed and hooked a hand through my hair. “Guess not.” and she bit her excited grin, sending me into a bit of a brain freeze, just gazing at her until Olive snapped her fingers.
“Hello? We need to keep going or Santa won’t deliver presents.”
“Santa…” I furrowed my brows.
Olive glared at me like I was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever seen. “Yes, you know, the round guy in a red suit, fluffy white hair and beard, says ‘ho ho ho’ un-ironically?”
“I know who Santa is.” I blinked and Espie breathed a laugh.
“When we were little, we used to decorate the tree in our room every year because our brothers always told us that if we didn’t, Santa wouldn’t put presents under it.”
I nodded at her, noticing the classic Christmas song playing in the background.
“Well, I’ll help.” I shrugged and stepped further into the room, picking up some clear ornaments off the floor by the fireplace.
Espie jogged over to help. “I can show you what to do with those.” She grabbed my upper arm with her hand, pulling me down to my knees. I gave her a suggestive look that only she would know what I was insinuating. She shook her head at me, grimacing as she pointed her eyes over towards Olive, who was still engrossed in her decoration-making.
