Page 3 of The Devil In Disguise

I once asked him to put his hand on my throat. Not even to squeeze, but just hold me there. The look he gave me made me feel ashamed for what I like. In my opinion, the things I’m into aren’t even too crazy.

What I want is passion and spontaneity. For someone to fuck me hard and swallow me whole with their all-consuming desire for me. A wild ride where I don’t know what to expect next, but I’m on the edge from the anticipation alone. I want to trust someone enough for them to choke me so hard during sex that I pass out then wake up again from the merciless way they take me.

Am I asking for too much here?

A short groan pulls me out of my thoughts; the only time he makes a sound and his only tell that he’s finished. I got put on birth control right when I met him, so I don’t have to worry about him leaving a bun in my oven. He breathes heavily and flops like a fish on the side of the bed where he sleeps. After he gets comfortable, he leans over and gives me a chaste kiss. “That was amazing, baby. I’m worn out.”

I look over at him one last time before getting up. By the time I get out of the shower, he’ll be fast asleep. I gather my nightgown and towel to go wash the day off of me.

I settled on making a simple sandwich before bed, wishing I took my mom up on her offer for dinner while I was there. With my food in one hand and a blanket around my shoulders, I make my way to my favorite spot in this apartment—technically, it’s outside, but semantics.

Our balcony is cozy. I’ve slowly added my touch to the bare area with chairs and fairy lights. The reason I really love coming out here, though, is for the magnificent, unobstructed view of the stars and the moon. Being on the twenty-third floor, we sit well above most of the surrounding buildings. It never ceases to amaze me or ease my mind before bed, not to mention it provides a pretty epic view while I eat alone.

The skyline is dazzling as always, with lights decorating the entire city. The city that never sleeps.

“Que estoy haciendo?” I ask out loud. “Nothing feels right.” I usually talk to the moon and sky about my day or my feelings—I’ve been doing it for as long as I can remember—and it helps me feel lighter before bed or work things out myself. So, I continue my spiel about how my day went, fully aware that if anyone were to see me right now they would think I’m a crazy person.

My life feels like it’s on hold, but I don’t know how to press play and take the next step forward. What is the next step? All I know for sure is that I want more. More excitement. More to look forward to.

I’m almost twenty-one without the slightest clue what I want to do with my life.

Sometimes, I feel like a shell of a person. Not that I ever show it to anyone; people look for weakness, and once they find it, they will use it against you the first chance they get. Everyone who meets me sees a stuck-up mean girl, just because I won’t hold my tongue when the situation calls for it and I’m not instantly friendly.

My guard is always up and that’s what people don’t like.

The moon is so beautiful and powerful. She entrances me every time my eyes focus on the bright globe. My connection to her is so strong that I always know I’m protected by her. She gives me strength and support, listens when I have a heavy heart and need to scream at the top of my lungs, or is there for something small that I want to share with someone that day. When I walk alone at night and I see her among the stars. I know I’m safe. Some people call that God, I call her my friend.

Chapter 2

I’ve been warming up and shadow boxing for about thirty minutes now. I look over at my sparring partner for today and see that he is almost ready for round one. I step in the practice ring and wrap my hands while I wait on him.

We jump right into it, him taking the first swing. Over the years I’ve honed my quick reflex skills the most. I swiftly dodge his first hit and counter it with two quick jabs. He gets his next hit in and we fight until the three minute round is up. We either take a short rest break or one of us taps out.

In these sessions, I come alive. My thoughts come to a halt and my focus is solely on my opponent. Above all else, fighting has always been an outlet for my frustrations. My parents signed me up for MMA fighting when I was thirteen for self-defense, but a couple years later I found boxing and have been hooked ever since.

Thankfully, neither of us taps out, so we box for four rounds straight. We eventually let the next set of partners enter the ring. I say goodbye to my partner and the main coach before heading to the showers. I love being active first thing in the morning because then I’m energized and in a better head space as I start my day. Don’t get it twisted—this is not an everyday thing. I like to sleep in some days, too. But I have a key to the gym, so I have twenty-four-hour access. Coming in here in the middle of the night when there is no one around, when it's just me and the punching bag, is my favorite. It’s the best feeling to get lost in here for hours.

When I make it to Black Steam Café, it’s just me and the only person that I actually like at this job. Frida is an older lady in her early fifties. She has been working here since they first opened and is the biggest sweetheart to everyone. There’s a natural, loving, motherly bone in her body that does not go unnoticed. Most days when we’re slow, she gives me advice or tells me stories of her former escapades.

I started working at this cozy, cottage-feeling, corner café two years ago while I was in law school. I came by one morning and fell in love with the ambiance and their coffee. I hated law school with a passion and never wanted to be a lawyer, but that’s all my dad expected from me. Shortly after moving in with Duke, I dropped out.

My father was not quiet about how he felt about that decision. On the nights I was missing my mom and felt like I couldn’t go visit her because he was still mad, Frida invited me over and treated me like her own. I love her like family, even knowing that eventually, I will have to move on from here. I don’t know what I want to do with my life yet, but I do know it’s not this.

“Is it just us two today?” I ask hopefully.

“Wendy comes in at noon, dear.”

Groaning dramatically, I pass her a rag and she laughs at my reaction with a knowing head shake. I can’t stand Wendy. She’s been an exasperating pain in the ass since she started working here.

“Well, it’s still early and I don’t need that negativity. Let’s get this place open and hope for a new hire to apply,” I say, aiming for optimism.

“Doubtful, but I like where your head's at.” She gives me a playful smile.

The morning goes by pretty fast. We don’t get too busy, but we get just busy enough for me to constantly have something to do. Frida and I move in sync and understand how to work well together, so it’s efficient.

I’m handing somebody their change when I hear a familiar, grating laughter to my far left. I internally roll my eyes before turning to the owner of the sound. I’m not surprised to find Wendy with a skin-tight jumpsuit under her apron—that’s tied tighter than a corset—laughing at some corny joke the guy in front of her said.

That girl is three giggles away from sitting in his lap until he coughs up half his wallet.

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