Page 87 of The Villain

“What’s wrong?” I open the door all the way to let him in. I look up and down the hallway as he passes but no one is there. I close the door and lock it back, just in case, before spinning around.

“Why are you out in your pjs again? What did they do?”

He stands there with his blank expression and stares at me. He gets to see me in my pajamas for once. I glance down at my shorts covered in dancing coffee beans and my ripped crop top 80s cartoon shirt I’ve had forever, the fuzzy no show socks, the tattoos. I wonder what I look like to him?

He shakes his head but he’s starting to blush and he’s staring at my chest. His pants are beginning to tent and my nipples peak in response like they’re trained. This is nice and all but why the fuck is he out in his pajamas? He only does that when he’s upset.

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you hurt?”

My voice brings the anger back out as his eyes jerk away from me.

He turns in a full circle, slowly taking in the shitty apartment and I watch him judge how I’m living without comment. It’s not impressive. A single room kitchen, living room, bedroom with a separate bathroom. There’s no furniture. It looks like it should be vacant.

When he makes it back to face me he’s scowling.

“Shade?” I ask him with a frown. “Talk to me. Are you hurt?”

“Where are your things?” He asks in a rough tone of rage. The monster is out and he’s not happy.

“Right there,” I point to the backpack.

“Everything else?”

“Packed up. Now tell me what’s going on.” I demand.

“You’re leaving,” his lip curls into a snarl.

“Stop fucking deflecting and tell me what’s wrong,” my voice goes gritty.

“You aren’t going anywhere,” he grinds out. “How long have you been living like this?”

“The whole time I’ve been here.” My housing is what’s making him angry?

“Why?” He snaps.

“Because my money is tied up right now.” I tell him slowly. I need to feel out where this is going but he’s more confusing now than he was before.

“Why didn’t you ask Tera for help?”

“I don’t need help.”

Apparently it’s the wrong thing to say because he marches to me, bends, and lifts me onto his shoulder. I go with the move, excited that he’s finally getting into the game. He won and now he’s taking the prize. Would praising him be inappropriate when he’s so upset?

“Shade?” I ask with a smile I can’t stop.

I’m swung around as he carries me back to the bedroom area, retrieves my backpack, and starts for the door.

This is new. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so satisfied with losing a game.

He gets the locks undone easily as if I weigh nothing. Then slams my door hard enough that the neighbor starts yelling, starting a chain reaction of cursing from several doors. The newest tenant, a woman with red hair that always looks sad, leans out and holds up her phone with a questioning look. As if she’s asking if she should call the cops.

“It’s fine. He’s just being dramatic,” I strain to call out with a wave. She gapes at me and gives me a hesitant nod, retreating into her apartment. I try to play boneless as I bounce on his shoulder.

“You’re wearing bunny slippers. That’s going to be tough on the stairs.”

“Shut up,” he snaps and smacks me on the ass. The move almost makes me laugh with the machismo. It does make my heart skip and start racing though so I keep quiet. This is a night of firsts for me and I’m not sure where this is going. I’m giddy about it.

He makes it down the stairs just fine with me flopping around like a fish, not helping at all. I think he’s going to dump me on the ground to start yelling until I hear a car alarm chirp.

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