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Girls like me?
Ones who get off on a rough fuck with a strange man.
He’s never said anything like that since, but the undeniable truth is that Hercules looks exactly like the kind of strange man I’d like to…
I’d like to…
Donothingwith, thanks. He’s not a stranger. He’s a known entity. We don’t like each other, and he’s never going to put his hands on me for anything other than hisjob. It would be like Shane, pushing me into the car. Clinical and professional and—
And maybe it wouldn’t.
Pressure at my temples says that if it weren’t for the painkillers, I’d be on the ground in agony, so I pretend not to notice Hercules looking at me and take out my phone. The tap of a button filters out three-quarters of the light coming through the windows. Even with the special, customized painkillers, it’s best to reduce exposure to light well in advance, and more than I think I need to.
It’s best, and it’s necessary. More necessary with every month that goes by. But then, monsters always live in the dark.
Hercules’s eyes are still on me when I lift my head. “Yes?”
“Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay.” I breeze past the kitchen island to the fridge.
“You made it dark.”
“Yes, well, I do most things in the dark. I prefer it this way. Don’t be weird.”
Air from the fridge is cool on my face, but I can tell he’s still watching from the heat on the back of my neck. “You didn’t keep it this dark at home.”
“I lived with my mom at home. She can’t see very well in low light.”
Hercules sighs. “You don’t have to bullshit me.”
“I am certainly not bullshitting you.” I take out a carton of eggs and put it on the counter. A slice of cheese from the deli. A pint of milk.
“Anyone who’s met your mom knows that she’d live in a pitch-black room for the rest of her life if it meant saving your dad a single headache.”
I’m tired. That’s why I want to sink down on the floor and cry. Nobody’s ever going to love me the way my parents love each other, and that’s how it has to be, because I am, in simple terms, a Problem.
One that can’t be solved.
“I’m making breakfast,” I announce, and go to find a frying pan and a loaf of bread.
“It’s past noon.”
“How hasyourlife been?” I crack eggs into a bowl, careful not to let any shards of shell fall in. “I heard you got out of the Army.”
“I didn’t get out. I stopped having the necessary physical qualities to serve.”
I look at him over my shoulder. Hercules isn’t even pretending to do anything with the tablet. His elbows are braced on the countertop, and he’s watching me over clasped hands.
“Right. Your…injury.”
“My fall out of a helicopter, yes.”
“I thought you jumped out of helicopters.”
“It becomes a fall if your parachute fails.”
“Is that what happened?” I can’t explain why my heart beats faster thinking of that scenario. Of Hercules plummeting through thin air and hitting the ground. “A parachute mishap?”
