Page 39 of Pure Killers

"That’s sad. You were out in the country?"

"Yeah, b-but it turned out okay. I like the city better."

I slide into the passenger seat, and Seb turns the ignition, switching the heater up. "You're very glass half-full," I comment.

As he pulls out onto the street, turned quiet now the rush hour has passed, Seb shrugs. "I was in a wheelchair for a year, then crutches and b-back and forth. That’s when I got the s-stutter. They say stress did it. So now I d-don't stress."

Laughing, I watch the city pass by. "Very logical. I like it."

When we reach my building, he pulls up right out front. "Thanks," I say, reaching for my bag. I have the door open when I turn back, taking the impulse to ask, "Would you want to get lunch sometime?”, before I can think about it too much.

He grins. He doesn't wear the thick glasses while he drives, just normal ones now. “Yeah, I’d l-like that.”

I smile. That felt nice. “Okay, I’ll see you.”

***

Olivia lends me some kind of balm to heal the bruise faster. I don’t expect it to work, but by Sunday the swelling and bruising have gone down enough that makeup will cover everything that’s left well enough. I’ll be able to go in tomorrow like nothing happened.

The music is blaring through Olivia's closed door now. She's got a guy in there, and won't be coming out for much, so I feel pretty confident crossing the dining room in my singlet and panties to get a midnight snack from the kitchen. I leave the lights off just in case I need to dash back to the room.

To say I don't linger next to the fridge, under the high cupboard where my stash is, would be a lie. Then I imagine Dirk, smelling it on me tomorrow, the look on his face as he recalls what an alcoholic mess his partner is. It’s not annoyance on him in those times exactly, it’s almost… hurt. I force myself to grab a bag of chips, opening them right there. They're salty. But still,a sip of something strong calls. Someonedidtry to kill me a handful of days ago, I reason with myself. Maybe I've earned… I cut the thought off. This is how the addiction gets me. I'll go well for days, even weeks, and then it strikes with an intensity that makes up for it. From not even on my mind to all I can think about, from one moment to the next. I feel the jitters in my limbs, the urge to be doing something. But it's midnight and the only easy thing to do is waiting in the cupboard.

The last time Dirk picked me up while I was still a little drunk and trying vainly to hide it, he hadn't said anything, just shook his head. It hadn't felt good, that was for sure. I really should make things easier on him. I remember the easy smile on his face, the lights of the club flashing blue and red over him. He looked so sure, so comfortable—and when he found me in the wastewater plant and carried me… I stop.

This is too much thinking of your partner.

Maybe I should masturbate instead. That'll take my mind off drinking, and off other things. Yes, that seems like a good idea. But no Dirk. Safer that way.Needler, then?A traitorous voice in my head suggests. Him in the office, him in my room, behind me… I eat another chip, not tasting it. Maybe porn is the answer. Yes, that seems smartest. Plan in mind, I grab a bottle of juice out of the fridge. Before I've even stood back up, letting the door of the fridge tap closed, I know I'm no longer alone. I hesitate for a beat, like I'm just looking for something else. The music from Olivia's room hasn't changed; the door hasn't opened. Not her or her friend, then. Which leaves…

I spin around, still holding the juice, as though it’s a shield.

Needler tilts his head at the bottle, making me feel more than a bit ridiculous. I listen again, knowing if Olivia comes out and sees this… there will be problems. "Get out!” I hiss. “My housemate is home."

A pause, he listens. And probably picks up on the noises filtering through the music. She's very much preoccupied.

Without turning my back on him, I slide my snack back onto the counter. When he takes a step towards me, I eye the door out to the dining room where it connects the open-plan to the living room, but he's too close to that side. So I back into the corner instead. I feel his eyes move to my body now, the singlet old and thin enough to the point of being see-through, the panties with their little blue bow. "I said I'd come to collect, didn't I?" he asks softly. My skin tightens to gooseflesh, pushing my nipples against the fabric.

Suddenly he's within reach, but I slide out of his grip, only to come up against the other corner. God, why does this kitchen have so many damned corners? And why didn’t I turn the light on? Needler closes the distance and catches me against this one, the bench edge cold on my lower back. My breath catches as his leather gloves graze my bare skin.

"About what you owe me, my Little Shadow…" he hums, lips brushing my jaw as I turn my face away. The blinking light of the microwave, telling us to set the time, glows off him—soft orange, then gone, black.

"I don't owe you anything," I hiss, even as a little thrill goes down my neck from where his warm breath caresses my jaw. "You're a madman."

"Ah." I feel him smile against my skin. "And your madness was temporary, was it?"

My teeth push together. "Yes. I had a head injury."

A laugh. "I'm afraid that’s not how it works. A deal's a deal."

My breath catches as he nips my earlobe. I make myself soften on a deep breath, tilting my chin up. It works. He presses closer, and kisses me, his hands sliding up to my throat, fingertips on my jaw. I grip his shoulder with one hand, but my other creeps back across the bench. Focussing elsewhere as his tongue slidesagainst mine and threatens to dizzy me, I doubt my memory, my questing hand finding nothing. Where is that damned knife block?

My shoulder protests the unnatural angle, my mind losing track of the purpose. Then I find it. I'm touching the hilt of a kitchen knife. I can only hope it’s a good one. With my record lately, it’s probably the bread knife.

I don't find out. His eyes pop open, the white stark inside the mask, yellow in the flash as the microwave light blinks, a beat before his hand closes on my wrist. Holding me there, my shoulder at an awkward angle, he doesn't break the kiss, keeping me in it, lingering and slow. "Behave now," he whispers when he draws an inch away.

"I'll behave when you…" I start some kind of threat, not knowing how I can reasonably end it.

"Not too loud…" his lips dip towards my ear. "If your roommate comes out, I'll kill her."

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