Page 10 of Gravehouse

I smile at her. “Yes, thank you.” Gathering the dress, I find my bag sitting on a chair and swipe it up just as I hear footsteps on the stairs.

I freeze. I feel him before I see him. I always will. In every room, every lifetime, I’d feel him near.

He leans against the wall, crossing his arms and tilting his head. “Such a shame, Venom. Would have loved to fuck you in that dress.”

My mouth snaps closed as I quicken my steps down the narrow aisle and to the door of the bathroom.

As soon as I’m shut inside with gold fixtures and marble surrounding me, I press my back against the door, eyes closed, lungs burning with every breath.

Breathe. Just breathe.

Twisting my arm to my back, I find the buttons and ties and tug at them aimlessly to tug them off.

Luce knotted me up real tight, probably because she was too busy yapping about her latest adventure to notice.

The first clip doesn’t budge.

I twist my arm further, shoulder screaming in protest, but I can’t get them off.

“Come on.” I yank at the fabric. “Come the fuck on.”

The second clip catches on something. Lace, maybe. Or my own desperation.

I yank and hear a small rip, but the dress stays locked in place, something I stepped into willingly and now can’t escape.

My reflection catches in the mirror, but I force myself to look away, unable to acknowledge this situation.

I try again. Both hands this time, contorting my spine in ways that would make Leon proud.

Sweat beads at my hairline. The makeup Luce spent an hour perfecting starts to slide. I don’t care. I just need this dress off. I need to feel like myself again, whoever that is.

The third attempt leaves my arms shaking and my patience shredded.

I lean my forehead against the cool marble and count to ten, then twenty. The jet’s engines hum beneath my feet, a vibration that travels up into my bones.

We’re moving. Taking off. Going somewhere I wasn’t told about with a man I don’t recognize wearing the face of someone I loved.

The clips dig into my spine when I straighten.

I could ask him. On any other day, I would have. I would have walked out there and turned my back to him without a second thought. His fingers knew every inch of me. Every clasp and zipper and hidden hook.

But that was a different Asher. A different me.

This version of us doesn’t get to touch each other like that anymore.

My hand finds the door handle. I crack it open, just enough to see the main cabin. He’s sprawled in one of the leather seats, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The attendant hands him a glass of something amber. He doesn’t look up.

Sinead passes by with a tablet, their attention fixed on the screen.

“Sinead,” I whisper-yell, hoping they hear.

They stop and turn, those hazel eyes on me through the gap in the door.

“Yeah?” Their brows jump in surprise.

“Can you…” I hate this. I hate every syllable of it. “I need help. With the dress.”

Without hesitation, they nod. “Give me a sec.”