Page 85 of Feed Your Fiends

“What are you thinking?” He asks against my ear.

“This is the first song we danced to in Marisol’s studio when we first met.”

He says nothing, but I can tell he’s hanging on to my every word as he clutches me tighter with each turn.

“And here we are again, seemingly at the start.”

Or I am.

We twirl right.

“And I’m thinking about how much of a doll I feel like in your arms.”

He peers down at me, those sunless tunnels penetrating through me.

“How sometimes starting over maybe isn’t so bad if you have the right support. And you’re supporting me.”

For now.

“And with a little more support…” With more money, more resources. “I think I can stand,” I say, slipping further down his torso so that I’m putting more weight on my feet. “I can stand by myself.”

Without you.

I let him go, and immediately a burning I don’t expect tears through me. Not because there’s pain exploding through my feet, but rather it’s tearing through my heart.

Why? Isn’t this what I want? To let him go? To show him how cruel I can be, too?

But for it to be cruel, he’d have to care first, and does he really?

He reaches for me, and the burning pain stops as that familiar warmth starts oozing through my veins.

“Not just stand,” he whispers. “Fly.”

Fly away.

From you.

“I know my little love bird can soar above us all. She always has. She always will. It’s why I love hunting you. It’s why I’ll never stop.”

Love.

His weirdly sweet smile shreds something inside of me, and for the first time since waking up in my new altered reality, I kiss him with my whole heart. Because I’m not depriving myself of anything, right? Not while I’m here. I can take what I want. Use what I want.

It’s not greedy, it’s resourceful.

It’s self-care.

Delusion.

Pretend.

His lips part, and I take the bait, slipping my tongue into his mouth where he sucks on it sharply, before easing into a gentle massage. I’m melting, heat pooling between my legs as I taste him, really taste him after all this time.

I’d thought girls were crazy when they said they sniffed their man’s armpits, but here I am, greedily inhaling the breath that’s escaping his nose. His scent is engulfing me, strangling me as I huff it. Not synthetic cologne, but that natural scent my brain immediately identifies as nothing but him.

Him.

Him.

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