Page 11 of Devotion

He storms toward the house, but only makes it a few steps before halting.

“I don’t care how much money or power you have. Do you hear me? If you feel you have a valid grievance, have your lawyer contact mine. Until then, we’re done with this. I’ll no longer be accepting your calls.”

He backs the phone away from his ear a few inches, and I assume he’s going to hang up, but he presses it to the side of his face again.

“Is that a fucking threat?” he asks, and then pauses while awaiting a response. “Hello?Hello? Damn it!”

This time, when he lowers the phone and trudges toward the house, he makes it inside and shuts the door behind him. One by one, lights begin to pop on, and I consider tossing on clothes to check in with him. However, the sound of my twenty-minute warning alarm sounds off, which means that’s exactly how much time I have to shower and dress before I’m expected to sign into the system to start taking calls.

Guess Dad will have to work through this one on his own.

I start gathering my things for the shower again, stopping beside my nightstand. A thought pops into my head, and I slide the drawer open, removing the purple, silicone vibrator from inside it. There’s no doubt that I’ve earned a bit ofme-time, but then I remember how I tend to knock out cold after I come. With a three-hour shift ahead of me, that’s probably not a good idea.

So, I set it back in its place, and pull out the bottle of sleeping pills instead, setting another alarm on my phone for exactly two and a half hours. That’s when I’ll pop a couple, and by the time I’m done taking calls, my head will hit the pillow, and I’ll be out in an instant, sleeping like the dead.

My vagina objects to the idea of being put on the backburner, but she’ll have to wait. Apparently, her needs are secondary on both mineandMartinez’s list of priorities.

5

Layla

My room is filled with the noise from my ceiling fan and the cricket symphony outside my window, but still... it’s hard to tell if I’m actually awake.

What’s happening to me?

I feel lucid, but… not.

My limbs are like lead, weighted down, sunken into the mattress. Even turning my head feels labored, requiring far more energy than it ought to.

It’s the pills.

One would’ve been enough, but I stupidly took two, feeling more wired than usual. Now, I’m unsure whether this is real or imagined. And I’m so out of it, this almost feels like the few times I’ve experienced sleep paralysis.

The comparison makes my heart race, and a foreign sound leaves my mouth, a cross between an exhausted groan and words. Although, I’m not actually trying to speak.

The weight of sleep passes over me again, settling into my bones as the lines blur even more. So much that I’d swear the blanket is slipping off my skin, being pulled to the floor by some unseen entity. But I’m too tired to care, too tired to be afraid. Even when there’s a touch, gentle and feather-soft, moving down the length of my arm as I catch an unfamiliar scent. It’s pleasant, but impossible to place, notes of pine and citrus that have me wishing I could lean into the source of it. The touch trails past my wrist to the tip of my middle finger, and then it’s gone. The scent hasn’t left me, though.

Nor has the sense of there being a warm presence beside my bed.

The mattress moves a little, and I’m not sure that was me.

It could’ve been.

It probably was.

No, ithadto be.

The touch returns. This time, it’s on my leg, just below the knee, then higher. Without understanding my actions, I part my legs, drawing a sharp breath when the sensation moves to my inner thigh.

Is that my hand?

Am I touching myself?

My nipples harden beneath my tank top, feeling as solid as pebbles as I become uncomfortably aware of the fabric stretched taut over them. That strange groan leaves me again, and a random thought passes through my brain too quickly to hold onto it—I wish I was naked.

I squirm against my freshly washed sheets and the movement is too much. My body goes limp again to recover. What feels like a soft breath moves against my ear and that scent is stronger now. And what’s even stranger is… I think I’m wet.

Another soft gust of warm air touches my ear, and then… words. A voice that isn’t my own.

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