Page 100 of A Smile Full of Lies
Because every time the light hit just right, I caught the faint red scratches peeking above the collar of my shirt. Her scratches. Her claim.
The mirror made them look small, almost nothing — but I remembered how she’d left them there. Nails biting into my chest when I drove into her, her voice gone wrecked and pleading. I remembered the way her teeth had caught my throat, sharp enough to sting, soft enough to make me want more.
Marks like that were supposed to fade. Temporary. Forgettable. But I felt branded. Like she’d burned herself into me, line by line, and the shirt I buttoned over it wasn’t covering a damn thing.
I smoothed the fabric down anyway, hiding the evidence. Because that’s what I’d trained myself to do: make the mask look seamless, even when the man underneath was split open.
A thought pressed at me, one I didn’t want.
What if she regretted it?
What if she came to her senses, realized what she’d let me take, and pulled away? She’d loved someone once before — Thayer — and it had gutted her when he left. If she looked at me and saw the same kind of ruin waiting, would she bolt? Would she convince herself that last night had been a mistake?
The scratch marks in the mirror said she’d chosen me.
But the fear gnawing at my ribs said she could still take it back.
I gripped the edge of the dresser, steadying myself. The reflection staring back at me was calm, confident, perfectly assembled. But I could feel the cracks beneath it, the hunger and the fear fighting for space in my chest.
And it was all because of her.
I reached for my watch on the dresser, fastening the band around my wrist, but my eyes caught on the drawer just beside it.
The one I shouldn’t open.
Still, my hand moved before I could stop it, sliding the wood back to reveal what sat inside: a burner phone. Black. Cheap plastic. Scuffed at the edges. The kind of thing no one would look at twice, which was exactly why I’d chosen it.
That was where I’d buried @NoxObscura, that day after she’d damn well followed him. Moved it off my main phone weeks ago, told myself I was compartmentalizing. Keeping the mask separate from the man, keeping the game tucked away where it couldn’t bleed into my life. Where she couldn’t accidentally find it.
Except the screen was lit.
A soft glow against the dark interior of the drawer, insistently waiting for me.
My jaw tightened. I should’ve shut it down altogether. Should’ve cut the cord the second I decided to touch her without the mask between us. But I hadn’t. Some sick part of me needed to keep it alive, needed the tether.
And now it was blinking at me.
New messages.
I picked it up slowly, thumb hovering over the unlock like maybe I could still put it back down, pretend I hadn’t seen. Pretend she hadn’t reached out again.
But I swiped anyway.
Her name stared back at me, bold and impossible to ignore. @MidnightRose.
My pulse kicked hard, heat crawling through my veins.
For a moment, I let myself imagine what it could be. One last taunt. A cut-off. Or maybe — maybe — something darker, some confession she couldn’t bring herself to give me face-to-face.
I opened the thread.
And her words hit me like a fist to the ribs.
MidnightRose: Whatever business you think you have with me is finished.
MidnightRose: You win, okay? You win. I came for you. I wanted it. I got off on it. But it’s over and done.
MidnightRose: I have feelings for Knox. Real ones. And if you want to be a petty piece of shit and tell him everything you pulled out of me during your little game yesterday, go ahead. I’m done living in fear of what it might cost me to admit what I really want.
