Page 210 of His To Erase
I’ve played nice. I smiled and nodded while my body screamed. I’ve folded small enough to fit inside someone else’s fantasy, and I swore I’d never make myself that small again.
Now I get it. Now I fucking remember what this feels like. This rage. This itch beneath my skin. It’s not fear anymore, it’s the crackling static of something waking up inside me.
Something that was buried so deep, I forgot it had claws.
I move fast, heading out the door and down the hall. I don’t let myself second-guess it, don’t let my breath hitch or my heartbeat slow. I just move.
Outside, the air is cooler than I expected, biting at the edges of my sleeves as my feet hit the stone steps. The wind cuts across my cheeks, sharper than it should be, but I don’t stop.
The gates shift open with a slow mechanical groan as I walk past, the second I’m through, I exhale like I’ve been holding my breath for days. I don’t stop walking until I’m down the street and around the corner.
Inside,the bar’s already pretty busy. Sarah’s behind the counter with her signature bun, two braids knotted through it like a spell that says fuck around and find out. She’s mid-pour, flipping a bottle in one hand and jabbing the tap with the other, when a guy at the corner nearly wipes her out with an elbow.
She doesn’t miss a beat—just glares at him and hisses, “Do that again and I’ll wear your liver like a purse.”
Then she sees me and her whole face lights up. “Oh, thank Christ. I was one crypto bro away from lighting a ceremonial fire and disappearing into the woods.”
I let out a dry laugh and slide behind the bar, catching the apron she throws at me.
“You would’ve had to leave me a note,” I mutter. “Or a blood trail.”
“I was thinking smoke signal. Maybe a coded message in limes.”
The second I’m in motion—stacking glasses, wiping down the counter, dodging elbows and pickup lines—the static in my head quiets just a little.
The next few hours blur as the rhythm takes over. I flirt just enough to double my tips and avoid every man who thinks a wink is a personality trait. And through it all, I keep checking the clock.
By ten-thirty, my shirt smells like citrus and regret, and Sarah slides up beside me with two shot glasses and a look that says spill or I swear to God, I’ll hex your shampoo.
“You gonna tell me where the hell you’ve been,” she says, handing me a shot, “or am I gonna have to summon the dead?”
I sigh. “Can I plead temporary insanity?”
“You can plead whatever you want. I still know you’re full of shit.”
We clink, then throw them back and it burns just enough to make me human again.
“Okay,” I exhale. “Frank flew me to Taos for dinner.”
Sarah’s head jerks like I slapped her. “You what?”
“It was just for dinner,” I say quickly, “but I stayed the night.”
Her eyes narrow. “You stayed the night? Ani?—”
“Nothing happened,” I cut in. “At least, I don’t think it did. I was exhausted. He said I practically passed out at the table and didn’t want to put me back on the plane.”
“Okay but... are we sure he didn’t drug you, or did he just charm you into a blackout?”
“I don’t know.” My voice drops. “That’s the part that’s got me all twisted up.”
She doesn’t press. Just pins me with a look only your best friend can give you—the one that says I’m here even if I want to slap you.
“So, what about the tattooed sex god?” She asks eventually, sipping her drink like it’s casual.
I blink. “Steven?”
“Unless there’s someone else you haven’t told me about. Then I’ll be pissed and demand you tell me where mine is waiting. The one with the jawline carved by vengeance and a stare that could burn through kevlar. You know, that Steven.”
