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“Well, if you’re finished here, go back to the storeroom to organize our supplies,” Suzie says, clearing her throat, landing me with a crash back to the here and now. “If you’re sure you’re okay to stay longer.”
“Sure.”
She’s stroking the side of her neck. That means she likes me, right? I wasn’t wrong about that. I may not be a real psychology major, but I’ve observed chicks for years. Trying to understand them, see what makes them tick, what they like.
I may not feel, but I sure can give the impression I do, if needed. You learn to adapt, to pass as a human even if inside you feel like a trapped animal waiting to thrust out claws and fangs.
I studied Gigi a lot, back when we used to hang out. With her I learned to fake humanity, until it felt real, until I thought I was happy.
“Okay then,” Suzie says. “Fine.”
I could invite her to come with me to the back. Maybe that’s what she wants, why she suggested it.
Why the hell not?
A co-worker, I think. Bad move. But this job won’t last.
Nothing in my life ever does. I could drag her among the crates and boxes, lift her up on a stack and take her right there, for that brief moment of pleasure. Of relief.
Of forgetfulness.
It strikes me yet again how similar we are, Sebastian and me. I look for relief in sex, and he looks for it in drugs. I’m a junkie as much as he is.
The fucking drugs. Goddammit.
Maybe that’s why I shake my head to myself, and head to the back of the bar.
Without inviting Suzie to come with me.
Or maybe it’s the image of Gigi, the hurt in her eyes, her beautiful mouth tight, her curvy body tense as she turned and walked away from me. That look of disappointment.
In me.
Never thought it’d hit me so hard.
The image of Gigi as it has been playing in my fantasies, where I rip her clothes off and run my tongue all over her, where I fuck her and make her scream my name.
Either way, I’m an idiot. I should take what’s on offer, and kill the fantasies.
Because fantasies only get you killed.
Hands grab me by the shoulders as I turn the key to open the building door and slam me into the wall beside it.
Again, goddammit?
The breath leaves my lungs, and I shove at my assailant, my grocery bags crashing down somewhere to the ground. “Christ, Seb. The fuck’s your problem, man?”
“Just a fucking reminder,” he snarls, “of who’s in charge here.”
“Lay off this shit. You can’t ambush me whenever you’re in a mood. You can’t just—”
He catches me with a hook to the ribs. “Can’t I?”
I grab his wrist, wrestle him back. “Fuck off.”
He yanks his arm free and slams it against my windpipe, shutting off my air supply. “You think you’re the boss. Two nights ago, and before that, too. That night at the club.”
I try to pry his fingers off my neck. “I didn’t—”
