CHAPTER 24
The weeks blurred into one strange fever dream, half chaos and half comfort. Most nights, we were nothing but loudmouths and bad ideas stitched together with quiet moments in between.
She made me laugh like nobody else. Proper belly laugh, the kind that made my ribs ache. And she looked weirdly comfortable for someone who used to threaten to slit my throat for breathing near her.
We planted ourselves outside a scuzzy little bar on the edge of town, threw on our best ‘we’re definitely supposed to be here’ expressions, and started charging a cover fee.
“Ten quid admission,” I’d tell them, all confidence and no authority.
Misfit stood next to me like she owned the pavement, arms crossed, expression like she might stab you for fun.
She barely had to speak. Half the time, people would glance her way and hand over the money out of pure intimidation.
We pocketed every note, every single one.
Zero fucks given. Blagging ourselves a greasy kebab and a bottle of something worse than vodka and sat under a flickering streetlamp splitting it like kings.
We kept some of the money back and raided the corner shop, buying everything we could get our hands on.
My bed looked like a fucking candy store.
Empty crisp packets, squashed sweets, and that bag of popcorn she’d opened like it owed her money, went fucking everywhere.
My duvet was starting to feel more like a landfill than something you’d sleep under.
Misfit was already flopped across the mattress like she owned the place.
Legs hanging off one side, in my hoodie, yet again.
I was sitting near the top, cross-legged, working my way through the half of a Twix I’d managed to peel the caramel from like some weird sugary surgery. My focus was absolute until she spoke.
“You eat like a raccoon.”
I wasn’t going to justify her comment with a glare; I just countered. “Yeah, well, you sleep like a corpse someone forgot to bury.”
She snorted, “And you look like the before photo in a self-help pamphlet.”
That one hit. I clutched at my chest dramatically. “Wooow. Right for the trauma. That was a low blow.”
She grinned, unbothered, smug little gremlin. Casually tossing a Skittle into her mouth, “You’ll live, unfortunately.”
I retaliated with the nearest ammo I could find, popcorn—one quick flick of the wrist and a kernel pinged off her forehead.
A wide, devilish smile stretched across my face.
She didn’t even blink. Just turned her head slowly, like some horror movie villain, and reached for the popcorn bag with deadly calm.
“You sure you wanna start this?” I sat up straight, widening my eyes to her.
“Bring it on, bitch.” She prepared herself, leaning onto her heels, suddenly more alive than I’d seen her all day, and threw the first piece of popcorn. It smacked me square in the eye. It fucking hurt!
She howled. Like doubled over, slapping the bed, breathless laughter tearing out of her like it had been caged up too long. I tried to act offended, but it was impossible when I was laughing just as hard.
And that was it. She was off.
She started rapid-fire lobbing popcorn at me like a madman.
“Oi,” I snapped, half-laughing as another piece sailed past my ear. “That’s assault with a salty weapon.” I raised the empty Doritos bag like a shield, deflecting a few stray shots. One rogue piece landed in my hair while I was trying to dodge her tirade, struggling to hold back laughter.
“You trying to kill me?” I said, batting away a popcorn salvo.
She grinned, “Debatable.” She held up the bag and shook it. One pathetic little popcorn puff rolled at the bottom like a tumbleweed in a ghost town. Her eyes met mine, wide with mock horror. “Don’t you dare.”
I grinned, “Run outta ammo, have we?”
“No.”
I pounced before she could react, tackling her sideways into the mattress in one fluid motion. She shrieked through a laugh, twisting beneath me.
“Ceasefire!” I barked, chest heaving with breathless amusement. “You’re officially disarmed.”
“You cheated,” she huffed, trying to buck me off.
“You used brute force. That’s not how snack warfare works.
” Her breath fanned my collarbone, and for a stupid second, I forgot how to move.
Awkwardness quickly returned as her smile faded.
Our eyes locked onto each other, and my pulse quickened as my heart jumped into my throat.
I drifted over her features, her once obsidian eyes, which I’d known to burrow into my soul, didn't look right.
They looked … washed out.
As if smoke had seeped into the darkness.
I frowned as I leaned closer, “Your eyes—”
She blinked, her brows pulling in.
“What about them?”
But something else caught my attention, pulling my gaze to the corner of her mouth—a thin dark vein, something I hadn’t noticed before.
It pulsed, shifting unnaturally under her pale skin.
Then vanished, gone as if it had never been there.
Playing it smooth, I cleared my throat, shifting back just enough to let her sit up.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” I muttered, forcing a smirk. “Just thinking how old you look up close.”
What the hell had I just seen? Was I so hyped up on sugar that it was making me hallucinate?
She shoved my face away, chuckling to herself, “Dick.”
But even when we started laughing again, I couldn’t shake it. Because for that split second, It didn’t feel like I was pinning Misfit to the mattress. It felt like something older had been staring back at me.
“Right. Ceasefire, remember? You’re lucky I’m merciful.”
She gave me a look. “You’re lucky I don’t have more snacks.”
“Terrifying,” I smirked, tossing a stray popcorn piece at her head. “Truly.”
I don’t know when it shifted. When I started noticing how I scanned a room the second we entered it. Not for exits, but for threats.
Threats to her.
The all too familiar feeling I used to get about her in juvie before, well, we tried to kill each other.
If someone even looked at her wrong, I’d feel that spark ignite low in my spine. Not jealousy but protectiveness. Like I’d drag someone outside by their teeth if they ever tried to approach her.
She never said anything, but I felt Misfit watching me. In those quiet moments where I’d mentally slip away, lost in whatever excuse I was building next. I could feel the questions pressing behind her eyes, even if they never made it to her lips. But I always answered them, just not out loud.
I’d disappear for a day or two, sometimes three. “Family shit,” I’d say or “Old debts.” And she’d nod, just once, and I’d hate myself a little for how easy she let me lie.
But the truth was Selene. She’d call, asking me to stop by. Never quite begging, but there was always something laced beneath her words. Something that always made it hard to say no, yanking on the invisible leash tightly wrapped around my neck.
She’d always be waiting; eyes glazed with something more dangerous than alcohol.
And every time I told myself it would be the last time, she never made it easy.
Her fingers would hook into the collar of my shirt before the door was even closed.
Lips on mine, hot and desperate, like I was the only thing keeping her from burning to ash.
There was even a time in the tiredness that I would see Misfits' face rather than Selene’s, causing me to jolt backwards until I regained myself.
It was always a blur, low lights and half-empty bottles of expensive wine. I’d lie in her bed afterwards, her head on my chest. And she’d say things like “I could run away with you.”
Not a chance! This was a transaction, nothing more. All part of the service, if you could call it that. If she was catching feelings, then that was her problem. I’d never answer her, but continue tracing lazy circles on her back, waiting for the guilt to crawl back in.
I’d just come out of the shower, towel slung low on my hips, when I heard the front door rattle. Selene’s head snapped toward the hallway, eyes wide.
“Shit,” she hissed. “It’s him. He’s not supposed to be back ‘til tomorrow.” My blood turned to ice. She was always careful, but I’m guessing that in the height of all the drugs she had been taking lately, her perfect facade was slipping.
I’d only seen her husband once before, a tall, grey-haired businessman who spent way too much time using sunbeds.
That first time was a chaotic foreshadowing of what was to come.
She had called me earlier than intended, already shit-faced at midday.
I turned up like the good little lap dog I was, only to find his car still in the driveway.
I retreated fucking quickly, hiding myself amongst the well-trimmed hedges, waiting for him to leave.
After about an hour, he finally fucked off, driving down the street in his swanky BMW.
She was already waiting at the door when I emerged, giving her a disgruntled glare.
“What the fuck Selene!” She just giggled and dragged me inside.
She shoved me toward the closet with surprising force, whispering fast, “Get in. Don’t say a word.” The space was small and stifling, her fur coats and designer dresses brushing against my damp skin as I wedged myself between them, heart hammering.
I heard the front door open. The familiar grunt of her husband’s voice, followed by the sound of his shoes hitting the tile.
“Thought you were in the city?” Selene’s voice was too steady, surprising considering the amount of booze she had thrown back.
“Got back early. Missed my own bed,” his deep, muffled voice sounded from the hallway.
I held my breath as he passed the bedroom, the floor creaking beneath his weight. He lingered outside the closet door. “Smells like cologne,” he muttered. Selene let out an all-too-fake laugh.
“It's yours. I sprayed some on the pillows last night to help me sleep.” A long pause.
“Hmm. I’m grabbing a drink.” The sound of retreating footsteps never sounded so good.
She yanked open the closet ten minutes later, eyes wild, lips parted as if she might still be riding the thrill.
I didn’t let her speak. I stepped out, grabbed my shirt, and avoided her gaze as I whispered, “Get your shit together Selene.” She leaned against the wall, arms crossed, blocking the hallway.
“Oh, come on, it’s not that bad.”
“Not that bad?!” I hissed, pausing as she looked at me, unfazed. “Oh, Hi, I just fucked your wife into oblivion, but I’ll be off now.” Creasing my brows towards her.
She just covered her mouth in amusement. I threw on my clothes and pushed past her. Slipping out the side kitchen door, closing it softly before crouching past the study window where he spent most of his time.
To say I fucking legged it was an understatement; I struggled to catch my breath by the time I got back to the car. My hand gripping my chest when my phone buzzed in my pocket, of course, Selene.
“Until next time, lover boy xx”
I lingered in the car a while after arriving back at the flat, allowing my heart to settle back down from the near miss, remembering to park it a few blocks away.
The place was in darkness when I pushed open the door, Misfits perfume now becoming a permanent distraction here.
It was a mixture of plum, patchouli, and leather.
The only reason I knew that was because her things were now scattered across my bedroom, the ornate bottle permanently placed beside the bed.
I argued she was secretly moving in, but she would stand her ground, saying hell would have to freeze over first. All I knew was she wouldn’t stay away for long.
But what got me the most were the dreams…
fuck, the dreams. At first, it was small things.
Hazy scenes where I couldn’t see her clearly, just caught pieces.
Fingers drifting over my chest. Lips brushing the shell of my ear in the dark, whispering things that made me twitch awake, breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a curse.
I blamed the vodka, or the stress. Or how tightly wound everything was becoming.
But then the dreams got bolder.
More vivid.
Her eyes locked with mine, her thighs on either side of me, her voice low and sultry in a way I’d never heard when we were awake.
I’d feel her breath on my neck, the warmth of her mouth grazing mine, her hands dragging beneath my shirt, nails biting into my skin like she knew every place I was weakest.
It was torture.
I’d wake up hard, chest rising in quick bursts like I’d just run a mile, sheets twisted around my legs like a noose.
And worse, she’d be right there asleep beside me, all soft curves and steady breaths.
I’d lie still, staring at the ceiling wide-eyed, willing the heat in my blood to settle.
Shifting away from her body slowly, like she might wake any second and see my reaction to her.
I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t risk ruining this strange, delicate thing we had, this messy, comforting limbo where we danced around the truth like cowards.
So, I kept hiding it, this building ache, all while pretending I hadn’t already felt her pressed against me a hundred times in the dark behind my eyes. Fuck. I was so screwed.