Collateral Damage

C H A P T E R 30

C H A P T E R 30

SMALL TALK

Puppeteer

Play - ‘idfc – Blackbear’

“ I s that why you're all macho?” I mean. She's not wrong, she's clearly never met a dyke before.

“You mean gay? ” I pull a pair of black joggers and a clean tank top from my drawers before heading to the bathroom to change, hearing her raise her voice through the doors.

“Yeah that name is pretty gay.” She continues to insult me but she doesn't realise I get off on that shit.

“You won't be saying that when I make you scream it.”

“ In your dreams .” My foot breaches the bedroom door making her jump.

“Alo. I'm serious. Go ahead, ask me anything. We have all the time in the world.” Literally . So we may as well kill some time and get to know each other.

“OK…errrm. What is your favourite colour?” A stupid laugh slips out, imagining all the things she could have said but she decided to ask the most basic question of all.

“You could have asked me anything and that is the first thing you ask me?” My arm rests against the door frame, watching her as she slumps on the bed like a typical teenager and I'll be honest my eyes are fixated on her bare thighs and those lacey little undies she's wearing. She's definitely doing this shit on purpose.

“I suck at this OK!” Me and her both . But we are both getting a giggle out of it and that mischievous little smile is starting to grow on me a little too much.

“It's black, like my soul. ” She yanks herself up from the bed, clapping her hands in slow rhythmic fashion.

“Did I ever tell you you're an A* comedian?” My wrist rolls, bending slightly to poorly bow at her mockery.

“I'm kidding. It's orange. Yours?” I’ve never had a favourite colour really, not until now anyway, as I stare into her most rich shade of amber. Her face scrunches in concentration and it's honestly the cutest thing I've ever fucking seen.

“Yellows? Erm… Pastels mostly.” Eew . Really ?

“Yellow is hideous. ” This conversation is gonna need a beer. I pull myself off the door frame to walk to the kitchen. She bellows like I'm not 3ft away, pitter pattering after me.

“You clearly suck at this too, and what's the difference between yellow and orange!?” I never said I didn't but she was the one who kept pushing and those colours are worlds apart.

“Anyway… Next .” I avoid her question, earning me a stern glare of judgement.

“Er- your favourite food?” I barely eat as it is.

“Take out. Quick and easy.” Little miss ‘I eat seven healthy home cooked meals a week’ looks mortified.

“Take out? You don't have a favourite meal?” Besides the odd meals Mom managed to make without a fight, most of it was oven shit and slop.

“Does pussy count?” Her face is priceless and I wish I could frame it.

“Ew!- Gross!” She's visibly gagging and it's exactly why I said it.

“Yours?” Her entire aura shifts and I feel I hit a nerve.

“Spaghetti Bolognese. It's been my favourite since I was a kid. Reminds me of home.” Yeah I definitely hit a nerve.

“I'll have you know I'm an outstanding chef.” My poor attempt to draw that smile out doesn't take long, shaking her head as a smirk appears.

“Oh yeah? They give you cooking lessons in prison?” Oh. Two can play at that game.

“You're underestimating me again. My turn. What's your body count ?” Her body stills, side glancing at me with pure and utter disgust.

“You're charming, you know that? Why would I tell you that?” That's just it. I know she won't.

“What is it?” I take a beer from the fridge, guzzling it to drown myself in this painfully cringe small talk.

“A few. It was great.” She's lying .

“Oh yeah?” My ass finds the sofa beside her and she's finally comfortable enough not to flinch, trying to cover her bashful deception. Completely diverting so I don't ask further questions, digging into her amazing sex life.

“How old are you?” I was waiting for that one. It's been almost four months, and she's never commented on my age. Either that or she was scared too.

“I have scars older than you.” Her eyelids drop, kissing her teeth as she attempts to playfully shove me against the arm of the sofa alerting Shep to sit up, trying to get involved in the mischief.

“I'm serious Hayden!” She's totally worried I'm an old creep and I mean. Eleven years is a pretty big jump.

“Why? Nervous?” She thins her lips, having a mini tantrum trying to hide the fact that I think she lowkey finds it attractive I'm a decade older than her.

“Just tell me.” I'll make her work for it.

“Half of 58.” She zones out trying to figure out the sum, already terrified at the high number as she glares at me and the penny drops. Leaping off the sofa like this is going to change anything, getting Shep all excited as he paws at her legs. She also got that a lot quicker than I was expecting. Smartass .

“You're 29!!!”

“Probably should have asked me that before you stripped in front of me, aye Puppet .” My legs spread wider in front of her as I melt into the sofa, hugging the back of it as I chug another swig, swimming in confidence as I grace her with a wink and her thighs clench tightly together. She’s looking everywhere but at me.

“My turn. When's your birthday?” I know exactly when her birthday is but I have a sneaking suspicion she won’t tell me. Birthday hater and all that.

“I'm not telling you my birthday. I hate my birthday.” Thought as much . And just for that she is going to wish she had told me.

??

W hat do you even buy a girl you have held captive in your house for her birthday. I stroll through the supermarket grabbing bits and bobs and my shops have been exceedingly pricey since she came into my life. Rinsing my damn wallet. Typical woman.

I know I shouldn't give a flying fuck about birthdays but as she's hidden it from me, it makes me want to make a big deal out of it all the more.

I grab ingredients for dinner and a tiny cake because I never said I was good at baking. That was my mother’s thing. And I don’t even know why I am thinking about this but I think she would have loved my Little Innocence . Circumstances aside.

As I make my way towards the checkouts a mannequin catches my eye. It's coming up to spring and this ugly pastel yellow dress is on display. I collar one of the workers, not at all surprised they look terrified of me, glaring at my scar like they’ve never seen one before. I get it everywhere.

“Excuse me. Do you have anymore of these in stock?” She smiles so wide it looks like it hurts but I can feel her nerves through her eyes.

“Yes we do Sir. What size were you looking for?” Shit . I didn't think about that. She can be no bigger than a small but I'll get both just in case.

“Small and medium?” Her nerves wash off as she catches the flowers in the basket and it's rather ironic. A few flowers and some chocolates completely changes her tune even though there is a serial killer 1ft away from her.

“Certainly! I'll be right back.” I hover for a while, waiting for her to come back and it doesn't take long before she waddles in my direction handing me the dresses.

“Who's the lucky lady?” She eyes up my basket once more and I just cringed so hard. She's the furthest from lucky.

“Er, just a friend.” I suppose we are now. She'd deny it and call us acquaintances but acquaintances don't strip naked in front of me. That definitely earned our status an upgrade.

I remove myself from the equation before she asks more questions and speed walk to the checkout. This shit is already way too ‘normal’ for my liking. I feel so out of my comfort zone I almost didn't come in at all but the fridge was empty and we needed food.