Page 47 of Ominous: Part 1
Her: I’m so scared I’m shaking.
Me: Be careful before you fall asleep tonight. I might climb through your window and give you a reason to shake. Answer my question.
Her: Green. Yours?
Me: Blue.
I like green, too. I like it a lot. Probably more now because she loves it. But blue is the ocean. Blue is an escape.
Me: Have you ever done something illegal?
There’s a pause. I smile, rolling onto my back, imagining her biting her bottom lip. Shaking her foot or her leg, maybe she’s not even sitting down. I see her eyes, those swollen, red lips. Her fingers wrapped tight around her phone.
I bring my hand down, running my palm over my erection.
Her: Yes. Have you? Aside from your “almost” drowning?
I laugh a little because I don’t think she believes me on that. Now, she’s stealing all my questions, but I don’t care. I’m imagining her answer and kicking myself for making this a one word game. I try to back up, although her adherence to game rules is firm and fascinating. Like in my car over the weekend, after the tournament.
Me: What did you do?
Her: Answer the question.
Me: Yes.
Her: You tell me what you did. I’ll consider telling you.
I smile and roll my eyes, glancing up at the ceiling. Blue lights along the edge. What should I tell her? So many things, I don’t want to scare her. She has ambition. I can tell in the way she studies. Answers in class. Does her fucking homework. The grades she had at Shoreside I saw on her records. She was recommended, I saw that, too, but her GPA is better than mine, and mine is damn good.
Me: I drove without a license.
It’s an oversimplification. I was thirteen, and it ended horribly. But on its most basic level, the words are true.
Her: Wow. So edgy. Very hardcore.
Me: By all means, tell me about your homicide, Eden.
Her: I took a knife to school.
I flick my gaze up to her knife emoji, my body growing hot.
Me: Bad, bad girl.
She takes a few minutes to reply, and I imagine her hand down her pants. Her fingers inside of her, her eyes fluttered closed as she thinks of me.
Her: You like bad girls, don’t you, Eli?
I shove down my shorts, wrapping my fingers around my cock as I stroke myself. I want a photo. I want to see her naked. But I don’t want to mess this up.
Me: I like you.
Her: An angel, remember?
It’s just like her to avoid my confession entirely.
Me: Be a devil for me.
Dominic texts me as I stroke myself and I see the message at the top of my screen.
