Текст книги "The Forgotten Girl"
Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
He reaches for my hair and with hesitancy and tucks a strand behind my ear, a gesture very unlike him and one very unlike me to kindly receive. I lean back and he jerks away, almost as if I’m on fire. Silence encompasses us as I watch his nails tear apart his flesh with his fingernails and it makes me want to scratch the hell out of myself and see what’s hiding underneath the layer of flesh that covers my body. Finally, I slant forward and grab hold of his hand, trapping it in mine and forcing him to stop itching.
“Would you stop that?” With my free hand, I trace my fingertips down the red marks. “You’re scratching the hell out of yourself.”
His mouth curves downward, confusion written all over his face as he stares down at the scratches. “You seemed perfectly content last night about scratching me.”
I scratched him… what?
When I don’t say anything, staring at him unfathomably, he adds,” God, you really can’t remember anything at all, can you?”
“But apparently you can remember some stuff you’re not telling me,” I say, still grasping onto his arm to the point he should probably tell me to ease up, but he doesn’t, which makes me want to only grip tighter. Hurt him.
“This happened at the beginning of the night before I lost track of you.” He holds my gaze firmly. “After you left my office yesterday, you came back up a while later and well…” He shifts uneasily. “We fooled around quite a bit.”
“We did?” Why can’t I remember this?
Maybe you should ask him.
He nods. “How can you not remember… you weren’t that drunk when you came up. At least I don’t think you were.”
I rack my brain for any sort of spark of reminiscence, but all I can remember is making it to the bottom of the stairs right after I told him he could study me for the night, tripping over my own feet, then falling to the floor. Then nothing. “And things got kinky I’m guessing.” I think about how I bit his lip before I walked out of his office and how I liked it, inflicting pain on him.
“Not too bad, but…” He glances down at his arms and then at my fingertips digging into his skin. “You did get a little rough.” His voice cracks and I can tell he wants me to let his wrist go. It makes Lily not want to let it go. Hold onto it forever until he cries out my name.
Bits and pieces float back to me.
“God, you’re so fucking amazing,” River kisses me deeply as I straddle him in his office chair, gripping onto him, stab my nails into his flesh. Lines form on his skin. Dots of blood drip out… I love the sight of it. This is who I am. I’m sick. Twisted. Deranged. And I fucking love it, because if I don’t love it than I have to fear it. Accept or drown in self-hatred. I’ll never let fear own me—never let anyone control or hurt me. I want to hurt him. And I can, because I’m wild reckless Lily, who doesn’t give a shit. Strong. Even a little deranged, which was who I was supposed to be in the first place.
I rock my hips against River and he groans, his hand sliding down the front of my neck to my breast. I’ll admit it, despite my distrust for him, it still feels so good. Makes my body yearn for more. But right as he’s about to brush his fingers across my nipple, I snatch hold of his wrist and bite his bottom lip. This time he moans out in pain and I feel satisfied. In control. I almost own him. But not completely. I need to own him completely to feel in control again.
The memory starts to become hazy as I straighten up my posture. “Did you like it?” I ask River, my lips moving on their own accord, completely separated from my mind. I’m not Maddie at the moment. Not Lily either. But some weird in between person where both of us have control.
He seems apprehensive with my question, like he wants to pull his hand away, but doesn’t dare. “I don’t know, Maddie… It was different.”
My brow meticulously arches. “Different good or different bad? Tell me River, did you like it when I was rough?” My tone is demanding and I press my fingertips roughly into his wrist, until I can feel his pulse hammering, hammering, hammering. He’s afraid.
Good.
But I feel wrong for making him afraid. For hurting him.
That’s because you’re weak. You need to be stronger, like me.
Pitter-patter… pitter-patter… pitter-patter… I can feel the rain falling… hear the thunder… feel the fear… Feel it… it’s clutching onto me and I want nothing more than to not feel it.
Let me help you, Lily coaxes. Let me show you how to be immune to the pain.
“Maddie, you’re hurting me.”
The sound of the pain in River’s voice snaps me back to reality and I jolt back, releasing my hold on him. “I’m sorry.” Get up and leave. No more questions. “I need to get home.” I practically jump to my feet as I summon up every ounce of energy I have to shove Lily away.
River stands up, too. “Do you need a ride?” He tucks a strand of my sweaty hair behind my ear again in an affectionate way that makes me want to drop to my knees again and vomit some more. Don’t touch me, I almost lose my voice again and growl at him, but I manage to regain control and snap my jaw shut.
“No thanks. My car’s outside,” I manage to say politely, straining to ignore vertigo when it slaps me in the face. I feel like I’m slowly leaving my body and someone else is taking over my legs.
He follows me as I hurry to the bathroom, feeling hollow inside as I trudge down the hallway, desperately trying to summon up last nights memory of when I went down it and then locked myself in the freezer. Just like the first time I lost my memory there’s no spark of anything, only this time there’s no accident and I can still remember everything else, except for part of last night.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” River asks as I grab my bag from the cubby and head for the front door. The fresh air out front feels weird and my stomach still feels like it’s on fire.
I turn around, hitching my bag over my shoulder. “Actually, do you know if anyone else was in here at all this morning? Or if you saw me with anyone wandering in the direction of the freezer?”
“No, not that I’m aware of…” He skims the bar, chairs turned up onto the tables, floors swept, the air smelling of Clorox. Someone has cleaned up in here and closed up, which is usually Bella’s and my job. And Bella would have a fit if she did it on her own. In fact, I once asked to get out of it, leave early, and she took off out the front door so I’d be the one to do it—and she barely helps out when she does stay. His attention lands back on me. “Why are you asking about the freezer?”
“It’s where I woke up this morning.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I want to retract them. He shouldn’t know that. It’s weird. Crazy. I’m crazy. He’s going to see the crazy in me.
“You woke up in the freezer? Jesus. How long were you in it?” He scans my body as he continues to scratch at his arms. It doesn’t make any sense—why I can’t at least remember that part. I know I couldn’t have gotten that drunk after I left his office, but I can’t even remember going back up. I’m concerned that maybe all those thoughts about letting Lily take over finally might have made it happen. Perhaps that’s why she’s being so calm about this. Maybe when I blacked out, I turned into her. God, what if I turned into her?
“I’m not sure…. Who cleaned up here last night?” I ask, hugging my arms around myself.
“Bella, I think… Leon was here pretty late too,” he says and I swear he flinches when he says Leon’s name.” I think he might have a thing for her or something because I don’t remember him being that motivated to help out before. But then again, it’s been a while.”
“How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”
“Oh, I’d say about ten years or so,” he says with a shrug. “But even so, he’d pretty much just stop by as he was driving through town. I think he’s kind of a drifter or something. Never stays in one place too long.”
I try to recollect meeting this Leon person, the alleged trafficker, but I’m drawing a blank, yet at the same time it feels like I met him.
River crosses his arms, studying me. “Maddie, are you sure you’re okay? You seem, I don’t know…” He extends his arm toward me and brushes his finger down my cheekbone. “A little confused. Nervous. Lost.”
“I’m fine. I promise. I just need to go home and get some rest,” I assure him, moving away from his touch. Then I swing around him and push out the front door before I can say anything more. The last thing I want to do is discuss in details what’s going on inside my head right now. I just want to remember what I did and why the fuck I woke up in the freezer with blood all over my arms… why I’m hearing voices outside of my head… more than just Lily’s…
Swirling in my own confusion, I make my way across the parking lot. Fuck, it’s bright out here. And my ears and head are ringing. Plus the chilled air is stinging against my skin. I’m rummaging in my bag for keys, when I stumble across a white button shaped like a heart and an oval bright red one. I shake my head. Even in a drunken stupor, the obsession still gets to me. I stuff the buttons in my pocket and then start digging around for my car keys again. I’m pulling out the contents—lipstick, brush, a pack of cigarettes—when I notice red and blue flashing lights in the parking lot across the street at the One Stop Quickie Mart. Cop cars are parked in it, an ambulance, people crowding around, gawking. I know that scene. Something bad has happened and I want—I need—to know what it is. I’m not even sure if it’s an obsession this time. More like a need to find out if I’m connected to it at all. Lily grows extremely silent almost like she’s left my body entirely.
Feeling even sicker to my stomach, I cross the road, wrapping my arms around myself as the cold air blows. Cars drive up and down the street slowly, people curious, wanting to know just as much as me what’s going on, yet at the same time I don’t want to know, fear the answer and what it means about me. With each step, my heart slams harder in my chest. By the time I arrive at the curb, I’m barreling with adrenaline, my stomach burning. I know what lies on the other side of the crowd. God, do I know.
When I push through the crowd and reach the front, my hunch becomes painfully correct. A girl lies on the ground, a circle of dried blood pooled around her head making her blond hair look red. She’s wearing an apron too—an apron from the Devil & Angels Bar. I know her. Sydney, the waitress I’ve been fighting with.
“Jesus,” I mutter under my breath, unable to take my eyes off her. I know this girl and now she’s dead. Just last night she was walking around in the bar and now she’s here, lying on the ground. I got into a fight with this girl and now she’s dead. I thought about killing this girl and now she’s dead. “This is not good.”
“I know. It’s terrible, right?” Some woman says from beside me, horror stricken as she gapes at the body, probably a first timer in the dead body department. She’s probably in her forties, her black hair obviously dyed, and she’s wearing too much pink blush that matches her shirt that says Jesus Rocks! I actually think she’s knocked on my door a few times to try and convert me to something or anotherism. It actually happens a lot and my mom always sends them away with a smile and a wave as if she’s glad they stopped by even if she never goes to church. “Fairfield’s such a good community… this stuff shouldn’t happen here.”
“And what? Stuff like this should happen in other places because they aren’t good communities.” I say in a low voice.
“That’s not what I was saying at all,” she gasps, offended.
“That’s exactly what you were saying.”
The woman shakes her head in revulsion, and then she inches to the side away from me. I focus on the scene in front of me. Sydney looks so peaceful, like she’s asleep, only the blood shatters the illusion, paints it red with the nightmare that this is a reality. That she’s dead. Her shirt torn. Skin as pale as the snow. The white button down shirt, tied at the bottom, splattered with blood. The white shirt that’s missing a top button... a little heart button… I step back so suddenly that I bump into the person behind me. Muttering an apology, my eyes stay fixed on Sydney.
It’s just a coincidence. I must have found the button and picked it up before all this happened. I’m being set up. I wait for Lily to chime in with whatever she has to say on the matter, but she’s still inside my mind. Everything’s still. My body. My mind. It seems wrong, yet right. I seem empty, yet I seem whole at the same time.
Men in uniforms walk over to the body with a sheet in hand. They drape it over the body, cover it up from the wandering eyes. My heart slams against my rib cage as they start to scan the ground for evidence and I decide it’s my cue to leave. Turning away from the body, I squeeze my way to the back of the crowd and dash across the street to my car. Impatient to get away from here, I dump my purse out on the ground and search through the contents until I find my keys. Then I toss everything back into bag and hop into my car, revving up the engine.
“This can’t be happening… The button isn’t real,” I whisper as I push the car into drive, watching the lights across the street flash, flash, flash. Feel the rain falling… let the building burn… help me… Don’t leave me behind. Please don’t let me die. I’m sorry. A loud bang, and I walk up to the dead body, slowly pulling the buttons I’ve counted for years off his shirt, one by one. And with each one, I get a sick gratification from it.
“Good girl,” she whispers. “I knew you’d eventually come around.”
With my foot on the brake, I stuff my hand inside my pocket and retrieve the heart shaped button, stained with a dot of blood. The red one I’m not sure of who it belongs too, but I have a feeling that person might be lying somewhere in a parking lot, too. I should throw both of them out the window. Get rid of the evidence. The problem is I can’t. I attempt to several times, but my obsessive compulsive anxiety disorder is stopping me. I end up putting them back into my pocket and opening up the car door to throw up in the parking lot. My stomach is pretty much empty at this point and I mostly just dry heave. When I’m finished, I shut the door, ignoring the tears streaming down my face and drive away, wondering what the hell I did last night. Wondering if maybe Lily got too out of control and finally went through with her dark thoughts.
Maybe the end of Maddie is nearing.
Maybe she never existed at all.
Chapter 11
Maddie
I think I’m paranoid. Insane. Joined the crazy train and there’s no getting off. Not after what happened with Sydney. I can’t stop thinking about it, no matter how much it makes me ill. I’ve been trying to text Bella for the last day, hoping she could give me some insight to what I was up to, but she hasn’t responded to my messages yet.
“Blood on my arms. Buttons. That doesn’t mean anything. I could have been drunk, got into a fight or something, and simply passed out. Or maybe it was River’s blood all over me,” I say to myself as I pace my room, back and forth, back and forth, Lily chattering away in my head. She’s growing stronger with each passing hour and Maddie is desperately trying to hang on to reality. “I didn’t kill anyone. There’s no way.” Lily laughs and I let out a scream through my teeth in aggravation.
It’s been a day since Sydney died. A day since I brought home that button like a psychopath collecting a souvenir. A day since I woke up in the freezer with blood all over my body. And about an hour since the news announced the murder of Sydney M. Ralwington’s, former daughter, friend, waitress, soon to be worm food. “God, what the fuck is wrong with you?” There is no answer to that question, no resolution, no nothing. I never wanted to be crazy. Never wanted to fully act on my twisted impulses, the ones I’ve been fighting for the last six years. They were just supposed to be thoughts, but now… is it possible I’ve brought the madness out and made it reality? Did I kill Sydney? Or did something else happen? Was I set up by someone maybe? But who? Who knows me enough that they’d know putting a button in my pocket would mean something? There’s only one person who knows about it and she lives inside me.
Walking over to the box of buttons opened up on my bed, I look at Sydney’s, now part of the collection and the red, oval one that I have no idea who it belongs to. Picking up the heart, I clutch it in my hand, feeling the slightest bit of a prickle in my mind. Pick up the button, Maddie. What do you see?
“I see a crazy obsession,” I mumble, running my thumb across the front of the button. “All because of you.”
Don’t pretend that this is all me. You think it too sometimes. And you see where the obsession started. You were just a kid.
“So what. That still doesn’t mean anything.” I look around at the pictures of when I was a child, feeling like they can see and hear what’s going on, feeling as if they’re judging me. Finally, I can’t take it anymore. I start tearing them down, not caring that I rip some of them in half. I pull them all down, because I don’t want to see the past anymore—don’t want to feel like I’m being haunted by a past that doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. By the time I’m finished, I’m panting, there are photos all over the floor, and I feel strangely satisfied.
I pad over to the mirror and smooth my hands across my short, black hair that’s nearly drenched in sweat. There’s something in my eyes that I don’t like but that I do like at the same time. Untamed wildness, a specter of Lily. “I really do hate you,” I say quietly.
“No, you don’t. You’d be lost without me.” The reflection speaks back and I jolt back, slamming my elbow into the wall. “That’s why we’re talking, isn’t it? Because you need me? You created me because you needed me?”
I shake my head as I stare in horror at the mirror. This has never happened before, her appearing to me like this. She looks just like me only she has a streak of blond in her black hair and her eyes are a shade darker than mine. “No, I hate talking to you. It’s because of you that I’m going crazy.” I touch where the streak would be in my own hair.
The reflection laughs at me. Actually throws her head back and laughs like this is all just a big joke. “Don’t kid yourself. You’re only going crazy because you’re fighting the crazy inside you. If you’d just accept it—me—this would be a hell of a lot easier. I could take care of you, you know. Take care of all your problems.” She sounds so much like Ryland for a moment that it throws me off. “Life would be so much easier if you’d just let me take over.”
“Fuck you.” I glare at her and she rolls her eyes. “And I know it was you that night. Somehow you took over.”
“Maybe I did,” she says with a shrug and a twinkle in her eyes. “But sorry to disappoint, it wasn’t me that’s making you forget. That was something else entirely. Perhaps you had too much to drink… I’m still trying to figure it out.”
“I didn’t have that much to drink… And you have to remember some things because I can remember you with River,” I say.
“Yeah, but after that I’m in the dark too. I can honestly tell you I have no clue what we did that night, although really the possibilities are endless.”
I don’t believe her. “I know you killed Sydney that night and now you’re getting some sick pleasure in the fact that you did.”
“If I killed her, then you killed her. And if I find pleasure in killing, then you do,” she responds dryly, coiling the blond strand of hair around her finger. “You and I are the same Maddie in so many ways, so think twice about the accusations you make.”
My eyes burn with anger. “Fuck you.”
Lily rolls her eyes, the anger simmering in the reflection. “Now, now, now Maddie, don’t let yourself get out of control. It’s why you need me—for stability. I’m always taking care of you all the time. And sometimes it gets annoying how you repay me—with such hatred.”
“Maddie, are you in there?” A knock on my door startles me and I drop the button onto the floor. I hesitate to respond to my mother. I’ve been keeping my distance from her for the last twenty-four hours, for her protection mainly. Worried that Lily will take over again. That she’ll hurt someone. I haven’t even been able to shut my eyes, fearing what will happen the moment I go to sleep.
Knock. Knock. Knock. “Maddie, open up. This is important.”
“Okay… just a second.” I pick up the button, toss it back into the box, then put the lid on and hurry to the closet to tuck it safely away. I kick as many photos as I can underneath the bed before opening the door.
My mom’s standing just outside it, looking more worried and more aged than normal. “Who were you talking to?”
I force my brows to knit. “No one.”
She peers over my shoulder, her eyes enlarging as she takes in my bare walls. “And where did all your photos go?”
I shrug nonchalantly. “I got sick of looking at them, so I took them down.”
She frowns at my attire “What are you wearing?”
Cutoffs, fishnet tights, and a torn t-shirt—I’m Rocker Girl today. The outfit was supposed to go underneath my work attire, but I never made it that far. “My lounge clothes.” I sketch my fingers over a few studs in the collar of the shirt. “I was just about to change out of them.”
She touches the hem of my shirt, her face draining of color. “Why were you wearing them at all?” She rubs the corner of the shirt between her finger and them, then withdraws her hand and looks at me. “I didn’t even know you owned clothes like this. You look like…” She makes a face. “You look like a whore.”
You’re a whore!
You’re a whore!
You’re a whore!
My muscles spasm as her words, the deep voice thunders in my mind. My mouth opens and shuts. Opens and shuts. Lily is forcefully trying to push her war to the surface and it takes a lot to suppress her. I have no idea what I’m going to say to my mother. Cruel things. Hateful things. Terrifying things. But part of me just wants to keep my mouth closed. “Did you need something?” I snap.
“There’s someone here to see you,” she says almost soundlessly, lifting her hand to point over her shoulder at the hallways. “A detective.”
“What?” I can’t conceal my shock, my voice coming out off pitch. They know. “Why?”
She shrugs, folding her arms around herself, looking very upset, near tears. “I’m not sure. I think he said it had to do with Sydney Ralwington’s case.” She doesn’t sound surprised. I’m not surprised, but she should be, unless she knows more than she’s letting on.
“Okay…” I feign confusion. “But why? I don’t know her.”
She stares at me for the longest time. “You should change first,” she mutters with disappointment in her tone, eyeing up my outfit with disdain. “You look disgusting.”
“I look fine for going out into the living room.” I tug the hem of the shirt down and start to step by her.
She snags me by the elbow. “Maddie, please change—”
“I said it’ll be fine,” I interrupt her, staring at her hand on my arm then lift my cold gaze to her. “Now let me go.”
With her eyes pooling with tears, she withdraws back and grudgingly steps aside and lets me through so I can go down the hallway. As I step into the living room, I discretely wipe the sweat off my damp hands as I spot the detective. He’s fiddling with one of my mom’s knick-knacks, a unicorn missing half it’s horn. There are actually a lot of knick-knacks in the living room, practically taking over the shelves, the tables, the windowsill. It overwhelmed me when I was first brought home from the hospital, feeling like I was being watched by the little glass figurines.
“Can I help you?” I ask, my guard up, an invisible wall around me. I am unreachable. Untouchable. You need to be Lily, if you want to get out of this. She’s much stronger.
Never.
My arrival must surprise him because he drops the figurine, but recovers it mid fall before it can hit the hardwood floor and shatter. “Dammit,” he curses under his breath, then carefully sets the unicorn down before he stands up from the chair and crosses the living room with his hand outstretched.
“I’m detective Elliot Bennerly, from the Grove Police Department,” he says, waiting for me to shake his hand.
It takes me a moment to shake it, not to gather the courage, but to debate whether it’s a good idea to touch him. Finally, though, I decide it’ll make me look suspicious if I don’t, so I gently connect my hand with his and shake it politely and a shiver goes down my spine.
Do I know him?
“I’m Maddie Asherford,” I say.
“It’s nice to meet you Maddie.” He pauses, his ice-blue eyes sweeping over me, either looking for evidence or checking me out. He looks familiar but I can’t figure out from where. Late twenties, smooth skin, short brown hair, and nice facial features covered with a little bit of scruff. The only thing he doesn’t have going for him is the suit, otherwise he could be a Ken doll too, although the brunette one. Even though he’s good looking, I don’t want him—or anyone else—looking at me so intently at the moment.
“Likewise.” I causally slip my hand out of his and lower it to my side, unable to endure the touch of him any longer.
I wait for him to say something but he just stares at me with a pucker at his brow. The longer it goes on, the greater the urge gets to pick up the unicorn he was messing around with and bash him over the head. Elimination. This whole process would be a hell of a lot easier if he was unconscious and I just ran from it all.
There you go. Now you’re getting it. Survival.
“So, my mother said you wanted to talk to me about something,” I say, ignoring Lily’s voice the best that I can.
“Oh yeah.” He rips his attention away from me, and then ruffles his hair with his hand before reaching for his jacket pocket. “I’ve came to ask you a few questions about Sydney Ralwington’s murder.”
“Okay…” Adrenaline is soaring through my body. Fear. Even Lily’s afraid. I can feel her in me. Squirming. Restless. Worried.
Just be me and you’ll be okay. Be Lily.
“It’s strictly protocol,” he explains, retrieving a miniature notepad out of his pocket and pen. “We’re just questioning all the people who knew Sydney.”
“I didn’t really know her very well.” I take a seat on the sofa and then motion for him to have a seat across from me.
He sinks into the chair, pen poised on the paper. “But if I’m correct, you worked with her.” He fans through the pages of his notebook then squints at the paper as he reads over something. “At the Devils & Angels Bar?”
I nod. “I’m a waitress there and so was Sydney.”
He glances up at me. “Are you a dancer like Sydney was?” he asks, his gaze flicking to my bouncing knee.
“Dancer. Bartender. Waitress.” I place my hand on my knee to hold it still, attempting to keep my nerves under control. “You name it. I do it.”
“Sounds like you can do just about anything.” I’m not sure if he’s flirting with me or accusing me of something, so I’m uncertain how to respond. Do I flirt back, bat my eyelashes, and show a little skin? Or is he hoping I’ll do that so he can understand me better?
Let me take over.
I shut my eyes and open them, I swear I almost feel Lily slide under my skin and take over my body. I almost allow her to—let her handle the situation that she created. But right at the last second, I shove her away, not ready to accept that I can fully be her if I want to.
“When it comes to the bar, I do.” I recline back in the sofa, my focus on Elliot, portraying that I’m steady, confident—innocent. That I’m not guilty. “In life though, not so much. I only do the things I want to.”
He gives me a cryptic look then jots down some notes. “Did you see Sydney at all the night of March 15th?”
I twirl a strand of my hair around my finger and for a moment I swear it turns blond. “Yeah, at the bar when we were opening up.”
“Was she with anyone? Or did she talk to anyone at all that seemed suspicious?” he asks. “A customer perhaps?
I shake my head. “ I barely saw her for like maybe ten minutes, so I’m not really a good person to ask.”
Then pen stops moving across the paper. “What about later that night? Did you see her at all after the bar closed up?”
“No, not that I can recollect,” I answer as innocently as I can.
He assesses me again, his dark eyes drinking every detail of me in, from my messy hair to my bare feet. “What about the next morning?”
I feel like I’ve been cornered, walked straight into a trap. Either I can answer truthfully and have to explain why I was at the bar afterhours or lie and tell him that I wasn’t. But so many people saw me yesterday morning. Including River and everyone else standing around the crime scene. “Yeah, I saw her the next morning.” I let a slow, uneven breath escape my lips.
He puts the end of the pen in his mouth with his head angled to the side contemplatively. “When did you see her and where?”
“Around seven or so and I saw her… across the street from the bar.” I pause, remembering what I saw that morning; the blood, the dead body, that stupid button that is practically screaming to be found from the box in my bedroom. “When the police and the ambulance were there.”
He swiftly flips the page in his book, then reads over something, his brows furrowing. “I have a note in here that the bar closes at 3:00 am. But the police and paramedics weren’t there until after 7:00 am, so why were you still at work?”
“I had an… incident that night with one of the coworkers.” I feel like I’m failing a test.
He becomes very interested, even more than when I entered the room. “Incident?”
I wet my lips with my tongue and speak in my most sensual voice I can muster up, let myself pretend to be Lily for a brief moment. “Sexual incident with one of my coworkers. Completely welcomed and all, but we did end up falling asleep there.” I wink at him, playing the part of Lily. Playful, fun, and composed and it almost feels like I’m watching myself in a mirror, instead of inside myself, actually doing it. “You know how that can go.”
I think he might with the way he bites his lip, as if remembering some hot sex he had once and I seriously consider pinning him down on the sofa, tearing his shirt open, and watching the buttons fly all over the place. Maybe that would get me out of this mess.
