Page 21 of Dark Knight

My core tightens, the warmth in my center pulsing with newfound life. I haven’t been aroused in months or even considered touching myself or trying to reach an orgasm, but I can feel the desire pooling in my stomach.

The center of my panties feels damp, my pussy clinging to the cotton. I can’t believe how aroused I am. Shit, I need to get out here. Clearly there is something wrong with me. I need fresh air to clear my head. There must be some kind of gas leak in the house because that's the only excuse I can think of for what I just did.

First, there's the matter of tiptoeing away from the bathroom door. The shower is still running, so I doubt he could hear me, but I'm going to be as careful as I can anyway. With my luck, I'll step on a creaky floorboard and announce my presence. I’m so disappointed in myself. Not because what I did was wrong or anything like that—I mean, it wasn't right, but that's not why I sort of want to sit in the shower with my clothes on and bleach my brain.

The biggest problem is, I need help understanding what it means. After all this time, I get all hot and bothered because of him? It has to be because he's the only decent-looking guy for miles. Even I can admit he's handsome. His friends aren't ugly, either. Although, compared to Romero, they might as well walk around with paper bags over their heads.

But this is Romero.Romero!Someone who has never wasted an opportunity to make me feel small, spoiled, and stupid. He has never once held back for the sake of sparing my feelings, and somehow I'm dripping wet over him. It’s pathetic. Just the thought of how he’d react if he knew makes me want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

Once I'm down the stairs, I head straight outside to the front porch, where a cool breeze touches my overheated skin and makes me sigh in relief. I pull in as much air as my lungs can hold and then let it out all at once, almost like I can blow away everything I'm feeling inside. That shouldn't have happened. Now, it will always be in the back of my mind. I’ll forever know what it sounds like when Romero comes.

As usual during the day, the street is quiet. Most of the people on the block are at work on a weekday afternoon. Even when they’re home, though, there isn’t usually any disturbance other than some shitty kids who like to shout back and forth while riding their bikes. Maybe they aren’t shitty. Maybe they’re just kids. It’s been so long since I was one of them, I forget what it was like.

I’m becoming old and bitchy before my time. Sour. Reclusive. Goodness, now I hang around partly open doors and spy while someone I can’t stand jerks off. I need help. I need something to occupy my mind. I'm so wrapped up in hating myself that I'm startled by the sound of a woman's voice.

“Excuse me! Can you help me?”

This is the first time I've seen the old woman who lives next door up close. I've noticed her once or twice—sweeping her porch, sprinkling breadcrumbs in her backyard for the birds. She appears sweet. Though, I'm basing my opinion on watching her from the window. She could be a murderer for all I know. Right now, she's struggling with a paper bag of groceries that looks like it's ready to explode.

“I just know I'm going to drop these eggs!” she calls out. Knowing I’ll feel bad if I witness her struggling any longer, I hustle down the steps and over to her, where I grab the overloaded bag without thinking. She’s got to be pushing seventy. Her wrinkled face is kind and she offers me a gentle smile. “Thank you so much. Sometimes, I go a little overboard at the market and forget I have to carry the bag home by myself.”

“No problem. I'm glad I was able to help.” She runs a gnarled hand over her salt-and-pepper hair, neatly pulled back in a low ponytail. “My name is Millie Cooper. What's yours?”

“I'm Tatum.”

Her face lights up for some reason and her faded blue eyes sparkle. “Tatum! What a pretty name. You don't hear that one too often. It's nice to meet you. And it's nice to have that house in use again. It was empty for so long.”

Now I'm tingling again, but curiosity makes my pulse flutter this time. “Have you lived here long?”

“My late husband and I bought this house... oh, forty years ago. No, forty-five.” She chuckles, shrugging before she starts going through her oversized leather purse. It’s seen better days, scarred and scratched. “It's easy to lose track of time when you’re as old as me.”

“I guess you've seen a lot of changes around here.”

“Oh, yes. Ups and downs. I considered selling the house a handful of times. Things do seem to be picking up again.”

She looks at the house next door, keys in hand. It seems like she forgot she meant to use them. “I've seen him. Romero. I was happy to find he came back. I always wondered about him. He always seemed like a nice boy.”

Yeah, we'll have to agree to disagree on that one, lady. “Did you know him well?”

She doesn't get the chance to answer before the door to his house opens and he pokes his head out. His eyes narrow when he spots me one house over, and I can practically feel the waves of boiling rage from here. “What are you doing?”

“Getting to know our neighbor.” Let him be a dick now in front of a witness.

“Hello, Romero!” Millie calls, waving. “I've been hoping to get a chance to tell you how nice it is to see you back.”

His features shift from indignant anger to… plain old anger. It’s almost like it’s such an imposition, having to talk to a human who seems glad to see him for some reason. Personally, I can’t imagine it. “Mrs. Cooper. Hello. It's good to see you as well.” Even those few words seem like they bring him pain. God forbid he has to be friendly or social.

“Thank you, Tatum. It was nice to meet you, but I can handle it from here.” I hand the bag over, and she leans in, whispering. “You come by anytime you want, sweetheart. I miss having someone to bake for. What a shame you weren't here over the summer—I had a million tomatoes to give away.”

“I'm sure we'll see each other again soon.” I'm not in a hurry to get back, but I can't avoid it forever. He's glaring at me like I... well, like I listened in on him pleasuring himself in the shower. Evidently, he has no knowledge of that, but it feels like he does.

My feet are cinder blocks even as I force myself to keep a quick pace, like there’s nothing wrong in the world. Once I’m at the foot of the front steps, he whispers to me, “What the fuck do you think you're doing? Making friends?”

“What if I was? I mean, please don't get me wrong, you're such great company.” All he does is lift an eyebrow, so I do the same. “What? I came out here to get a little bit of fresh air, and Mrs. Cooper was having problems with her groceries. What gives?”

“I don't need the whole neighborhood knowing our business.”

“You sound crazy right now. Do you realize that? You sound unhinged. Our business?” I make air quotes around the term. “I was helping an old lady carry her groceries before they landed all over the ground. That doesn’t have anything to do with “our business.” Plus, she seems like a nice lady, and I could use a little friendly conversation in my life.”

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