Page 5 of Unclench Me Softly

He says my name like he doesn’t believe it. Like it’s a dare. Or a euphemism.

“I am,” I say, smoothing down my dress, which of course has a sage smudge on it now. “And you’re...?”

He smirks. “Jax. Riot.”

I stare at him. “That’s not a name. That’s a warning label.”

“Guilty,” he says, and walks past me like he owns the dirt under his boots.

I spin after him. “You weren’t supposed to be here until tomorrow. I still have, there are, um, sacred preparations happening.”

He stops in front of one of the domes and gestures at it with his helmet. “That the one I’m in?”

“That’s the Moon Dome,” I say, a little breathless. “And it’s not ready. There’s still... energy calibration happening.”

“There’s a bucket in it,” he says, not even looking. “To catch the leak.”

Traitor. “That bucket is part of the Receptivity Ritual.”

He grins like he doesn’t believe me and also wants to see if I’ll double down.

I do. “It represents your subconscious willingness to surrender your internal floodgates to the divine unknown.”

“Right,” he says. “And this whole thing’s about... healing, right?”

“Yes,” I say, lifting my chin. “Through surrender. Through stillness. Through sacred masculine integration.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So does that mean you’re gonna sage my dick, or what?”

I blink. My brain blue-screens. My womb makes a weird sound I’m going to blame on kombucha.

“No,” I say, finally, “But I am going to ask you to take a deep breath, ground your energy, and maybe don’t rev your bike like a demon’s chasing you next time, because you scared the trees.”

He laughs. Not a polite laugh. A full, barking, disbelieving laugh that I feel in places. “Trees,” he repeats, still smiling. “Right.”

He strolls toward the dome, leaving behind tire tracks, scorched sage, and the distinct sensation that my entire spiritual foundation is in serious danger of being jackhammered.

I stare after him, clutching my incense stick like a sword.

It’s fine.

Everything is fine.

This is all going to work out.

I just need to keep my chakras tight and my libido tighter.

I stomp back into the Sacred Intake Office, slam the door dramatically (which is hard because it sticks and kind of just squeaks), and immediately grab my phone.

Because I need a witness.

I open a text thread labeledGREMLIN COVEN 4EVERwhich is just me and my best friend Callie, who once helped me stage a fake goddess ceremony to get out of jury duty. She’s the only person alive who knows I’m one linen robe away from a federal scam investigation.

ME:

he’s here

like actually here

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