Page 60 of Mayfly

That?

I never imagined four letters, one syllable, could hurt so badly.

He couldn’t even look at me.

All I wanted was his eyes, and now that he’s finally given them to me, they’re cold, and dead. Like he doesn’t even know who I am. Like he was in on this fucked up plan the whole time.

My suitcase was open.

He had free rein of the room while I slept.

He played me.

I’m nothing but a fucking job.

“Did you really think I didn’t know about him?”

Curren takes another step towards him, ripping away any hope that still remained inside me, as his eyes settle back on Issak, Marius—whoever this cunt really is. And there’s a brightness to them, like there was when we laid in bed. When he ran his fingers over my hair. When he kissed me on the forehead and said he wouldn't hurt me.

“I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“How can you not? It’s been me and you since I was fifteen.”

“But why?” Curren’s voice is like honey. “Why would you go to this much trouble?” Now that they’re close enough to touch, he reaches out to brush aside some of Issak's hair.

“Because I knew you’d never see me as long as he was in the picture.”

Curren’s hand rests against Issak’s cheek, and he speaks so low it’s hard for me to hear. “How did you even know he existed?”

“I remember the day he showed up. You stared at him for so long… Y—you never looked at me the same after that. You didn’t sleep in my bed for a week.”

My eyes dart back and forth between them.

Curren told me, promised me, he’d never been with a man before.

“I could protect you from my bed just as easily.”

Issak lowers the gun and reaches for Curren’s hip. When he doesn’t pull back, he shuffles forward as Curren’s hand slides to the back of his neck. “Why haven’t you ever seen me?”

“I’m looking at you now.”

My chest tightens.

I thought I was free.

I thoughtwewere free.

I thought it was fate that brought us back together, but it was a double agent and the hit man willing to come whenever he called.

There’s nothing left for me.

But it felt so real. Every time he touched me, kissed me, breathed my breath into his lungs because we were so damn close.

I can’t have been the only one who felt it.

I can’t go on if he didn’t mean a single word.

With both of their attention on each other, I strain against the tape on my arms. The chair is digging into my back and my shoulder sockets are aching from how tight my arms are bound behind me. My legs are no better; each strapped to a leg of the chair and wrapped from knee to ankle. But, if I push with my toes, I could topple it backwards.

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