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I’d prefer if she refrain from taking these types of photos altogether.
They draw my thoughts to her Cyber Fans account. Jealousy burns through me when I wonder how many other men she’s sent these photos to…
Her Cyber Fans account is an unspoken matter of contempt between us. I’ve yet to raise the issue, briefly touching on it when I inquired about her leather cat mask. She had tensed up, uncomfortable by my asking, and then changed the subject.
Lyra doesn’t know it yet. But she will delete her Cyber Fans account. She will never send another salacious photo to a strange man over the internet again.
A matter I will soon address in my own way.
I text her back a message that’s short and to the point.
I don’t need a photo to want to fuck you. I already do.
She replies with a blush smiley emoji. I’ll see her tomorrow, and tomorrow I’ll make sure not only is she satisfied, more importantly, I am.
With her punishment. With our understanding.
With everything which needs to be addressed.
* * *
The only individuals I encounter earlier than five in the morning are night shift workers, habitual runners, drunk and strung out partiers, and the occasional early bird employee heading prematurely into the office.
The next morning, as I exit my penthouse building dressed more casually than I usually do in a hoodie and jeans, I don’t make it far without noticing something peculiar.
I’m supposed to be on my way across town to the storage locker of supplies I keep. However, as I step onto the sidewalk and head toward the ride share I’ve ordered (I never take my own vehicle there), I realize I’m not alone.
Across the otherwise slumbering street is an Oldsmobile. Several decades old. Bronze in color. A man seated in the front seat.
He may believe he’s being discreet, parked a few buildings down from mine, but I know exactly who he is upon first glance—whathe is the moment I see him.
I finish my walk up to my ride share car and slide into the backseat.
“Drop off request is for the storage garages on Oakwood Way. Is that still where you’re going?” my driver asks from the front seat.
I chance another glance at the police detective watching me from his Oldsmobile and then shake my head.
“Not anymore,” I answer. “There’s been a change in plans.”
23Lyra
Do You Really Want to Hurt Me? - Nessa Barrett
Detectives Maloney and Laurent sit me down at Mama’s. It’s the location I suggested when they came up to me on the street and asked if they could have a word. My job interview at the dental office is no longer on my mind. Both detectives give off a no nonsense vibe that puts me on edge.
We each order coffee and then ask Mama for more time on placing food orders.
“Thank you for agreeing to sit down with us, Ms. Hendrix,” says Detective Laurent.
“Sure… I guess. I’m still unclear what this is about?”
“You’re familiar with the investigation into Maximillion Keys’s murder?”
“Somewhat. I’ve heard about it at work and in the media.”
“And that’s all?”
“I didn’t know Maximillion well…” I sit with a belly of rippling nerves and stare across the booth table at them.
