Page 13 of Frozen Obsession

I shake my head, my voice trembling.

"No, I haven’t," I manage to say, forcing the words out through the fog in my brain. "I—I saw him this morning before he left for work…" My voice feels distant, like it’s coming from someone else.

Marcos shoves a box into my hand. "Did you notice this out here?" he asks. I shake my head, the box feels heavy, and there’s a metallic smell to it. What the fuck?

Marcos steps inside, scanning the room before his eyes land on me with concern. "What is it?"

"I have no clue," I reply, my voice shaking slightly. I open the box, and it falls to the ground with a loud thud. Disbelief washes over me as I stare at the contents. Dismembered hands.

"What the fuck, Marcos?" I screech, panic seeping into my voice. His green eyes widen as he crouches, picking up one of the hands, the left one.

"Xena, what the fuck is this?" he asks, his voice low and horrified. Tears sting my eyes as I try to process everything—Jimmy’s disappearance, what happened earlier, and now this. Hands. In a fucking box.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Marcos?" I snap, my mind spiraling out of control.

"I need a fix... I ran out," he mutters, already heading toward our stash like thesevered hands are nothing.

Quickly, I shove the hands back into the box and push it outside, out of sight. I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now. Just like I do with everything else, I’ll pretend it didn’t happen. I follow Marcos, knowing exactly where he's headed—our little stash hidden behind the toilet.

"He’s not answering," Marcos says, voice laced with unease.

"So what now?" I ask, my heart racing. "Jimmy’s missing, and there’s a fucking box of hands."

A cold shiver creeps up my spine, but Marcos just shrugs. "I don’t know, Xena, and I don’t care. I just need a fix."

"You think he might have overdosed or something?" I ask, trailing behind Marcos into the bathroom. He doesn’t respond, too focused on retrieving the oxy from its hiding spot.

We pop the pills, and I settle onto the bathroom counter, legs exposed as Marcos traces my tattoos with lazy fingers. "You worried?" I ask, watching his hand pause mid-trace.

"Should I be?" He leans in closer, his breath warm against my skin. I shrug, not really caring either way. His lips wrap around my nipple, sucking gently, making me shiver as his tongue plays with my piercing.

"Mmm... I bet you got him high somewhere, just so you can fuck me all night," he teases, chuckling against my chest. His fingers dig into my thigh, sending sparks up my spine.

I smirk. "Now that’s something I didn’t consider."

Truth is, I’m not worried. Jimmy’s always going MIA—he’s probably strung out on some other chick’s couch, and I can’t say I’m mad about it. Right now, this is perfect. Decent sex while I wait for sweet oblivion to take me under. The storm outside intensifies, the wind howling like something alive, rattling the walls as the power flickers erratically. Marcos groans, his voice muffled against my skin. "Shit, you might lose power tonight."

For the first time, unease creeps in, tightening low in my gut. My mind drifts back to earlier—the dull ache still lingering between my legs. It’s not the kind of soreness Jimmy’s cock would’ve left behind, nor Marcos’.

"Probably," I mutter, trying to piece together the fragments of whatever the hell that was. Something doesn’t sit right, a strange pulse of memory I can’t quite grasp. I bite my lip before asking, "Marcos... Did you sneak into my house today? Or do you know if Jimmy came back while I was asleep?"

Marcos steps back, his green eyes locking on me, a flicker of confusion passing over his face. He scratches at his goatee, the sound grating in the quiet. "Nah, I didn’t. I was at some girl’s place, having fun. Jimmy should be with his dealer, getting more merch. He’s not answering though, so he’s probably high, fucking some whore."

I nod slowly, trying to convince myself that he’s right—that I’m just tripping. But fuck, that felt real. And now, the need, theache, is back, crawling up my spine and making my skin hum. Enough to make me want Marcos’ dick inside me right this second, just to chase away the lingering discomfort. Just to feel something.

"Fuck me," I whisper, my hand slipping beneath his hoodie, fingers trailing down the happy trail to the waistband of his pants.

His green eyes darken, and without a word, he growls, "Bend over."

I jump down from the counter, turning to face the bathroom mirror, gripping the edges of the sink as I bend over. Marcos fumbles with his pants, tearing open a condom wrapper with his teeth. There’s a brief, charged silence before he groans, sliding into me. "Fuck, you're wet already, Xena."

Yeah, I’m wet, but not for him. Not for this. Whatever happened earlier,that’swhat I want. The fullness, the pain, the punishing thrust that made me feel something beyond the numbing haze. But Marcos isn’t that. His hands tangle in my hair, nails scraping my scalp as he yanks my head back, fucking me hard andfast. There’s no rhythm, just raw need—his need to cum.

I can feel myself slipping away, the sensation muted. My hand slips between my legs, fingers working my clit, desperate to feel something, to chase the orgasm that’s just out of reach. But it’s not happening. Frustration builds, simmering just beneath the surface. I can’t replicate that feeling from earlier—the intensity, the satisfaction. I need it, crave it, but all I’m getting is rough, empty sex, and it’s not enough.

It doesn’t take long for Marcos to finish, groaning my name as he spills inside the condom. His body slumps against mine for a second, his breath hot on my skin. "When are you gonna let me make you my girl? Fuck Jimmy and his pills," he murmurs into my neck, teeth grazing my flesh as he kisses and bites me lazily.

I sigh, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My brown eyes are dull, the smudged remains of days-old mascara smeared beneath them, making me look as tired as I feel. "You know I don’t do relationships," I mutter, my voice flat.

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