Page 21 of Stag

She flinched at my glare, and at least that meant she could see how I felt about her words, and her damn intervention during the best kiss of my life.

“I kissed him,” I said simply, watching her eyes widen.

“He’s that biker guy. In disguise, and creeping on you.”

I shook my head. “He’s a man who danced with me in the club, and made me feel beautiful and wanted. He was kind, and sweet, and he kisses like a god. Why did you take that from me? What did I do to you to make you want to ruin everything good in my life?”

Marissa gasped, and I swear I saw her blinking against tears, but why was this how things worked between us? She’d hurt me, upset me, ruined my night, and now I was supposed to feel guilty for calling her out for it? Was this narcissism or something? Gaslighting? I couldn’t remember the term for it, but this is how it always happened.

If I dared to speak up about this stuff, she’d be upset, and I’d feel like a bitch for it. Why couldn’t we just have this conversation like grown ups?

“Marissa, don’t do that.”

She squeezed her eyes closed, her chest moving as she probably held back a sob. She always did this to me. Why did I always weaken? Because I fucking love my twin.

“It’s okay. It… it probably wasn’t good for me, but it felt good and I liked it. It’s not like I’ll see him again anyway.”

She swiped at her eyes, a big smile appearing at my words.

“I’ll join you for the rest of the movie.” Great. Let’s sit and pretend this shit isn’t happening day in and day out, a movie will fix that.

Chapter Nine

Some fucker handed me my phone before I left, walking down the road to the taxi rank, because I didn’t come on my ride. Incognito, see. Not that it fucking worked.

I was in the cab, kinda relieved that my phone was safe, I mean, it’s a shit phone, but I never got around to replacing it, and then my hours were cut, and so, it’s just what it is. I’d been meaning to add a passcode, but it’s just like everything. I’ll get to it. Hopefully nobody stole any shit while they had it though.

The last app opened wasn’t an app as such, but my phonebook, and when I glanced down the list, looking for god knows what, I found something. A new entry.

“Claudia from the club?”

Claudia? Was it her? Was this her number? Or was it some cruel trick someone like that Grimm bastard had cooked up, just to fuck with me? I could make a right cunt of myself if it’s someone like him, rather than the woman I felt so close up against me tonight, and wanted to spend the rest of my life touching like that.

Claudia. If that was her name, it was so pretty. Actually the name of my favourite character from Warehouse 13, but that’s just because I enjoy snarky characters in everything. They always add a dimension that… Jesus… is that how I behave around everyone? Being the snarky fucker, but always getting it wrong?

I laid my head back against the headrest with a groan. What the fuck was I doing with my life? Everything was going to crap. Everyone was against me. I was being thrown into a dangerous situation, and used as a pawn by both sides. I couldn’t even get fucking laid, that’d take the edge off. It had to. Guess it’s just me and my damn hand tonight.

By the time I was in bed in my shitty little tent, I stared at the empty message box I’d opened up with ‘Claudia’, wondering what the hell to say that would tell me if it was really her or not. Something she’d know but anyone else wouldn’t.

Hmmm.

Me: Is this my sweet dancing partner?

That was lame, but you can’t take a text back. Or can you? Jesus fuck! I tapped the message to look for options, but before I could delete it, a response popped up.

Claudia: I’m glad you got your phone back. Thank you for the dance.

Still not sure.

Me: I’m sorry it ended so abruptly. I was really enjoying it.

Was that wrong to say? Would it sound like I was blaming her for it ending? It wasn’t her fault, it was that psycho bitch sister who fucked it all up. What was her problem with me anyway?

Claudia: I’m sorry about Marissa. She’s overprotective, and it’s kind of a nightmare.

Huh. She called it a nightmare, so maybe she wasn’t any happier about it than me. The phone buzzed again in my hand as a new message appeared.

Claudia: That was wrong of me, I know she loves me, she just panics.