Page 26 of The HalloQueen

ANNABEL: You cook?

TOMMY: I watch enough cooking shows that I presume I can, but I can’t taste it so I’ll need you to tell me what you think.

ANNABEL: You can’t taste food?

TOMMY: Non, everything tastes the same to me.

ANNABEL: I bet we could monetize that and go around to bars having people place bets on your ability to handle a ghost pepper and then you just…obliterate it and take their money.

TOMMY: Maybe another night. Tonight I want to make chicken marsala because I’ve always thought it looks delicious.

ANNABEL: Sounds yummy to me.

I waited a moment.

ANNABEL: I’m still anxious about being around you, Tommy. I don’t know if this is the best idea.

TOMMY: I know.

ANNABEL: That was comforting.

TOMMY: I can’t ease your anxiety from across town, amour. I’ll see you later.

I sighed, switching on airplane mode and putting my phone back on the tripod. The internet never slept and my tits weren’t going to bounce themselves.

A few hours later, I felt confident that I'd captured the energy of the lingerie collection and decided to go home to take a nap. The movement and coffee helped the hangover a little bit, but it honestly felt like something was wrong with me. I had to force movements and think harder to achieve results that should have come easily to me. I felt as useless as a sedan trying to haul a travel trailer up a hill. The more incapacitated I felt, the more my anxiety rose, and the more my anxiety rose, the angrier I got with myself because my first stupid thought was, “if I was with Thomas I could just chuck these feelings at him and move on.”

Only, I couldn’t trust my feelings anymore, could I? If he was able to take them from me, how did I know he wasn’t manipulating me into wanting to give them to him? He hadn’t even explained how this worked yet - would this kill me? So far, he claimed he’d only taken depression and anxiety from me, but could he steal my happiness? Could he manipulate my lust? It was as if the harder I thought about it, the more gray any level of consent with him would be. Could I believe that any of my thoughts and desires toward him were genuine? Would there be a way for there to be clear and enthusiastic consent?

But fuck, two seconds with him was better for my soul than a freaking Xanax. If there was a way to keep it mutually beneficial for us… what was I saying!? He was a vampire! VAMPIRE. I wasn’t some 16-year-old damsel in distress singing Evanescense in my beater car smoking stolen cigarettes, well, not anymore. This was my real fucking life. Decisions with this would impact my entire world - also, Tommy worked at a Halloween store and was sleeping on an air mattress, so I didn’t think I’d won the sugar daddy lottery like all the books on my e-reader claimed I would if I found a monster.

I headed out to my car, determined to sleep and recharge my battery before whatever terrifying revelations were going to be dropped on me, and drove back to my row house, finding parking two blocks down. I loved my neighborhood, but things like street parking were not something I was looking forward to doing in winter again. My place in Chicago had a bus station directly in front of it so I hadn’t bothered with keeping a car there. I could only imagine what a snow plow could do to a parked car.

Checking my watch, I saw that it was only 4:45, so I headed upstairs, took off my lounge pants, and crawled into my big delicious bed in only my crop top and undies. I could never sleep with pants on, something about the fabric on my legs always had made me feel tangled. My bedroom was the only room in the house that I’d managed to fully unpack, and that was solely out of the need to have the place where I slept be as soothing as possible. I’d found an online vision board that was a dark academia mixed with boho plants and had immediately become obsessed. I’d filled the tall bay window facing the street with hanging plants in macrame and a ridiculously soft chair and a half, which was perfect for reading in on rainy days, and I’d bought all of my bedroom furniture second-hand to give it an eclectic vibe. I’d found a big iron bed that looked stunning against the mercury glass moon phases I’d gotten online and hung on the wall. My bedding was made up of moss, whites, and blacks in varying textures, my favorites being the faux fur and velour ones, and my nightstands were made with brass snake pulls and mercury glass mirrored tops. This room also housed my beautiful and extensive smut collection. My life had been changed when exclusive reprints with discrete covers had become popular. How I could suddenly get all of my favorite book boyfriends inside of leatherette covers with gilded pages? Sold. Sold every single time.

I leaned over to turn off my vintage fringed lamp and it was only a matter of moments before my eyes fluttered shut, taking me away to dreamland.

* * *

When I awoke, my house smelled divine. I was confused for a moment, laying under the piles of blankets with my eyes closed, since I knew I hadn’t put anything in the slow cooker that morning, but when I heard, “Annabel,” I screamed and jumped from the bed clutching my chest.

“Jesus fucking Christ how did you get in here?!” I placed my hands on my knees and bent over, resting my ass against my wall, and tried to slow my heart. A freaking vampire was sitting nonchalantly on my bed like he had every right in the world to be there.

He smiled, “When I got here you were asleep so I thought I’d let you rest while I cooked you that dinner,amour.”

I gasped through a swallow and waved my hand at him, “no, like, I knew you were coming over, but how the fuck did you get in my house?”

He blinked at me confused a few times before answering, “you invited me.”

My eyes closed to slits and I glared at him, “yes, I know, smartass, but how did you get into my house while I was dead asleep and manage to cook an entire meal without me waking up or knowing that you were here. I could have died!”

Tommy shrugged as if it was nothing consequential, “you were tired, you weren’t answering my texts and I figured you needed the rest. Are you ready for dinner? I’m desperate to know what it tastes like,amour.”

“Aw, shit,” I grumbled, grabbing my phone from my purse and turning off airplane mode. As a slew of texts came through, I heard a deep rumble come from across the room so I turned to look at him, “What now, bat boy?”

His eyes were glued to my legs and ass. I had strong thick legs which made my german ancestors proud since this bitch could haul her own plow when the horse went lame, but genetics had softened up a bit on my rump making it freaking huge and covered in dimples from years of cellulite and weight fluctuation. He seemed to be stuck on my tattoo, which covered the majority of the side of my thigh, and was a large grayscale raven, sitting on a stack of books.

“Please insert cash or select payment type,” I said dryly and his eyes blinked before meeting mine.

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