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He walked us down the same hallway as last week, right to the door at the end.
When we entered the room, the light was on this time, and he set me down gently on the end of the bed. He ambled over to the dresser and pulled out some kind of square fabric. It looked silky and shiny in the soft glow. He folded it into itself and turned to me with it outstretched.
I looked at it confused and clarified, “You want me to wear this?” He nodded and I straightened a little more, letting him tie it tightly at the back of my head.
“I want to see you tonight,” he said as his mask hit the floor. His footsteps moved away from me, and he rifled through a drawer.
I heard metal clank against itself followed by rapid clicks.
Are those fucking handcuffs?
Jai
Was this hot? Yes, but it was alsohot. The mask on the floor looked back at me and reminded that little piece of guilt and regret to slither through my mind. With it on the floor, I didn’t feel as bad as the first night.
Our first night.
Could it be a true first between us if she didn’t know it was me?
“Ghost?” Her small voice came out as a soft whisper, barely hitting the room. I took her in head to toe, watched as her fingers began to shake.
I took a quiet step to her and held her hand in mine. I wondered if she always had cool hands, or if being on edge in this situation was a factor.
“I didn’t leave, baby,” I assured her, and her small fingers gave me a squeeze. She was wearing the same heeled boots tonight, and the top of her hand brushed just under my collar.
“Ghost, can I ask you something?” she asked with her shoulders pulled back in confidence, and her chin tilted a little higher.
“Anything.”
“Did you kill her?” Her question had my mouth agape in shock, and thankfully the blindfold obscured the ridiculous look.
“Kill who?” I questioned. Her chest rose faster.
“Would you ever hurt me?” The words were hard for her to force out, and equally hard for me to process. Hurt her? Hurt Bex? I couldn’t even fathom a moment where that would cross my mind.
I grabbed the mask from the floor and slipped it back on. I threw the handcuffs on the bed and untied the blindfold, turning her back around to face me. I grabbed under her jaw, forcing her to look up to me.
“What’s wrong, Bex? We can stop if this isn’t what you want. I’d never hurt you; I’m not capable.” It felt a little ridiculous to confess these things behind a stupid Halloween mask, but I couldn’t continue this without reassuring her. “You are the single most precious thing in my life.”
“Trisha,” she whispered. Her eyes were misty as they bounced between the obscured sections of the mask. My mind flashed to the officers on campus, the ones who made her cry.
“I was with you, Bex. I was in you to be more precise. What more of an alibi is there?” I asked, fighting a laugh.
“They haven’t talked to you yet?” She pressed her body flush against mine.
“Why would they talk to me?”
“Kiera gave them your description and the murder happened after I left for the night.” Her hands trailed up my shirt, fingers twisting in my chain.
Touching on flaws, I could also list Bexley’s perception and detection. Giant stature and this aesthetic for clothing?Hello, Earth to Bexley, how do you not know? Honestly, it’s a little too much Clark Kent/Superman.
“I see,” I said slowly as I grabbed the blindfold and folded it again. “What worries you more? That I might be a killer or that you’d still desire me if I were?” She gasped at my question as I covered her eyes again.
Her silence was loud and enough of an answer whether she realized or not. I faced her toward the bed, threw the mask on the laundry bin, and made quick work of her zipper. It was an internal battle between hate and love for this stupid costume of hers.
“Tell me, my little swallow.” I pushed the material off her shoulders and down her arms. When the fabric fell away, her curves were no longer hidden, and in the soft light, the highest points shimmered. It was my favorite view: the bend of her waist, swell of her ass, sharp angle of her shoulders. I wanted to take my time with her tonight, but my sanity was hanging on by a thread. A thin and delicate fucking thread.
And there, just under her breast along the rib cage, sat a small swallow.
