Friends

by bigbadripley

Summary:

"Listen to me for a second," Simone O'Hara called the woman's attention back to her with both hands gripping her shoulders. Running into this sort of thing unprepared for what she might find could spell catastrophe. "This man will no doubt be very different than the man you knew. My Marc was resistant to me, didn't wanna talk, didn't wanna reconnect, but our story is different. You may be driving head-on into someone in a dark place."

That was only a piece of the advice Simone Fredrick took away from her time on Earth-928 after she found out Marc Spector on her Earth was still alive. Now it's time to find out how similar she and her parallel-universe counterpart truly are.

Notes:

This is a spin-off work of my series "Sin Miedo (del Amor y Otros Demonios)" and the referenced events (at any point another Earth is mentioned or the characters from that Earth) occur in the third installment, "Normal People." It is not terribly necessary to read those first (as this is a completely different world with characters who have their own stories outside of this) but I would recommend it. Those particular stories are set in a cross-lore-thing between the MCU and Comic cannons. This one is centered closer to the comics, specifically. I do hope you enjoy it no matter where you choose to start.

Chapter 1: Prologue

" Nose bleed, broken teeth
I could walk forever with you
In between, going clean
'Cause I like when you're with me
But I'm starting to think that we're friends
Every time that you're near me
My whole life begins and ends and
I really think that we could be friends
If you promise tomorrow I'll see you again "
-"Friends" by Between Friends

 

November in Chicago was nothing to scoff at as the biting chill and rapidly browning leaves became commonplace. It was around this time that many Chicagoans—if they hadn't already—would be pulling out their thick coats, sweaters, and long johns. This wasn't the case for Simone Fredrick. She had been too busy lately.

Simone was nearly 800 miles away from home. One would assume after stepping through an interdimensional rift that she would want to go straight home, maybe call work to let them know she was still alive or go see her mother to make sure she was doing well. Instead, something else called to her, telling her to book a flight to New York right away.

Another day or two won't kill anyone. She thought as she hit the 'confirm' button on her phone, still standing on the sidewalk that she both disappeared and reappeared on. Same-day flights were a lot more expensive than she initially assumed.

One nerve-wracking first-time flight and confusing time reserving a hotel room later, she was right back in New York. Her Earth's New York. It wasn't all that different than the one she dropped into a few days before, but the key difference was the one that Miguel O'Hara made sure she knew about before she was sent home:

"There's a place with white crescent moons painted on the outside. Actually, there's a lot of those, but you'll know the one I'm talking about." He told her.

She, in fact, did not know the one he was talking about. She wandered through a neighborhood littered with white moons painted along the sides of buildings for what felt like hours and there was nothing distinct about any of them. A few businesses and tenements were all that stood out.

Why can't there just be one building with a big neon arrow pointing to it that says 'Midnight Mission'? She thought, frustratingly. It was dark, she was tired, and she was alone. Worst of all, she was beginning to regret making this trip. Less because of the game of 'Where's Waldo?' and more because she was anxious over what would happen once she found Waldo.

As if her internal struggle took her legs straight to where she needed to be, Simone happened to look to her left on the sidewalk as she passed a tall apartment building, the outside darker than the surrounding structures, and on the bottom-floor windows were two large white crescent moons.

This has to be the place. She thought as she felt her body lurch. This just got so much scarier for her, finally face-to-face with a building and not even the man, himself. All that's left to do is go inside, right?

Her trembling hand extended to the long metal door handle, the chill breeze biting the ends of her fingers as if warning her and whispering in her ears to turn around while she still went unnoticed. She held her resolve and wrapped her bone-frozen fingers around the much colder pull-bar.

A warm, shakey exhale forced its way out through her blush lips and the air that expelled was thick like smoke and equally visible. Without removing her hand, she peered through the glass door and saw a younger black woman with short curly hair sitting behind an L-shaped desk. It didn't look like the woman noticed Simone as she was speaking with someone out of view.

There was a dull ache in Simone's chest that only grew stronger the longer she held onto the door. Her heart pounded in her chest cavity, reverberating in her ears louder than she could remember ever feeling in her long, anxiety-filled life.

Just open the door, Fredrick. She encouraged herself, imagining her arm pulling the handle and stepping inside out of the cold. The more she pictured it, the harder it became to go through with it. It was hopeless. There was no way she could ever face him.

She peeled her fingers away from the chilled metal, briefly examining the rosey red palm and tips of her fingers before sliding her hands into her pockets and taking off down the sidewalk with haste. She didn't want to be seen anywhere near this building, either to be caught peering through the glass or chickening out from walking in.

The wind put her eyes into a dry state that countered the tears that tried to build up. She just wanted to get back to her hotel, curl up into a ball, and stay there until she needed to catch her return flight. There was nothing keeping her here, not even the sights that she toured already on the other Earth.

"Where you goin', angel?" She heard a deep, masculine voice call out from behind her as she passed an alleyway. It didn't sound familiar, it didn't need to sound like anyone she knew, she just wouldn't stop walking. She wanted to get as far away from that building as she could and get out of this neighborhood.

"What's the rush?" A second voice hollered as several loud feet tailed her. This wasn't good. She was alone, at night, in a city with crime similar to her own. Not the smartest idea she had ever had and she would admit that tenfold if she could get out of this situation.

As if it were coordinated, the two men skirted around her on each side, stopping in front of her like a closing curtain. Simone didn't look at them, only the ground below and their shoes. One wore dirty white sneakers and the other had on a pair of pristine Doc Martens. They reeked of cheap beer and body odor and if she had to take a guess without looking, they were a couple of mouth-breathing neckbeards.

"Don't have time to chat, honey?" The first voice asked again, and without thinking, she tried to squeeze past them. Obviously, they stopped her dead in her tracks. The man with the boots put his arm out and repositioned her exactly where she was before.

Again, without thinking, she looked up at them. Her suspicion had been correct. They looked like they were younger than her but one was easily twice her side while the other had about a foot of height on her. They eyed her like she was their next meal. For lack of options, her subsequent move was to turn the other way and head back down the street towards the Midnight Mission.

Even if she had the legs of a runner, she didn't get very far once one of them grabbed the hood of her coat and gave it a swift yank. If she had buttoned it all the way up, it would have choked her. Instead, it sent her stumbling back, straight into the brick wall of a man, bracing her hands forward as if looking for something else to hang onto.

"I just wanna get off the street." Simone found herself pleading through quivering lips. Never had she sounded so pathetic and powerless before. The saddest part was, she froze. It was a terrible time for her body to react like this, stuck fast against the form of someone who knew she was defenseless. A man who knew she wouldn't fight back because she didn't know how.

"Yeah, we'll take care of that. Don't you even worry about it."

"What's your name, sweetheart?"

She didn't answer. Her throat locked up along with her limbs, her mouth agape.

"I think I'll call you Rosey if you won't tell us. Just like your pretty little face."

Though she wasn't moving her feet, she was being turned around and walked down the direction of the sidewalk she was heading originally. There were plenty of bystanders, pedestrians, and passengers in parked cars, but how would they know she was in danger if she couldn't scream? Did the rapidly drying tears streaming down her cheeks not say enough? This was it. Her impromptu trip to New York would end in something terrible happening to her and for what? She didn't even get what she came for.

Or so she thought until a glint of something caught her eye as it flew just past her face. It went so fast that she could have assumed it was her imagination if one of her harassers didn't cry out in agony. Before the second man could react, a second flash zipped by her opposite side and seemed to hit its target.

It was as if the action prompted her body to move again, making her spin around to find the man with the boots knelt to the ground and the other braced against the brick wall they were walking along. She darted her eyes between them as she backed down the street. They both had silver, curved objects sticking out of their right shoulders.

She recognized the objects, having picked one up off of the floor of the other Simone's apartment after Miguel came back. It was what she had referred to as a crescent dart. That could only mean one thing, but before she could consider it too deeply, a blur of pure white fled past her, a long cape grazing her arm.

It all happened so fast that she didn't even see the thugs that grabbed her fight back before they were cuffed and laid out on their stomachs, fully conked. The one doing the cuffing was tall, wearing full white with a hood and a mask obscuring their face but she wasn't clueless. He was the man she came all this way to find.

Everything felt like it was in slow motion now. The way his body straightened out. How he stayed with his right shoulder to her as he moved his head to look in her direction. Even with the shroud, she knew he was staring right at her, if not through her. If her heart was racing before, now she felt like she could pass out.

His name was on the tip of her tongue just as it flooded her mind along with images of a boy that never left her side. Short, brown, tousled hair. Even darker eyes that seemed to lighten when he smiled at her sweetly. She doubted he looked like that boy anymore just as much as she knew she didn't look the same as she did the last time they saw each other.

His muscles tensed up with recognition, but he was perfectly anonymous. It would be impossible for her to know who he was. Even if he recognized her , it would be the longest shot in the world for him to happen to be someone she thought was dead. Still, he stared at her as if he couldn't bring himself to look away, just like she couldn't. For fear that he would snap out of it and disappear, her mouth ran before he could.

"Marc?" The name left her mouth as soft as a whisper. He seemed to tense up again at the sound of her saying his name. The impossible suddenly became conceivable. That was him. There was no contesting it.

They stood silently for a long, earth-shattering moment, reading each other as if they knew their next words needed to be chosen wisely. His cape flowed in the wind around him as she forgot how to breathe or blink, afraid even a second to close her eyelids would cause him to vanish.

"Go home." A rich, rugged voice poured sharply through the mask before he whipped around. Her surprise got the better of her, forcing her to blink away the dryness in her eyes, and just as predicted, within that millisecond she used to moisten her pupils, he was nothing but a white speck growing smaller and smaller the further away he got.

Simone stood for a moment, shocked, hair twisting through the wind just as his cape had. If that wasn't confirmation, she didn't know what was. He may as well have yelled 'Hey! Yeah, it's me! You aren't supposed to know that, though!'

She thought about marching back down the direction of the building she had fled from before, knowing he was heading there, but just made a face instead.

Go home? She thought to herself with an exasperated sigh. He comes to my rescue, recognizes me, knows I recognize him, and all he has to say is 'go home'?

"What the fuck ?" She mumbled to herself. The two assholes at her feet were the least of her concern now. A lengthy gust of air shot through her like a hot knife through butter.

I guess I'll be back tomorrow night.

Chapter 2: Fuck No

" I’m doing fucking good, I’m glad you asked me
Can’t look me in the eyes when you walk past me
Damn, that's   kinda fucked up
So I can’t text you, I think you blocked my number
I know we got through everything so that shit make me wonder
Do you trust yourself to text me if you had the will? (Damn)
From me to you, I know your shit ain’t real (Yeah) "
-"Fuck No" by 99 Neighbors

 

Simone spent the day at her hotel contemplating whether she wanted to go back out there that night. After the first attempt, she was scared shitless of what other danger may be awaiting her until she remembered what became of the two men who trapped her. That flooded her with determination. She would be safe, and this trip would not go to waste.

It was around eleven o'clock at night when she strode to the Midnight Mission once more. She was on her guard and praying to god that Marc would be, as well. Standing outside the building with the moons on the windows sent the same terror into her being. Something told her not to enter his domain but whatever stirred in her wouldn't make her turn away this time. This had to happen, one way or another and the chill was chapping her face.

3, 2, 1. She counted down before pulling open the heavy glass door and taking that first step inside. Surrounding her now were gray walls in the most average-looking office space she had seen. It was almost like the main lobby of a law firm.

Her eyes flicked to the woman at the desk in a comfortable-looking office chair. The same one from the night before. Simone concluded that she must work here. The woman's mouth opened as if she were about to greet her when a voice piped up from a room to her left. The door opened and a man in a white mask and full three-piece suit stepped out.

"Reese, have you heard from Ba-" He stopped speaking upon clapping eyes on her. He thought he dreamt up their encounter the night before, everything down to her uttering his name seeming surreal. Marc faced dangers beyond belief every single night but not a single one terrified him more than her.

Moni. He thought, just as he had when he spotted her on the street with those two dweebs trying to rattle her. Aside from looking a bit more mature, she was exactly the same. But why is she here? How did she know it was me under the mask?

None of it made sense, and he would prefer to keep her in the dark if he could, even if it shook him to his core to have to turn on her again.

"You shouldn't be here." He said simply. "Unless you need help with something, you need to leave."

Simone eyed him just as she had on the street. There was no way he would be ducking out so easily this time. Against her mind screaming at her to just let it go, she dug the soles of her shoes into the floor and crossed her arms in an attempt to summon the courage of Simone O'Hara.

“I do need help , actually . I'm looking for the man who's been avoiding me for almost twenty years. About six-foot-two, with brown eyes, and brown hair, runs around looking like Ezio from Assassin's fucking Creed these days. You seen him?" She snapped, not realizing her words grew shakier the more she spoke. Her nerves felt shot, but she was proud that she came up with that much on the spot whereas she would normally have lost it halfway through.

Ezio? Marc thought, trying not to laugh and encourage it as Reese watched, leaning back in her chair as if it were a decent burn. I guess I deserve that one.

It did little to change his mind. This couldn't happen, no matter how much he wanted to pull her in and hug her again. It was good to see her in a way that wasn’t from afar or from a screen. She looked good. Fantastic, even.

Knock it off. He told himself as he shook the thoughts away. Letting himself think that way would be detrimental. It would open the door to letting her get close. Close was bad for both of them.

“ Right. Go home.” He repeated the familiar demand simply. It took every bit of willpower he had to do it, but he did. Just looking at her expression would have had his leg bouncing up and down like a restless teenager again if he were sitting.

How is that even possible? He thought.

Simone heard him loud and clear but recognized the pitch in his voice. It sounded hesitant, even if he tried to make it seem mean. The last thing she wanted was to cross boundaries in any situation, but the pearl of wisdom the other Simone bestowed on her chimed in her head.

Fight for answers because you deserve them.

It was her true North against his voice. It would have made her fold if she didn't have envy for the fearless Simone O'Hara. O'Hara wouldn't back down. O'Hara would grit her teeth. With that in mind, she tightened her hands around her biceps, unbudging.

“I’ll go home if you talk to me first.” She attempted to bargain, staring daggers into the indentions of his mask where his eyes would be, hoping her face told him he would have to drag her out kicking and screaming if he refused her again.

It did, which was entirely unfair because he wouldn't and she knew that. It made him wish she wasn't blocking his only reasonable exit. Technically, there were two doors, and he could walk out but that meant getting close to her. Breathing her air. Possibly brushing against her.

Goddamnit. He thought to himself, feeling defeated no matter what he chose to do. All he could hope was that she meant what she said. They would talk and then she would be back in Chicago, relatively safe and away from him.

Without looking away from her, he reached behind and palmed the door to his office with a gloved hand. As it creaked open, he backed up out of the way of the frame and cocked his head in that direction like a wordless agreement.

Even though he had accepted her terms and should feel some modicum of control, she couldn't help but feel sealed in his vision. She inhaled as deeply as she could, hiding her nerves and knowing she failed miserably as she strode past him and into the room.

There was a brief moment when her nostrils were filled with a lemony-vanilla scent like a sophisticated candy. She thought it was from the room itself until it faded the further away she stepped. It felt like there was a knock in her stomach as she realized it was Marc, and it sunk deeper when she heard the door click shut.

The inside of the room was littered with Egyptian trinkets, statues, and imagery such as scarabs and hieroglyphs as well as a fern of sorts and two cozy olive green accent chairs. What stood out was the end table next to the door with a Mr. Coffee coffeemaker on it, brewing a fresh pot.

Marc stood by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms against his chest. Simone was next to the chair at the other end of the room. They continued to stare at each other, both unwilling to sit. It was awkward and the air was thick. As she tried to conjure the right string of words to say out of the many she had practiced in the mirror for eons, they wouldn’t form on her tongue or even register how she wanted them to in her brain.

The staring contest was growing tiresome as he became more impatient. She had made it seem like there was a greater purpose to this meeting. Admittedly, he wasn’t opposed to being in the same room with her no matter what they were doing, but he had people to protect. If she couldn’t come up with something profound to say, he would have to give her a nudge.

“Good talk.” He said sarcastically and mimed like he was reaching for the doorknob. She scoffed at this.

“I’m trying to figure out where to start, smartass.”

There she is. Marc thought, amused by the familiar tone. He feared she had lost her ability to banter with how timid she appeared. He loved to see it; though, the push got them nowhere as she opened her mouth to speak and closed it again. I guess I’ll start.

“How’d you figure out I was alive?” Marc asked the question that had been biting him ever since she said his name. He contemplated it each waking minute, thinking it wouldn't have made sense if he messed up somehow. It had been close to a year since he checked up on Moni and went relatively undetected in doing so.

Simone wanted to answer carefully, thinking revealing too much would be nothing short of discrediting herself for sounding like she was out of her mind. She had yet to come up with any kind of cover story for the more normal people in her life, but Marc certainly didn't count as one of those people. Throwing caution to the wind, she decided to wade in.

“Have you spoken to a certain broody Spider-Man recently?”

“As a matter of fact, I did .” Marc answered, remembering the blue-suited man well after they ended up working together to stop a nightclub hostage situation. In that short period, he didn't learn much about the guy but gathered that he was more brooding than the spidey he was used to and wasn't big on chatting. Before Marc could confirm what he had to do with this, Moni proceeded.

“He’s from the future on Earth-928 but he traveled back in time in that universe and married alternate me, and alternate you is her... I guess boyfriend? I dunno. I came back before that was resolved." She rambled on, realizing there was no relevance to the details she was sharing, and got back on track. "That isn't the point. I ended up there and before I left, he told me about you.”

No wonder that guy didn’t seem to like me. Somewhere out there I’m sleeping with his wife. Marc thought to himself, stuck on the details that Moni deemed irrelevant yet allowed to slip. He almost chuckled to himself, glad he still had his mask on so she couldn't call out the way he trailed his eyes over her face. Alternate me is one lucky bastard if they look anything alike.

“What happened to you?” Moni asked, making him snap back to the conversation. If she had said anything before that, he didn't catch it, completely lost in lamenting over the past.

Get your head out of your ass.

“A lot.” He responded shortly. She would have to be more specific or they would be here all night. She made a face at this, not caring for the dodgy answer. Of course, Marc knew if he was going to be a pain in the ass about it, this would take a lot longer. Classic self-sabatoge.

“So explain.” She played off of it.

“Let’s start with what you know.”

Moni opened her mouth with the intention of doing just that when the memories of the events that took place before his disappearance flooded her mind. Speaking to a mask about what happened after created a disconnect. She needed to see his face.

“Can you take that off please?” She asked in a quiet voice that made Marc visibly shutter. It wasn't meant to sound sad or frustrated, but it came out with a hint of both somehow. As she prepared for her request to be denied, he gripped the top of the white covering with his right hand and pulled it forward slowly.

If she hadn't met another version of him already, she would have been pleasantly surprised at how well he aged. Even though she had already had this mental song and dance when seeing the other one, there were a couple of key differences she couldn't shake.

The messy mask hair, for starters. The steri-stripped cut on his browbone. What looked like a nearly-healed black eye on the same side with yellowed bruising around the socket. He clearly hadn't shaved in a while, either, having a nearly full beard.

Hello, gorgeous. She thought to herself, trying her damndest not to wag her eyebrows or slap her own face for even thinking that. He tucked the mask into the pocket of his dress pants and went back to his closed-off stance, waiting for her to answer his question. “You left town while off your meds, which I can forgive. Then you enlisted, reached out to your family, and made them keep it a secret from me.”

“ That’s what he told you, huh?" Marc responded instantly with an unbelieving snicker. The 'he' in question was his father. Though she didn't single him out, Marc had a clear image in his mind of how that went down. If he had known that, he might have made this reunion happen a lot sooner to set the record straight, if nothing else. He couldn't help but whisper a sarcastic 'wow' to himself.

All she could do was shrug. It was all she knew for this long, and by the way Marc reacted, she started to think about that conversation again. Elias had done all the talking when she was told what happened to him. Before she could consider it further, Marc continued.

“First of all, I did have an episode while off my meds. That’s a whole other thing but I came back a few years later to talk to you and when I got to your house, you weren’t there. Your mom said you would be back any minute but that wasn’t true. She called my parents and I turned tail.”

I was at UChicago. She thought, nearly saying it out loud when she realized he probably knew that by now. Why didn’t my mom tell me about that?

The pause in his story was clearly in case she wanted to make a comment, but when she came up empty, he kept going.

“I did enlist and no, I never told anyone . Fast forward a few years and I did some things during a disassociation that got me discharged but I didn't wanna go back home. I was afraid of what would happen if I did."

"Why would your dad lie to me about hearing from you?"

"Shame, if I had to take a guess. Can't exactly ask him now."

Elias had passed away not long after Marc's funeral. Moni went to that service, as well. Then Randall's a few years after that. She still remembered Wendy's face, how she told her she would be moving to New York soon.

Moni had to stop the corner of her mouth from twitching upward as she realized that she moved here to be closer to him. That had to have been it, but the anguish that plastered her face before was unmistakable. She thought Marc was dead for so long.

"So you faked your own death?" She muttered, trying to find something in this story she could understand.

"I stuck my tags of a mangled body with no identifiable features. They assumed it was me. Did some mercenary work for a bit, nearly died, now I wear a cape.”

“Why let me believe you’ve been dead this whole time?”

“I thought you moved on with your life.”

“How could I?”

The question flew out before she could think about how pathetic it sounded paired with welling tears. Now was not the time to get sensitive but she wanted Marc to feel guilty and hated that he couldn't just simply tell her he regretted it or that he missed her. God knows she missed him.

There was that feeling again. That kick in the gut at the way her voice cracked. It made his brain lag. He didn't want to see her cry, especially over him. That was why he never wanted to do this. Realizing he was alive and staying away surely hurt a lot more than thinking he was dead. She lived a full life with that knowledge and apparently needed a reminder of that.

“You know, I checked in on you." He admitted, choosing not to elaborate on what that entailed, assuming his light stalking might offend her. "Heard you became a doctor. Heard you were with Ericka .”

Moni didn't miss the chagrin in his voice when he said her ex's name or how he pulled his eyes to the floor. Something in her hoped he was envious.

That wouldn't make sense. She thought, considering how cold he was to her. Hardly the demeanor of a man who had lingering emotions over a crush that was through nearly two decades ago. Still, she felt the need to correct the assumption that she was still in a relationship with Ericka.

“Didn’t work out with Ericka. That ended last year.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

That was a lie. He remembered the feeling that came with finding pictures of her and Ericka online with the caption 'happy anniversary' . He stopped checking on her for a while after that. It took everything he had not to visibly perk up when she said they weren't together anymore.

Why does that make me feel better? He wondered, suddenly breaking a sweat and feeling like the room was too small. What the hell is wrong with me?

“ God , it’s crazy." She broke the prolonged quiet, trying to figure out why she couldn't talk without being led or having something to work off of. "I had all these things I wanted to say to you and now they’re gone.”

Each point that re-entered her mind was whisked away just as quickly when she would meet his earthen eyes. Her stomach would twist up as flashbacks of a particularly rainy night would arise. These were the kinds of things you were supposed to get over with age, and yet time only filled her with longing as his voice echoed in her head.

You're gonna have a hell of a time getting rid of me now, Moni.

“Coffee?” The modern-day Marc Spector's voice overshadowed the one that lived between her ears and she looked up from the part of the floor she appeared to have taken an interest in. The single-worded question buffered in her mind, nearly making her respond with a 'huh?' before he held up an empty mug.

“Please.” She said, cringing at the way her own single-worded response came out. It sounded like a beg and she said a wordless 'thank you' to whatever forces were looking out for her that made that go unnoticed for him.

It didn't resonate as a beg in Marc's ears but the word alone had him turning around to the coffee maker a lot faster in an effort to get ahold of himself, questioning how she could still hold this much power over him. He wasn't eighteen anymore but his age alone wasn't enough to stop the headrush.

Coffee. Right. He had to remind himself what he was doing before he poured the coffee between the two mugs and reached for a packet of sugar from the container he never used.

"How do you take it?" The question left his lips before he could think about the wording and squeezed his eyes shut tightly, convinced his own faculties were out to get him this evening.

Don’t say what I want you to say. He thought as a filthy image of that face she made in the back seat of his car flashed in his mind, causing him to strain against his zipper. He had to focus on the coffee even harder now to deflate his cock. Coffee. Nothing sexual about coffee.

"Uh," She started but stammered, needing to realign her mind and mouth as she realized her eyes had landed on his white-clad ass at some point after he turned. She had developed a relatively unhealthy and juvenile habit of looking at butts recently.

Strong, hot, and bitter like my lovers. She joked to herself, refraining from speaking it aloud. It was something she said to Joan at the office with several variations. She couldn't kid like that here.

"Black is fine." She finally answered upon clearing her throat. It sounded so nonchalant that the slowly caving walls around them seemed to spread out once more. Breathing became infinitely easier as he turned around with a plain white mug in each hand.

Marc took a step and a half forward with the intention of doing the normal thing and handing her the beverage before their eyes met again and that part of him told him to keep his distance. Out of instinct, he extended his arm all the way out instead of moving any further and could have sighed with relief when she didn't question it while taking the cup from him.

"You can sit, you know." He told her, gesturing to the armchair she stood next to. Moni had thought about it but decided not to. She didn't want to get too comfortable. No matter how much her heart tried to tell her she knew this man, her mind knew better.

"I'm alright." She replied quietly, bringing the cup to her lips for the sake of doing something that wasn't ogling at Marc. He gave her a shrug that said 'suit yourself' before taking a long sip of the piping hot coffee. His Adam's apple bobbed on the swallow, and she had to snap her eyes to her reflection in her mug as she realized that she was doing it again .

Marc quickly realized the error in drinking hot coffee in this situation. If he wasn't sweating before, he most certainly was now, and the suit jacket wasn't helping. He rested the cup next to the coffee maker and pulled the blazer away, neatly hanging it on the back of the chair.

Moni's eyes moved without her permission, scanning over the big arms and broad shoulders of the man she hadn't seen since he was considerably skinnier. He certainly was fascinating and fun to look at, even if it was growing more nervewracking by the second, watching him slowly roll up his sleeves. She never understood the appeal when women would swoon over the action in romance novels until right then.

From the corner of Marc's eye, he caught her staring at him and something prompted him to move a touch slower and flex ever so slightly. She was checking him out and he couldn't help but feel flattered at the clearly subconscious tuck of her bottom lip between her teeth.

At least the effect is mutual. He thought with a bit of solace, seeing as he had been fighting the urge to graze too hard ever since he spotted her. The long, dark chocolate hair that flowed around her heart-shaped face, and high cheekbones accented by the same plush lips that he used to have a fixation for. Not to mention her hips that didn't seem to quit mocking him with each shift of her weight from one to the other.

Something that really got him fighting for oxygen was her eyes. There was a purity in them that he rarely saw these days. It was the same as when they were young, her soul somehow untainted by the world around them. Even as she eyed him like he was dessert, they told him she cared too much. More than that, she had no idea how far up shit's creek she would find herself getting involved with him.

This was bad. Worse than bad. Marc kicked himself for letting this happen. Though nothing had technically happened, even pining was a step too far. All he could do was chalk it up to a long dry spell and the memory of first love. Nothing more. It couldn't be anything more.

“You cool?” He found himself asking as he picked up his mug once more, trying to get the conversation flowing again. It had to have been an hour or so since they entered this room. Who knew what he was missing out there?

Haven't heard that in a long time. Moni thought to herself, the familiar check-in question putting extra weight on her chest and making her aware of her breathing patterns. Something told her to answer honestly, seeing as this couldn't be further from how she pictured this interaction going.

“No. Definitely not.” She said with a frown. Marc knew what she meant, slightly disappointed she didn't continue by answering the way they used to.

I'm cool. You?

Solid.

It would have been a lie and she never was great at that. He supposed it was for the best that she didn't try to banter, the nostalgic feeling likely to make him mushy. It was past time for apologies, even if he didn't feel like he needed to provide one. He didn't feel sorry for what he did. It was for the best. What he could do; however, was acknowledge it.

“I know what I did was a dick move.” He said, surveying her expression for something close to satisfaction. What he got was closer to an inquisitive tick of her eyebrow, so he clarified. “We had a date.”

That, they did. She remembered that conversation like it was a bane to her existence. That was the height of her happiness at the time and was torn down within 24 hours. Alas, it was not the part that bothered her, but she couldn't find the correct stream of consciousness to express it.

“I already told you that isn’t what I’m mad about.” She brushed away the comment like it was dust on her shoulder. Marc was split between wanting her to just get out with it and keeping it to herself to spare him the agony of her true feelings.

Unfortunately, if this wasn't going anywhere, he needed to wrap it up. Not that this interaction hadn't been eye-opening for him, a confirmation that he was right to keep his distance, but a conversation without words was just two people standing around thinking about how much they had changed.

He didn't want to be hateful. He knew it would hurt for both of them. That didn't stop the part of him that insisted he let this go no further from doing the talking for him.

“I don’t have time to stand here and drink coffee in silence, Moni. If you have something to say, just say it.”

That push didn't bring out any words, but it did contort her face back to the same furrowed brow and squinted eyes she held at the main entrance. The coffee in her stomach started to bubble like she had a fire lit under her and all of the things she had planned to say collided in her mind all at once.

His pretty face and veiny forearms had distracted her but that tone put her off tremendously. It told her that he felt this reunion was a waste of his precious moonlit hours. Another nugget of wisdom from Simone O'Hara popped into her head when she heard it.

If you get to a point where you can't bring yourself to fight, step back.

Her legs began to move without much mental processing, knowing if she thought about it too hard, she would find some way to screw this up. She was mere inches away now, forcing her mug into his hand and not caring much if his grip was on it or not before turning the doorknob next to him.

This wasn't the turn he was expecting from this, his hand not fully closing around the cup before she let it go. Luckily, he had it under control and was able to place it next to the coffee maker as the door creaked open.

“Where are you going?” He asked with a bit of frustration. She didn't stop.

“To my hotel. This was great and all, thank you for the coffee, but it isn’t going how I expected it would.” She called out, making her way to the great glass doors that exited the building. This triggered a mental battle that had him considering pulling a trick from his sleeve to get her to stop, but what would be the use? He wanted her gone, right? He held up his end of the bargain the best he could.

“I thought you figured out that I’m not great at meeting people’s expectations.” The words slipped through his teeth involuntarily. It was so out of the blue that it had him questioning if he was the one who said it in the first place. Whatever purpose it served, he couldn't tell if it failed or succeeded as she placed both of her palms on the push-handle of the door and looked at him.

“Have a good life, Marc.” She said with such eloquence that it could have been his imagination before she was gone. He stood blinking for what felt like several minutes until Reese let out a long crescendoed whistle.

"What was that about? Jilted ex-girlfriend?"

"What told you that?" He asked with a groan as he yanked his mask out of his pocket.

"The sexual tension, mostly." She snickered. "You going after her?"

Marc had to consider the question for a moment. It would be easier said than done. As much as he thought he wanted her out of his hair, actually watching her leave equated to the pain of a cracked rib. Fighting the impulse to do just that, he let out a prolonged, heavy exhale.

"Nope."

 

Simone had a rough time sleeping after that. The more she thought about it, the more she wondered if she had made the right call. No matter how many times she tried to tell herself that she had, it didn't little to soothe her. She put everything on the backburner to go on this excursion and she couldn't even bring herself to tell Marc what was eating at her.

At least the story is straight now. She would tell herself, but she found herself unsatisfied. She would have to live with that and hope he would come to her like O'Hara said he would. If not, she would have to trust life to go on. What's another twenty years between reunions?

She finally got to sleep around five in the morning, but was awoken around three hours later by a knock at the door of her hotel room.

What if that's him? She thought to herself, concerned over the fact that she never told him what hotel she was staying at, let alone her room number. She didn't know what connections he had or if he had means of figuring that out.

In a rush, she looked down at the ancient Jurassic Park shirt she wore with a bleach stain on it and her wrinkled yellow and black flannel pajama bottoms paired with her sleep hair. She looked homeless, but there were worse ways to be caught first thing in the morning.

She opened the door slowly to be met by an older bellhop with a bald head. There wasn't a moment to consider if she was relieved or disappointed by this outcome when she spotted the bundle of white roses he held.

"These were left at the front desk for a Simone Fredrick?" The man, whose nametag told her he was called Kenneth, said in the form of a question. She nodded.

"That's me," Simone said with a nervous grin as the flowers exchanged hands. Kenneth gave her a polite wave and took off down the hallway before she could question what the individual who dropped them off looked like.

As she closed her door, she realized she didn't have to ask. There was a notecard in the middle of the bouquet, almost perfectly hidden as it blended in with the white peddles. It was a neat scrawl that she hadn't expected, written in what appeared to be a smooth black gel pen. If she had to wager a guess, it was a Pilot G2, 1 millimeter. They were her favorite, and she swore she could recognize it anywhere.

I believe it is time we chat. I’ll be at Donovan’s at noon for lunch. Please meet me.

Steven Grant

Her eyes widened as she read the message on the expensive-looking cardstock. She was so focused on Marc that she had forgotten about the other guys, just assuming that they didn't exist here as they did on 928. Then again, on that Earth, they were going through a very strange metamorphosis that she couldn't wrap her psychiatrist-brain around.

She wondered up until the second she stepped into the fancy-looking bistro-type restaurant what this world's Steven was like. The one she had met was soft and sweet as can be, and likely wouldn't hurt a fly unless that fly really tested him.

At the entrance of the eatery stood a hostess sporting a black button-up and pinned-back dirty blonde hair. She smiled at Simone as she stepped inside, and she suddenly felt underdressed in her pumpkin orange sweater and black jeans. In her defense, it was the last clean outfit she had.

Before she could let the hostess know that she was meeting someone, her eyes clapped onto exactly who she was looking for, only not how she expected him. Marc—or in this case, Steven—sat in a nice sunny spot toward the back of the restaurant at a two-seater table that dawned a maroon cloth.

As for the man himself, he was in a crisp business suit. Black blazer and pants, light blue collared shirt, and dark blue tie. His hair was neatly styled, and he had shaved for this meeting. Curiously, the bruise on his face was gone, and she wondered if he had put on a bit of color corrector to hide it.

Steven waved her over upon seeing her at the same time she saw him. He was elated that she showed, even if she didn't know him the way she knew Marc. What made him curious was how she didn't seem sketched out by this in the slightest.

“Dr. Fredrick.” He greeted her as she got closer, striding to the other end of the table and pulling out the chair opposite of his. She smiled and nodded as a 'thank you' and he waved it off. If he didn't have manners, he would have nothing.

“Simone is fine.” She made sure to correct him upon sitting. The doctor-title seemed far too formal for whatever this was. It was interesting; though, how his mannerisms differed from the Steven she had become acquainted with. Far more refined, and oddly not English. He seemed to approach this as a business meeting more than a 'chat' as the note specified.

“Of course." He replied as he sat back down. "I know this is probably not what you were expecting.”

This confused Simone for a moment, trying to figure out what exactly he was referring to until she noticed that he motioned to himself and made it clear that he was referring to the fact that the man who wanted to meet with her whom she had never met in her life looked an awful lot like Marc Spector.

She had to stifle a giggle as she wasn't sure how to explain that she knew a lot more than he assumed she did. Had she known for certain that her Marc had Dissociative Identity Disorder? No. It wasn't spoken of the night before and it wasn't something she knew about when they were growing up. All she could hope for was that Steven had been listening in when she mentioned the other Earth she visited.

“Actually, the Marc in the other world had a similar thing so I'm not surprised.” She admitted, omitting the detail akin to that of 'Revenge of the Body Snatchers.' Steven seemed to perk up at this.

“Oh, fantastic! That will make this next part a lot easier. Wine?” He said as he held up an already uncorked bottle. She wasn't a huge drinker, particularly this early in the day, but given the strange circumstances, she nodded and he poured her a glass. A deep ruby-red liquid trickled into the long-stemmed crystal and it had to have been the most visually appetizing wine she had ever seen.

As Steven observed Simone's face under the beam of sunlight that was cast through the window next to them, he noted just how stunning she was. The orange sweater she wore favored her warm undernotes and there was the slightest hint of amber in her irises where the light hit.

Marc was in trouble. There was no doubting that. Steven was right to step up and try to rectify his miscommunication from the night before. “When are you expected back in Chicago?”

“I have a flight tonight.”

“Easily handled.” He replied quickly as if it were clear to her what that meant. She ticked an eyebrow at him.

“Pardon?”

“I confirmed with my colleagues," He started, tapping his index finger to his left temple to signal that he meant the ones in his head before proceeding. “And we all agree that you and Marc got off on the wrong foot the other night. If you could, please, stick around for just a bit longer to allow him to sort this out.”

“I can’t do that. I have work tomorrow.” She answered before taking a sip from her glass. It was rich and slightly sweet. She was by no means a wine expert but she could learn if it meant getting ahold of another bottle of this for herself back home.

Like a shark trying to close a deal, Steven leaned back in his seat and clasped his hands together. He had done this plenty of times before, just never in an effort to convince a woman that she didn't need to be hasty in getting home. Admittedly, he never had to try very hard on that front, but he wasn't selling himself, here.

“And I imagine you’re invaluable to them. So much so that they will forgive a missed flight.”

Is he trying to butter me up? Simone thought to herself, never having found herself in a situation like this before. It made her laugh nervously.

“Respectfully, Mr. Grant-“

“Please, call me Steven.” He swiftly corrected her as she had, him.

“ Steven ," She spoke the name with caution. It was like being interviewed and it nearly made her stomach turn. "You’re asking me to stiff my place of employment.”

Technically, she was actively stiffing them already, which was precisely why she needed to get back as soon as possible. The thought alone brought on a wave of anxiety. She had been so stuck on this adventure that she had pushed her responsibilities in Chicago out of her mind.

“If it’s missed time on your paycheck you’re worried about, I can compensate you for any dollar amount you lose out on.” He tried to assure her, thinking it would sweeten the deal somehow and forgetting that he wasn't offering her a job , he was trying to get her to talk to Marc again.

It was clear to Simone that he had no idea what exactly it was that she did for a living. She was salaried based on her number of patients, first of all, and she pretty much ran the place alongside Dr. Joan. There was no 'missed time' .

“You’re not paying me to stay. It’s a matter of my patients. They've already lost me for nearly a week. These are kids we’re talking about.” She explained, going for her wine again and taking a bigger gulp this time to calm her nerves.

“Plenty of kids around here need help.” Steven blurted cooly before he realized how that sounded. The wine hit the back of her throat as he concluded his sentence and her immediate reaction was to gasp. This led to breathing in the wine, followed by a hacking and choking fit as the pretty red liquid splattered on the table and the front of her shirt.

Once he realized what had happened, Steven stood up and knelt at her side, patting her back as she continued to cough. Other patrons in the establishment looked on as they watched this poor woman realize she wasn’t a fish. She was embarrassed, her throat and chest hurt, and frankly, she was annoyed. As her efforts to clear her windpipe died down, she began to stand.

“I think I’m good here.” She said between wheezing breaths, wiping the dribbles of wine away from her chin with the back of her hand. “I don’t know how you guys conduct business around here but if Marc wanted to talk to me he shouldn’t have wasted time by sending you. No offense.”

Steven took a second to process what she said and understood what she meant. Though, Marc didn’t send him. He simply volunteered.

“I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean for that to sound so forward.” He did his best to apologize as she picked her bag up from the back of the chair, still trying to catch her breath.

She had made her stance clear. Her beef wasn’t with Steven but she didn’t feel like haggling her livelihood on the off chance that Marc wanted to make time for her. The eyes of the diners were still glued to her like she had turned down a marriage proposal and she was ready to get the hell out of dodge.

“Thanks for the wine.” She croaked, making a B-line for the door. She heard Steven attempt to sway her to sit and at least order lunch, but she definitely wasn’t hungry anymore.

 

When it was time to head to the airport, Simone was emotionally exhausted. Too many surprises for one week can really make a person feel like they're dead on their feet. She acknowledged she did it to herself, coming here instead of reorienting herself at home for a few days, and that rush of anxiety from having to tell people where she had been never went away.

She just needed to get a cab and go to the airport. It was that easy. No more surprises, no more wine, no more sexy veiny forearms. Her life may have been boring but that was a good thing. It was comfortable.

The cab pulled up next to her on the sidewalk in front of the hotel and she got in quickly and without much thought. She looked like an idiot, standing with her rolling suitcase too big for what it contained and her wine-stained sweater.

I must have been delusional. She thought, deprecating herself as she closed the door to the cab behind her and relishing in the toastiness of the heater that must have been running for quite some time.

“Where’re you headed?” The cabbie asked, thickly laying on his New Yorker accent as she was fastening her seatbelt.

“Airport, please.” She answered shortly, averting her gaze to her lap in hopes of avoiding too much small talk.

“So soon?” He piped up, seemingly a little too curious about her business. It clicked before she even brought her eyes up, flicking between the back of his newsboy-capped head and reflection in the rearview mirror. This was very reminiscent of her trip to the other New York already, this time he had the right face and a decent-quality fake mustache under his nose.

“Great. Hi, Jake. Can’t believe I didn’t see this coming.” She groaned while laughing at the same time. She felt like she was losing her mind. First, they somehow find her hotel room number and now they happen to know her flight schedule well enough to pick her up.

As Jake began to pull off and back onto the street, he continued to look her over in the mirror and was flattered that he didn't have to introduce himself. He chalked it up to the Jake from the other dimension leaving a good impression. Something in her face made him want to approach this cautiously.

“I’m typically the last ditch. Grant really couldn’t woo ya, could he?”

“I’m not easily woo’d.” She grumbled. It was a lie, as she was typically easily impressed. Her worldview had felt so diluted since stepping through that rift and any confidence she ever had was spirited away along with her. She used to say ' be yourself because you're the only you there is' but that turned out to be false. Not only was she not the only Simone Fredrick out there, but she wasn't even the best version.

Simone O'Hara would have this under control. She thought to herself before Jake's voice interrupted her reflections.

“Look, I’m not suggestin' you uproot your life but I do think he was right about stayin' one more night. It would be really good for Marc to sit down and open up to you.”

“Tried that already." She said, not picking her gaze back up. "Didn’t work out.”

“Everyone deserves a second chance.” He spoke as if the old adage would magically change her mind.

This was the second chance. She nearly said, believing that if Marc really wanted to talk to her as much as his alters were saying, he would have reached out. Not just during the last day she was in the city but at any point in the last nineteen years.

The 'stepping back' part of her plan wasn't going to work if Jake and Steven were going to insist on walking all over it. At this point, she was convinced that she had spoken more between those two than Marc, and Marc was about to lose out on his chance to catch her before going home. That sparked an idea. “I'll tell you what. How long until we reach the airport?”

“About thirty minutes,” Jake answered, turning a corner. Traffic was light and he was a good driver. If he really wanted to, he could do it in twenty. Simone's pupils finally met his at this as her arms went over her chest and she sank back into the seat.

“Great. Marc has thirty minutes, then. If he has something to say to me, he has until we get to the airport. I’m going home either way.” She said it like it was an ultimatum, gladly allowing Marc and company to believe this would be their last chance to convince her.

Smart. Jake thought to himself, thinking time was so short that it just might work. It was Marc, after all, who had admitted that he had been harsh and too quick on the draw but that was before he knew that she knew of his condition. Meeting Steven and Jake was meant to be more of a test and aside from her being bull-headed, she was passing with flying colors.

What Jake couldn't wrap his head around was why Marc was being so resistant now. He had wanted this, right? To see how Simone would react to the whole skeleton crew and ultimately have the conversation they were meant to have the night before. The longer she stared at Jake expecting a change; however, the more distant that change became.

“C’mon, Spector, you’re making me look like a real schmuck here,” Jake whispered to himself as he flicked his glance between the mirror and the road. They were getting closer to the airport, and Simone was losing her patience. It almost made Jake veer from the course to buy more time, but the lady had a flight to catch.

Unless she missed it because I took a few wrong turns . He considered before brushing the thought off as wildly inappropriate. Marc had to know if there was any chance to save this situation, he had to come out of his own head.

Those thirty minutes were silent with no sign of Marc. Simone would be lying if she said she wasn't disappointed.

What did I even expect to get out of all this? She thought. Do I want my best friend back? Do I want closure? An apology?

She wanted to be told her assumptions about why he ran when he did were wrong, but something held her back from voicing that. She hoped he would bring it up on his own and from how Jake and Steven kept saying that he had something to say, she thought that was what would happen. That didn't change the fact that they were circling the airport parking lot without a word said. Rather than watching the number go up any more on the meter, Jake finally pulled to a stop at the drop-off area.

"Sorry I couldn't do much more." He said with sympathy in his voice. He hated how this turned out but he only had so much time. Simone nodded wordlessly, expressing understanding as she pulled her wallet out to pay for her ride. Jake reached back and put his hand over it, not considering the implications of getting grabby, even with good intentions. "Don't worry about it, darlin'. I got it."

It was the first act of physical touch since her arrival, his fingertips just barely grazing the top of her hand as she halted and shot her eyes to his. There was a curious flicker in his pupils, going from understanding to deep-set sadness. It felt familiar.

Without arguing, she gave him another nod, grabbed her bag, and exited the taxi. There was a brief hesitation before she walked, like something clinging to the back of her coat, telling her to turn around. Feeling it would only lead to further dismay, she set off through the large double doors. It was time to go home.

Notes:

The gang's all here! So exciting.

Chapter 3: The Summer

Summary:

Just to make this clear; this story follows the same formula as "I Wish you Roses" where the chapters flip-flop between flashbacks and the present time. For clarity, the flashbacks are not chronological and were placed for the sake of comparison. I've also done my best to write the flashback chapters as true to their age at the time as I could. I'm in my mid-20s so I can't exactly remember how teenagers acted and spoke 'back in my day' so please forgive me if it seems like these children have full-formed frontal lobes or are extremely kiddish. I'm having fun with it, so I hope you have fun reading it.

" You said you'd stay, and you promised I finally see you out
Why'd you wait for the summer, to chew and spit me out?
I sit awake and wait impatiently
The same mistakes are waiting to be made, to be made "
-"The Summer" by Citizen

 

Moni was on cloud nine. She and Marc spent all night out, sleeping—and not sleeping—in the car. She would have never imagined such a feat would be possible for her. Everything she wanted at that point in her life, she had, and there was nowhere to go but up.

As for the highlight of all that, he just wouldn't quit crossing her mind. She had to make the executive decision to wait for him to call first after they got home from their excursion to look more cool and mysterious. Obviously, this didn't take long.

"Simone! Marc on the phone!" Her mother yelled out from the kitchen, and Moni went spriting to take the wireless handset from her, promptly disappearing back into her room before she said a word.

"Hey!" She exclaimed with a big, cheesy smile before feeling like it sounded too eager.

“ What're your plans for tomorrow?” The voice she had been dying to hear said, skipping the pleasantries and going straight to arranging when he would get to see her next. Marc had been sitting on the couch before spiriting away with the home phone into his room just as Moni had.

It wasn't an unusual occurrence, as they called each other often, so further speculation about their status wasn't an issue. The cutest giggle vibrated against his eardrum, and his heart nearly leaped from his chest .

“Church. You know that” She said in a playful 'duh' fashion. He imagined her lying on her stomach on her bed, feet kicking behind her. It wasn't too far from the truth, being she was on her bed and kicking her feet, but sitting upright.

“ After church?” He asked in a hinting manner that Moni didn't seem to catch as she got quiet to think about it. Sometimes she and her mother would get lunch after mass, but it was typically impromptu. They did it a lot less since her dad died.

“Nothing that I know of yet. You?”

“I was thinking I could take you on a proper date.”

“And what does that entail?”

“Dinner, maybe a movie, some laughs.”

“Well, you don’t have to ask me twice.” She said with another adorable laugh. Marc couldn't wait to see her and would be with he r rig ht now if he wasn't expected to be with his family on Saturdays. As he remembered his family and how thin the walls were, he lowered his voice to where it would be just loud enough to make it through the phone.

“Then I’m gonna bite the fuck outta you.”

Instinctively, Moni hid the blush that rose on her cheeks and leaned slightly on her bed to get a better view of the hallway. No sign of her mom, but she followed suit on his secretive whisper-speak.

“You already did.” She reminded him as if he needed it. His voice grew a bit more gruff in her ear as she pressed it to the side of her face harder like it could make up for the distance between them.

“And you loved it. I felt it.”

Just the memory alone of what it did to her nearly weakened him, along with yet another girlish giggle that sounded like music to his ears. He thought about asking if it bruised but figured he would find out soon enough.

It had bruised. She checked her shoulder in the mirror upon coming home and found a decent-sized purple oval on her skin. It was tender to the touch and drove her mad, but she was glad she could easily cover it with a regular t-shirt.

“I think you’re obsessed.” She said in a mock-accusatory tone. It wasn't any different than how they would normally tease each other, and she was curious if she could get away with it now that things had changed between them.

“How could I not be? There isn’t a second where I’m not thinking about you. Your smile. Your laugh. Your lips.”

She listened attentively as his voice grew quieter with each listed feature. Maybe it was her who was obsessed. Either way, her stomach turned into what felt like anxiety when it was really the same feeling she had the night before when she finally kissed him. Butterflies on acid doing the macarena. There was a small pause in his sentence, and she suddenly missed his voice again.

“Keep going.” She insisted with a small hum. A deep chuckle tickled her brain, followed by another near-whisper.

“Are you touching yourself?” Marc asked boldly, knowing he probably shouldn't but thinking it really would be something to hear her say yes. Instead, he got a gasp as he imagined her doubling over at the idea.

“What? No! My mom’s awake.”

So she waits until her mom's asleep. Good to know. He thought, spinning in his rolling chair and considering prying deeper into that slip-up before pushing it aside.

“Right. Open door policy.” He said instead.

The policy was mainly for when she was on the phone or had friends over. Sometimes she would go to bed and close her door only to find it wide open when she woke up. She was a good Catholic girl, though. Or, at least, she was to everyone but Marc.

Marc was raised differently, religion aside. His parents let him close his door while she was over. They never did anything with the world of possibilities that afforded, but it was a testament to how parents raised girls over boys. Wanting to be bold like him, she checked the doorway once more and returned his question.

“Are you ?”

“And have all the fun without you?” He said smoothly. It was almost like she was baiting him. He could always sneak out during the night. He knew he could get away with it, but the risk of getting caught felt higher now. Being grounded meant he couldn't see her outside of school and work.

She was flustered by his words and couldn't find something sly to say in response. This was all so new to her. After another bout of nervous giggles, she went back to the new old reliable.

“Yep. You’re obsessed.”

“I definitely am." He agreed. He wanted the feeling to be mutual. " Just wait until I get my mouth on your pu-“

“Hahaha!" A loud fake laugh erupted into his ear, causing him to have to move the phone away for a moment in surprise. Moni's mother had walked by as he was speaking and she got nervous. "No, I finished the Trig homework already!”

“You act like your mom can hear me through the phone.”

There was another pause as Moni waited for her mom to get far enough away and tried to come up with something to say following that embarrassing outburst. He was right, yet she knew if he started talking that way again with her mom nearby, she would do it again.

“Yeah, that was really weird, huh?”

“It was cute.” He saved her from her shame but couldn’t let the subject go so easily. He kicked away from his desk, letting the chair glide to his bed where he lifted the pillow to see if what he had hidden away was still there. As he spotted the little yellow garment, he grinned. “Found your little present, by the way."

"Yeah? What told you I left it on purpose?"

As they packed up the camping supplies, she slipped her underwear in with his things on a whim. She wanted to play it off like it got mixed in by accident, but he had her pinned .

"I thought about that but figured you're just a little too organized to conveniently misplace your panties in my gym bag . Trying to tell me something?"

"How about I let you in on it tomorrow?"

Moni was going to be the death of him, he swore it. If it was a ploy to make him think about her, it wasn’t necessary, but it worked. He was thankful that he unpacked it before his mom went snooping through.

"I can be patient.” He said, all the while thinking he absolutely couldn’t be patient at all while spinning the fabric around his finger. One thing was for certain: she wouldn’t be getting them back. “I’ll pick you up at 5:30, then we can make a 7:30 or 8 o’clock movie.”

“My mom will want me back by 10. If a movie ends around 9:30 it won’t be enough time.” She picked apart the plan as she chewed on her bottom lip. She feared she might die if time wasn’t on their side.

“Look at you. I didn’t even think about that. So let’s don’t and say we did on the movie. Time better spent doing other things.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Moni said, and he could have sworn he heard her smile and blush if that was possible. “I should probably put this thing back on the hanger before my mom gets suspicious, though.”

“I hear you. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Absolutely. I love you.” She proclaimed, realizing how different it felt to say that now. It held a lot more weight. She could say it and he would know what she truly meant when she did.

“I love you more.”

“Unlikely, but I can’t fight you about that right now.”

“Tell me to my face.”

“You have yourself a deal.”

 

Moni was so giddy she couldn't sleep. Then, she couldn't stop daydreaming during mass and the car ride home. She wondered what Marc had planned for her; if they would be going to a sit-down restaurant or maybe Benson's drive-in. She had no idea what to even wear if she didn't know ahead of time. This was her first date ever .

She found herself getting ready several hours early. As far as clothes went, she picked out a cute Sunday blouse. It was yellow with little blue flowers patterned on it and paired well with her best dark blue jeans. Casual, but not sloppy. It seemed safe for whatever the night held.

From there, she was in standby mode, sitting on her bed awaiting a call from Marc telling her he was on his way or a knock at the door. She sat like this as the time ticked by at a slugged pace. As her digital clock showed 5:30, her heart raced, and her senses zeroed in on happening outside of her bedroom.

Then time suddenly moved a lot faster. 5:30 turned into 5:45, and still no rings or knocks.

Don't sweat it. He's probably just now on his way. It's fine. She thought, not allowing herself to freak out just yet. Being a little late wasn't unheard of for Marc. Before she knew it, it was six o'clock, and she couldn't fight the crushing blow that came with the thought of him forgetting about her.

Or maybe he was right about his dad sending him back to Putnam. She considered. The feeling that gave her hurt more than the idea of being forgotten.

What if they found my undies and grounded him? Another thought arose as well as the sensation of mortification along with it. There was no way they would know they were hers unless he told them, which he wouldn't. Her mom would have been tipped off by now. She knew she took a risk leaving those.

That was when she decided to walk over there and see if Marc was ready to go. If he forgot, it would be fine. That would be an honest mistake. The night was still young, after all. If he was grounded, they didn't have to go out tonight. She was allowed to hang out with him when he was in trouble as long as they didn't leave the house.

As she arrived at their front door, she noticed right away that Marc's bedroom light was off while the rest of the house seemed to be illuminated. That meant somebody had to be home, and she didn't see the Durango pass by as she was walking down the street. As it happened, the car wasn't parked where it usually was.

Did he take a different route to my house? Maybe he went to the IGA to pick up more condoms first. She questioned, hoping that wasn't true because that meant he could have been pulling up to her home as she approached the Spector household. If anyone knew when he left, it would be his parents, so she rang the doorbell. There was a commotion of shuffling and rushing feet from inside before the door swung open. It was Marc's mom, who usually greeted her with a smile. This time, she looked distraught.

“Have you spoken to Marc?” Wendy asked her straight out, skipping greetings entirely. Perplexed by the question, Moni answered honestly.

“No. I was checking in because we had plans this evening. Why?”

Without giving her an answer, Wendy moved out of the way of the door as an invitation for her to come inside. She did so, and upon her entering, Marc's dad exited the kitchen with the house phone in his hand.

“He left this morning and we haven’t seen or heard from him since,” Elias informed her with an accusatory expression. “Do you know where he might have gone? Did he tell you if he was running away?”

Running away? Moni thought, bewildered by the idea alone. Surely he would have told her, given her time to pack a bag so she could tag along. That was how that was supposed to work. Before she could come up with something to say, Wendy chimed in.

“Do you think she would be here right now if she did, Elias?”

Her logic was sound as if she had read Moni's mind. Why would she come over looking for Marc if she knew he ran away? Something in her face told Moni that she was deeply surprised they hadn't gotten a call from Estie asking them if they knew where she had gone. Elias himself seemed to realize the gravity of the situation now that he knew Moni was just as clueless as they were.

“Alright, well, we’re about to turn his room upside down for anything that might tip us off, so you can help or leave.”

 

They spent the better part of an hour snooping through Marc's room. Elias sifted through papers and through his school bag, Wendy searched under his bed and in his closet, and Moni, for some reason, was assigned his dresser.

There were no clues or hints other than the same gym bag he brought camping conveniently being missing along with him. That meant he packed clothes. That meant he didn't plan to come back for a while. The whole time they searched, Moni prayed that maybe he would just show back up and admit he was being a bit hasty.

Something she didn't expect while they left no stone unturned; however, was that her underwear was nowhere to be found. She had feared them being discovered and getting caught if she couldn't come up with something on the spot or lie and say that she didn't know anything about the garment.

A part of her thought she would have told the truth. It would be embarrassing, but she wouldn't have to hide it. She could confidently say she and Marc were together and get that small rush of feeling important. To say 'Yes, those are my panties. Your son is my boyfriend' would be gratifying.

Coming up empty on all levels, Elias decided to leave Wendy and Moni to sift through everything again while he took a phone call. It was quiet and awkward, opening already searched drawers just to close them again. Eventually, they both gave up when Wendy sat on Marc's bed and patted the blanket next to her for Moni to join.

“Level with me, honey. Did he take his meds while you were camping?” Wendy asked quietly as if trying to make sure her husband didn't hear.

“I mean, yeah, he even checked the time.”

“So you saw him take it?”

Thinking back, Moni realized she had left the car while he took them. She didn't think there was a reason to monitor him taking his pills. She simply trusted that he would. The part of her that wanted to lie was pushed under by the part of her that knew lying wouldn't help in this situation.

“I didn't technically see it, but he said he would.” She answered hesitantly. A shaking exhale left Wendy's lips, and she began digging into the pocket of her slacks.

“I haven’t told Elias yet but I found these in the pocket of the shorts he wore when he came back.” In the middle of her palm sat three little pills . Two oval, one round. “I thought maybe it was just a fluke but now I’m sure. Do you know why he might have wanted to run away?”

All Moni could do was silently shake her head. She thought everything was fine. Better than fine. They had such a good time and everything seemed right in the world. Then she remembered something he said:

"I think my dad wants to send me away again."

“Was he acting strange at all? Unlike himself?” Wendy questioned again, and the more Moni thought it over, the more flags began to rise in her mind. Had the entire interaction been strange?

“I don’t think so.” She said, still apprehensive but choosing to put her doubts in the back of her mind. Wendy turned her body to face her once the pills went back into her pocket, taking Moni's hands as if she could feel something was off.

“You know my son better than anyone else."

A lot more than you realize these days. She thought to herself.

"Did he do anything that might have been out of the ordinary for him?”

As if her question had knocked down a wall in Moni's mind, she began to question everything that occurred.

"God, I do. I really, really do."

"You're so beautiful, you know that?"

"You're gonna have a hell of a time getting rid of me now, Moni."

"What does he know? He's just ashamed of me. I have you, though. We should run away."

His frenzied , obsessive, thoughtless eyes. How he seemed so prepared to take off with her at his side, no plans, no destinations, nothing. She had to shake away the urge to come clean about all of it but there had to be something she could say that would be even slightly useful.

“Just how paranoid he seemed about going back to Putnam. That’s all, I swear.” She blurted out softly, still trying to keep the conversation between the two of them. Realization filled Wendy's irises and she nodded with understanding.

“Marc must have heard us talking about it. I told Elias we aren’t doing that again.” 

“He seemed pretty sure it would happen.” Moni was quick to defend Marc.

“Okay. That could mean he missed a couple of doses.”

That meant he wasn't on his meds to any degree that night. That registered in Moni's brain as a reasonable explanation. Marc never would have shown any interest in her if his head was straight. Why would he? She started to feel tears prick in her ducts, that thought along with the fear of him being gone forever catching up with her.

“I’m sorry. I should have made sure he took his pills.” She apologized as she choked up.

He ran away because he hates me. She told herself. We were friends before this. That should have been good enough. Why did I have to screw everything up?

“It’s not your fault, sweetie. He can be pretty deceptive about his meds. It’s why he spent so long there before. It was meant to be a 6-month stint but then he started acting irrationally, thought people were out to get him. He was slight-of-handing his pills.” Wendy explained, trying to comfort the girl who had begun to cast blame on herself. This did little to quell Moni's anguish. She remembered the last time he was off his meds. How reckless he was. She felt like she should have known.

“Just promise me that if you hear from him you’ll tell us first. I know you love him, but on the off chance that he comes back for you, he won’t be in his right mind. Don’t be tempted to go anywhere with him. We’re in this together.”

As Moni nodded in agreement, unsure if she meant to do that or not if it came down to it, Elias came back into the room with a hand over the phone to muffle his own voice.

"They found the car. It was left in Missouri. No Marc ." He announced.

Missouri?

Chapter 4: When Sparks Fly

" It's been two years, I keep calling
I'm standing here and I ain't got you
As we lay here, lovers in arms
I can feel your fear, can this love be true? "
-"When Sparks Fly" by Vince Staples

 

Nobody at home had heard from Simone in a week. Colleagues at Milestones, the facility where she was a psychiatrist, assumed she was dead because she never missed work and when she did, she called first.

Imagine their surprise when she came running through the heavy doors of the employee entrance. She was frantic trying to explain to the head of the facility, Dr. Joan Blevins, why she had been completely off-grid.

That was when it occurred to Simone that she had no explanation for this that wouldn't be a lie. The truth would surely land her in Putnam. She hated lying, especially when it came to work, but her most logical reasoning for the fib that slipped through her teeth was for the sake of Joan. Just like telling a white lie to one of her young patients. It was for her own good.

"My mom was in the hospital again. They really didn't think she would make it and I was so scared I forgot to call." Simone explained as genuine tears pricked up in her eyes. Not from worry about her mother, of course, but for fear that this would be the end of her tenure at Milestones.

Joan was a tall, heavily Italian woman with dark brown hair and even darker eyes. Her olive skin was virtually flawless for a woman ten years Simone's senior. She handled the teenage patients as well as the children before deciding to split her workload and taking a chance on the fresh-faced PsyD that she ran into at a workshop many years before.

Ever since that day, Simone thought of Joan as a mentor more than a colleague and worked tirelessly to gain her trust and respect. Lying to her so plainly felt like a step in the wrong direction. Joan was a brick wall, dealing with some of the most difficult patients between the ages of thirteen and seventeen years old.

She'll see right through me. Simone thought fearfully after pulling the excuse out of her ass as the receptionists looked on with worry. From the looks on their faces, they believed her. It wasn't them that she needed to convince. To her surprise, Joan's face remained soft and comforting.

"Simone, I understand. Your mother's been sick for a long time. I get it. I was the same before my daddy passed."

Holy shit. Simone thought, trying everything to not sigh with relief. Joan believed her. Sympathized, even. If she hadn't been mentally brushing a bead of sweat from her brow, she would have felt guilty straight away. The woman went on to explain that she would have accepted a phone call if she wasn't able to find time to run in and tell her directly. In another incredible feat, she suggested Simone take a few more days off if needed. There was a pregnant pause as she thought the idea over. The last thing she needed was to push the envelope. Having already concluded her business in New York, she was ready to get back to normalcy.

The secondary issue of her mother came to mind. Not because she was in the hospital, as she was leading Joan to believe, but because she still needed to run and see her. There hasn't been a day to go by since Simone moved out that she hasn't so much as called her mom at least once to check in and as the years passed and she got older and sicker, it turned into visits. The day was still young, though.

"She's doing better, so I think my work here will do me some good." She expressed sheepishly, speaking to Joan but more so asking herself. Joan's kind eyes narrowed at her. She was superwoman when it came to this facility. Taking on Dr. Fredrick's patients meant nothing more than shifting around her schedule a bit, and that was already taken care of in her absence.

"If you're positive," Joan replied as she held her arms out, offering a hug to the seemingly distraught coworker and friend. It was time to bring it home. Simone accepted the embrace, allowing herself to finally fully breathe. It was time to put multiversal travel and Marc Spector behind her and get back to what mattered most.

After work, her next stop was her childhood home, renovated for her mother's ease of access. Estefania wasn't allowed to use the stairs, so everything in her bedroom that was once on the top floor was moved to the living room.

The space used to have a dividing wall separating the kitchen, but that was knocked down to introduce an open concept. It took on the appearance of a stylish studio apartment these days, full of plants and art supplies to distract the eye from the c-pap machine and walker that were necessary these days for Estie.

The stained-glass front door was unlocked upon Simone's arrival, signaling that it was another good day for Mamá. Still, she braced herself for the third degree as she opened the door. The routine was important for Estie, and no calls or med check visits were considered a deviation.

To Simone's surprise, Estie didn't mention the lack of her daughter over the last several days. As much as she wanted to consider that a win, it concerned her a lot more. The main topic of conversation upon being seen was the same as always: Estie's projects and plants. She stared at the small Latina, shocked that she could fall off the Earth for several days at a time and her mother wouldn't have a care in the world over it.

I could tell her I'm going to Vegas and eloping with Johnny from the pet store and she wouldn't give a shit. She thought, assessing her mother's body language to see if there was some medical explanation for her reaction. There was nothing physically out of the ordinary and she wondered if she needed to actually take her to the hospital.

That seemed so silly. Estie just sat on her bed, watching her rerun of 'Pasión de gavilanes' on her television, and crocheting what looked like a winter hat. In retrospect, Simone didn't need to be here every day. It was a personal choice ever since the stroke that nearly killed Estie.

The most concerned person in Simone's life seemed to be Phoebe, who wasn't used to her friend not calling her at least twice a week. They were friends all through elementary until Phoebe moved to Wyoming in seventh grade, but they stayed in contact. Then, she moved back to Illinois two years ago with her husband and two kids.

Simone never would have imagined lying to Phoebe about something so major, but she had no other options. Then sparked her second lie: she forgot to pay her phone bill. Even with Simone's annoying tendency to be impossibly organized, she bought the excuse.

 

Simone's world was back to normal. Wake up, go to work, go to her mother's, come home, eat, sleep, repeat. The stability was nice, but also daunting after the whirlwind she had the previous week. There were no clones, no new faces, no odd spaces to wake up in. Just her and her quiet house.

She never realized how lonely she was before she had to stay in a two-bedroom apartment with four to five other people. Of course, that feeling was everpresent after her breakup with Ericka, but she got used to it quickly. Seeing as this wouldn't be changing anytime soon, she needed to get used to it all over again.

It was a rather mundane day at work. Mundane for Simone would be tragic and heart-wrenching for the average Joe. She was used to some of the worst of the worst, hearing about the most gruesome and graphic experiences these kids had to deal with. They weren't all bad; though, some kids sat in her chair because of developmental issues ranging from ADHD to ASD.

The day tried its best to test Simone. A new patient came in from the custody of the state. She was only five years old and had been through every imaginable manner of abuse from both of her parents. The problem was that child protective services couldn't get her to talk or tell her story. She was mute, in the clinical sense.

Miraculously, all it took was a few sheets of paper and a big box of crayons to get some insight into only a few of the things that had happened to her. The drawings alone would have someone who wasn't seasoned vomiting in the bathroom, wondering how the kind-eyed Dr. Fredrick had somehow seen worse.

Joan always said that Simone's deep understanding of the way children think and her general sense of hope for seeing them through to the other side made her perfect for this job. Even faced with the darkest tales, she can find light somewhere.

'Building Hope From The Ground Up' was the slogan on the sign outside of the Milestones facility because of something Simone had said one time and Joan liked it so much that she made it the mission statement. It was fitting because they believed in it. Anyone can get better.

 

At the end of her work day, she decided to call her mother for the check-in rather than show up. Something told her she needed her own deviation from the routine for once. It was another good day for Estie, thankfully.

Then, she was on her way back home, the chill of the evening biting any exposed skin on her body. She could drive, even had a car, but chose to take the L each day. Her car was ancient and held a lot of memories, so she kept it in the garage in case she needed it and only ever started it up to make sure it still ran.

She wasn't the only foot traveler in the neighborhood on their way to public transport in the morning but around this time as the sky turned bright orange, it was typically quiet. The one exception was the barking dogs and running engines as the odd car passed her by, as well as another set of footsteps a few feet back that didn't phase her until a voice piped up in that direction.

"This is a nice little street."

The familiar voice had her stopped dead in her tracks. It had been a week without so much as a word and she had begun to lose hope. The other Simone had apparently been correct; stepping back would make him come around. She pivoted on her heel to find that Marc had stopped about three feet away.

No suit this time, but a black pullover with the hood drawn up to obscure his side profile and a casual pair of blue jeans and black Nike sneakers. She had been hearing the footsteps for about a block but wondered just how long he had been tailing her without her noticing.

Marc had arrived in Chicago sometime that afternoon after mulling it over ever since she walked into the airport. He hated how they left things and knew he would have to take the leap to straighten it all out. He knew where she worked and ended up hanging out at a Burger Barn across the street, not knowing when she would leave. Once she did, he followed from a distance, even taking the L completely unseen.

"If you're gonna follow me all the way home, at least walk next to me so you don't look like you're trying to snatch me up." She called him out. He hadn't considered how it might appear to bystanders, being nearly a foot taller than her and hiding himself on purpose. He considered it for a second but figured he would take the chance on strange glances over sharing the sidewalk and brushing hands or elbows.

"I'm alright back here." He said, trying and failing to word it in a way that didn't make it sound like he was behind her watching her backside. He had been, but it wasn't his fault that she obviously couldn't tell when she was being tailed.

It was the same behavior Simone had observed at the Mission. He was hell-bent on keeping her well past an arm's length. Though she didn't understand it, she respected it nonetheless.

"You see the house right down there? Bay window, seafoam siding?" She said as she pointed in the direction they had been walking. Marc focused his eyes and found it fast with the few details provided. She reacted into her purse and pulled out a keyring before tossing it to him. He caught it and stared at her curiously. "Head that way. I'll give you a headstart and catch up. The housekey is the one with nail polish on it."

Examining the keys, he found the one she spoke of. It had a dot of baby blue paint on it, but he was more concerned with the fact that she just permitted him to enter her house without her. As he looked up, she shrugged as if to say it was a better plan in case her neighbors got sketched out over him.

Whip-smart. Nothing new there. He thought, watching her back up into the empty street and gesturing him forward with a wan smile. With that, he started walking again.

"You know, Chicago's a dangerous place. You really should learn to be more mindful of your surroundings." He called out at the sound of her feet hitting the pavement again.

"And you missed the opportunity to teach me a lesson on that by scaring the fear of God into me like those jagoffs in New York did."

"And yet, not even that made you realize the value of keeping your eyes and ears open. What if I was mugging you or trailing you to your house to threaten you to let me in? Predators use that trick, you know."

Is he concerned for my safety? She thought, finding his worry to be sweet. She wasn't entirely clueless about the dangers of the world. Having to hear about them was part of her job, after all. She had mace in her purse and a pistol at home in case she felt like she needed them and for whatever reason, in this case, she didn't think she did. As for the comment about keeping her wits about her, it was too rich to not point out what just occurred.

"I just gave you the keys to my house and let you walk ahead of me for the sake of whatever this is. I'd say I'm plenty observant."

And she didn't ask questions in doing so. He thought, realizing she had him there, despite the clear dig at his insistence on keeping a wide birth. He was glad she didn't question it; though, as he had no idea how to explain his reasoning without sounding like a knucklehead.

Before long, Marc was at her front door, unlocking it as instructed while she stayed at the end of her driveway a ridiculous twenty-five feet away. Now Moni was just mocking him and it made him move faster in getting her door open. A brief scope around the front of the house gave him another critique to mention.

"No security system? Not even a doorbell camera?" He yelled out as the door clicked open to reveal a cozy little place that had very clearly been decorated to her tastes. Mauve walls littered with colorful art of flowers and fruit, a shelf that appeared to have Star Wars collector's items on it, a white velvety L-shaped couch that sat in front of a decent-sized television, and on top of a gray throw rug.

As he examined the space, she walked in behind him and was relieved to see it wasn't nearly as messy as she remembered it being before she left. To Marc, it wasn't messy in the least. It looked lived-in, but organized and clean. As she entered, he put his back to the furthest wall from the door after placing her keys in what looked like a change bowl.

“You own this place?” He asked, pretending to survey the recessed lighting on the ceiling.

“No, I’m renting it. It’s better than any apartment I can get around here.” She explained as she peeled away her coat and hung it up with three others on a hanging rack. There was a large, heavy-looking brown Carhart jacket on the hook next to it. Either it was hers for the harsh winters or there was someone else here recently that forgot it. It didn't appear to be her style among the sherpa and leather.

“Did Ericka live here with you?” The question fell from his teeth before he could swallow it back upon seeing the out-of-place garment. He didn't need the reminder that they weren't together anymore, having thought about it heavily since their last conversation.

Moni didn't think about the odd question too hard or wonder where it came from because she caught the inflection in his voice on the name again. Choosing not to read too far into it, she ran her now sweaty palms over the front of her jeans.

“No. I moved in after we broke up.” She told him, skirting the edge of her living room to get to the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink? I have water and…”

She trailed off, realizing she only had water. She could make a pot of coffee but didn't want it to go to waste in the event that this happened like it did before. She also had wine and an unopened bottle of Tito's in her freezer. Before she could offer up any of that, stuttering at the idea of pouring him a drink, he shrugged.

“Water's fine.”

Her nervousness didn't go unnoticed. The way her voice trembled and how she kept brushing her hands on her legs were easy signs, but Moni's personal giveaway was how her eyes darted around the room. It wasn't nearly this bad when they were at the Mission.

“You’re doing that thing you do when you get nervous. We’re in your home. No need to freak out.” He attempted to talk her down, feet still glued to what he deemed as the 'safe spot' of her living room.

“Are you not freaking out?” She asked as she retrieved a glass from her cupboard. It was different because they were in her house. It was an intimate space.

“No.” He replied shortly. From his vantage point, he was able to watch her beyond the dividing wall between the rooms. It was a lie, and if his distance didn't give that away already, nothing would. He decided to try honesty. “Actually, yeah. A little bit. Being back here is just… really something.”

The last time he was in town felt like a millennia ago. He avoided his old haunts for fear of recognition, solely for the purpose of checking on Moni. The internet will only tell you so much and some weird feelings could only be soothed by seeing her in the flesh. She didn't need to know about that, though.

Once his water was retrieved, Moni reentered the living room and took a seat on the end of the couch furthest from where he stood, placing the glass on a coaster and scooting it across her coffee table with her fingertips. This was a clear invitation to sit down, and since he was trying to do this differently than before, he followed suit and planted himself on the far end.

It was driving her up the wall how he continuously took care to stay as far away as possible, the closest being when she shoved the coffee mug to him before leaving the Mission and that was only because he was pinned to a wall.

And he thinks I'm the only one freaking out?

“I’m not gonna bite you.” She said as a way to open up a conversation about the distance. This caused them both to remember how his teeth clamped around the soft skin of her shoulder. Where she was able to brush it off, Marc's mind wasn't as flexible.

That doesn't mean I won't bite you. He thought, quickly reminded of why he needed to stay so far away.

“I’m keeping you at a distance because I’m not looking to get cozy, Moni. We’re here to talk. Let’s talk.”

There went that tone again. It was determined to push her away but they were in her house now. If anyone would be leaving, it was him, and he obviously came all this way for a reason. Her response was to lean back and allow her body to sink into the cushion in a relaxed position.

“You start. Jake and Steven were very adamant that you had more to say.” She insisted, keeping her gaze on his body language as it quickly shifted at the proposition.

“Are you kidding me? You just show up in my life outta nowhere and tell me you had all this stuff planned out that you needed to tell me and now you won’t ?”

“Exactly." She agreed, attempting to maintain control over the conversation when her mouth blindsided her by running faster than she could think. "That’s the problem. I never know how to speak my mind because last time I did I got bailed on.”

There it was. It was vague, but the implication was aimed at him like a projectile. She said before she wasn't mad at him for leaving but in Marc's mind, there was no other way that sentence could be interpreted.

“Well, that’s a start. You are mad at me.” He spoke with a sense of understanding as she expelled air harshly from her nose.

“Of course, I'm mad. I’ve been mad but now I’m not mad at you ." She attempted to reconstruct her sentence before deciding to tell it like it is and make them both face a harsh truth. “I’m mad that I spent the last nineteen years of my life believing it was somehow my fault.”

Marc stared at her blankly, remembering explicitly that he confirmed he was off his medication when he fled the city, which she knew already. He was lost on how that had anything to do with her.

“Why would you think that?”

“Maybe because everything was fine until we did what we did. Then I learned you pocketed your pills that night and were off them for who knows how long before." She started to speak but briefly stopped to clear her throat. It was harder to talk about than she realized.

Marc remembered vividly what he had done that night. Moni got out of the car to grab the camping supplies and left him to take his pills. The wild thing about mood stabilizers is how you can feel on top of the world, tricking yourself into thinking you don't need them. He played like he was taking them and stuck them in his pocket before she got back in.

"Then your parents tell me you purposely didn’t want me to know what you were up to and I thought you came to some realization that every time you were off your meds it always had something to do with me. I know that isn't true now, but that was what I thought. Maybe I made you worse.”

“You made me better." He corrected, not realizing he had scooted further to the edge of the cushion as he listened to her talk. "I liked who I was with you and for whatever reason, when I didn’t take my meds, I believed you liked me better without them.”

Never once would Moni have known he wasn't medicated without being told so. A bit of reckless behavior aside, she accepted him no matter what he did. More than that, she adored him. As if he sensed her about to ask, he continued. "I was more bold without them. I punched Javi and fought Danny, I doubt I would have had the nerve to kiss you either time if I took those stupid pills."

Was that a Freudian slip or a misspeak? She thought, feeling like that confirmed another suspicion she had. He wasn't in his right mind when doing any of those things, including the sex.

"So you did only do it because you weren't medicated." She uttered it as a statement rather than a question. Marc recalled the sentence and backtracked.

"That's not what I meant. You would have had to do some serious leading but I wanted to do it. I always did."

Still do. But I won't. He continued the sentence in his head and found himself happy that she couldn't read his mind. If anything, he wished he could read hers as she seemed to accept his answer with bright eyes.

It felt like the hard part was out of the way, but she couldn't help but wonder how far that 'always' stretched. It could go as far as the present time, even with that 'did' that followed it. Seeing as they didn't get to talk much about what happened, she wanted to keep going.

"I haven't been able to listen to Loves Rock ever since."

Neither have I. He wanted to say.

"We let that album play the whole time, didn't we?" He asked instead, lightly chuckling to himself over the fact that they were far too preoccupied to find a different CD. He wondered if it was because it brought on what she deemed a bad memory or if it had the same effect on her as it did on him.

Not too long ago 'Every Word' was blasting over a car radio outside of the Mission and it took him so far back he could almost smell spent rain and sent a chill down his spine. Looking at her face now, it looked like it did the former for her. There was a glimmer of sadness in her eyes.

That sadness was less from thinking about the record and more from debating if she wanted to tell him about what happened after. She felt he didn't have any right to know and didn't want him to feel sorry for her over it. She also felt like the knowledge would help bridge the gap between them.

"You remember how we ran through three condoms that night?" She introduced the topic the only way she knew how without outright telling him. A reminder of how careful they were felt necessary. He raised an eyebrow at this, knowingly.

How could I forget? He thought, chewing the inside of his cheek to stop himself from saying it out loud. In place of the words, he simply nodded and shifted his glance to the water on the coffee table. The condensation was collecting at the bottom in a small pool. The coaster was smart.

"One of them had a microscopic defect in it." She spoke as if sharing a secret that would get her in trouble, bringing her feet up and crossing them on the cushion she resided but not taking her stare from his face for fear of missing his reaction. As expected, it was confusing.

"How would you even know that?" He asked, picturing an eighteen-year-old Moni digging through the plastic grocery bag in the back of the Durango and inspecting each used contraceptive for holes or tears. Within a split-second of the odd assumption, he answered his own question. What happens when barriers have holes? Things slip through.

Marc looked back at her slowly as she let the information marinate without extra commentary. Yet another surprising tidbit of information that he would have gone his entire life without knowing if he hadn't decided to show up. "Shit." was all he could mutter.

"Yep. I obviously got an abortion, that was my choice. Had to pay for it myself out of my savings but I don't regret that. Aside from the professionals I saw, you're the first other than me to know."

What she did regret was not having Marc there to talk to about it. She couldn't tell her mom because she would have chastised her, not even just for the abortion but the premarital sex. She didn't blame him for that, though. How would he have known?

"I'm sorry you had to deal with that alone." He said softly, uttering his first apology over what went down. That was something he felt he could apologize for, even if he couldn't change it. It seemed she was a lot more relaxed now, having gotten that off her chest, and she shrugged.

"Nothing I couldn't handle."

But you shouldn't have handled it alone. He thought, wondering what his reaction would have even been back then. He liked to think he would have backed her all the way, maybe busted open a few piggy banks to help pay for the termination. Then he went back to what she said about being the first to know. That meant her ex didn't know. Feeling a little more confident now, it brought about more questions in that regard.

"So, Ericka ."

There was that displeased tone again, which confused Moni still. Marc never had any beef with Ericka, from what she knew. She didn't have a lot of friends growing up, so she felt like she would have noticed if any of them weren't getting along.

"What about her?" Moni wondered, hoping that whatever this was leading to would provide some insight. As if he noticed his own tone, he cooled a bit.

"What happened?"

It was a loaded question because he didn't specify what exactly he was referring to. How the relationship happened, how it went, or how it ended. She didn't talk about it very much as a rule, not being comfortable sharing her true thoughts about Ericka for fear of it sounding like badmouthing or bitterness. Just as she opened her mouth to ask him to narrow it down, he spoke again. "I always had a feeling she was into you. I don't know what it was because she wasn't out and neither were you."

Catholicism will do that. She thought to herself, thinking it was true for both parties. It was a reminder that she hadn't come to terms with her sexuality until college, and if Marc wanted to know why she never came out to him, she would tell him just that. They told each other everything.

It was then Marc understood that he had no plan going into this question. Something in him wanted reassurance that Moni was over her, and he hated it. Instead of asking that, he veered back to something that he felt was his business. "Did she know about..."

"She did," Moni answered cautiously, assuming his trailing off eluded to his being with her. She wanted to laugh about how they both couldn't seem to bring themselves to say it aloud, even at their grown age. He seemed to eye her expectantly at this, so she decided to alleviate his curiosity. "She hated it. As much as she tried to hide it, she hated the fact that I could swing either way."

There was a lot she could say about Ericka, good and bad. She was assertive and easy to be with, made all the decisions, and liked that Simone didn’t. This complemented her timid nature for a while, but as time went on, it slowly edged into doormat territory. Ultimately, they were just way too different.

Relief flooded Marc's body when she confirmed that she wasn't strictly into women. Of course, the way she undressed him with her eyes at the Mission could have told him that, but there was a different kind of satisfaction that came with having a leg-up over the person she had been in a long-term relationship with.

"Date anyone before or after?"

"Nope. Not even a kiss."

"I don't believe you." Marc said, gobsmacked. That wasn't entirely true because, though he was surprised, he did believe her. Something in her demeanor didn't exactly scream 'I have casual sex' which slightly stirred something within him. She cackled at his disbelief, dragging his mind out of the gutter.

"Well, I'm sorry, did you expect me to have a harem waiting here?"

"No, but I'm looking at you and can't comprehend that you've only slept with two people in your entire life." The words flew from his teeth so fast they nearly made his head spin. He hoped it wasn't too forward as it was meant as a compliment on her appearance. "Bet you had a lot of eligible suitors kicking rocks."

Did he just say I'm hot without saying I'm hot? She thought, feeling her breath get caught in her windpipe. It seemed like a long shot. You can acknowledge that someone is attractive without being attracted to them.

That was her problem. She didn't know the signs unless they were blatantly obvious, like someone flat-out telling her 'Hey, I want to have sex with you' while shaking her by the shoulders. Even then, she didn't know if she would have the confidence to go forward with it.

"Either I'm unapproachable or worse at understanding when I'm being flirted with than you give me credit for." She said with a nervous giggle.

You never caught when I would flirt with you. Marc thought, remembering all the things he would say that he would play off as a joke to avoid an awkward moment. Friends didn't flirt, and during the all-too-short time when they were more than friends, he overdid it. Looking back on it now, he wondered how she could have possibly not seen the signs. How she wasn't seeing them now, even as he kept himself on a tight leash.

"I missed you, you know." She spoke so softly, it almost didn't register in his ears. It made his heart swell. The feeling was mutual but he couldn't comprehend that she saw the boy she knew in the man on her couch. That boy was so far removed these days that Marc was a stranger. That sickly feeling hit him again and probed him to push her to take a step back.

“You missed someone who doesn't exist anymore. Your view of the world is so closed that you have no idea who's sitting in your house with you right now."

Moni eyed him for a moment, recognizing the tone he was trying to take with her as the one from earlier. This time, it sounded too forced. He either didn't believe what he was saying or he didn't want her to believe it. Luckily, she didn't.

"Marc Spector is sitting in my house. Trust me, I've been freaking out about it this whole time, and not because I feel any sort of danger around you." She explained. Marc rolled his eyes,

"I don't think you know what danger even looks like."

"It looked like those two men on the street in New York. It looked like the other world's Jake Lockley driving like a crazy person because he thought I was some robot clone of his world's Simone. Hell, that same woman was the living embodiment of danger."

"But you still think what? That because you got out of those situations unscathed that you're untouchable?"

It all rubbed him the wrong way. How she let him follow her for miles, how she didn't scream or fight back against those men who likely wanted to rape her and leave her in a ditch, how she wasn't more cautious with him. Even the little laugh she did in response to his line of questioning told him just how unrealistic she was.

"I obviously don't think that way. I'm optimistic, not naive."

"You are naive. You still have that innocence in your eyes.” He pointed out, seeing it every time they've seen each other so far. It drove him crazy, and he hated that it did. “Yeah, I’ll ruin that.”

As he said the quiet part out loud, he wondered what he meant by that. Maybe it was in the same vein that if you throw a sweet dog around enough, it starts to bite. Maybe he thought of it as her taking a peek into his world and seeing just how messed up it was, dimming the light that resided behind her pupils. Maybe both, or neither at all.

As much as he didn't want her to become hyperaware of the bad shit—wanted to protect that light—she would be so much safer if it were snuffed out. Did he have it in him to be the cause of that? A part of him thought-

Who better than the devil you know?

"So you think I shouldn't want to be your friend because I should be afraid you'll hurt me?" She asked, making it sound like the most preposterous thing she had ever heard. "I can't think that way."

"Maybe you should." He introduced his point, fighting himself from moving over on the couch, thinking the distance was causing the disconnect. He took a verbal approach instead. "What makes you believe I haven't been thinking about how many times I can twist your head before it pops off your neck since we got here?"

Simone didn't even have to think about it. He was trying to rattle her, clearly, but she felt completely safe. Just because one kid has a violent outburst during a session doesn't mean you shouldn't continue to work with them. This was no patient of hers, though. This was Marc.

"Because you know you could have done it by now if you wanted to. I wouldn't know how to stop you. I'm not 928's Simone, I'm not Moon Knight, I'm just me and I'm sitting here, neck fully exposed."

That brought an image to her mind of wearing his hand like a necklace. Did she trust him enough for that? She must have, seeing as it sent a strange shock of arousal through her. Shaking away the sinful image, she got to her point. "You don't wanna hurt me because you spent too long trying to protect me. It's what you do."

Marc knew she was right. All this time he continued to check on her told him that, also. All the digging he did into Ericka Fatu when he found out they were in a relationship to find some sort of violent history after high school to back up his trepidation. It felt hypocritical to want to protect her all the while imagining digging his fingertips into her flesh so hard it left bruises. He couldn't outright say that, though.

"I don't want to hurt you but all that schooling should tell you that doesn't mean I won't."

Are these intrusive thoughts he's worried about? Has he actually wondered what my head would look like detached from my body? She thought, wishing he would speak plainly. Either way, she didn't see a single hint of malicious intent in his eyes and she would know because she hadn't broken contact with them since the topic began. If he couldn't tell her what he was really thinking, she would have to meet him halfway.

"I'm flattered that you care but I think I can handle you sitting a little bit closer to me without fear that you'll suddenly get the impulse to gouge my eyes out with a crescent dart."

I'm all the way over here to avoid giving you the right idea. He thought, then considered what she had said. Crescent dart?

"How do you know what they're called?"

"928's Simone is Moon Knight and she was a lot scarier than you."

"You have no idea how scary I can be."

"You're right, and I never will because I'm not afraid of you."

Marc couldn't wrap his head around what she was trying to do. She was smart. Smart enough to know if she was simply clinging to a memory. She would know that mental illness can warp someone's mind over time. Did she know what she was risking testing him?

Maybe I got her wrong. He thought. This is what she does for a living. She can probably see that she's inching closer to a snarling dog. Does she want me to snap at her? Or is she banking that I won't?

"Is this some kind of psychology thing? You think that fixes me somehow?"

"I'm not a fixer, Marc. I consider myself an assistant in highlighting good qualities. You said it yourself, you think I made you better."

As she said this, she flashed a sweet smile as if making a proposal. She had said it once already; she thought they could be friends. Marc thought that was impossible. Even before the night they spent together, his feelings for her toed the line of obsession. She knew that. Called him out for it, even. It only made him want her more.

Thinking back on it, it exhilarated her. The way she was willing to gamble so many things in her life just to be by his side. He was so gripped by the very thought of her that it was contradictory. What started as him being smitten turned into a manic episode that made him run away with his tail tucked between his legs, afraid he would never be enough for her like he was never enough for anyone else.

But yet, here he sat on her sofa, still drinking in her grin as if she was underneath him. Shivering every time she said his name. Having trouble breathing each time she looked at his lips. Just like the eighteen-year-old boy who wanted to kiss her so badly, he waited tirelessly for the day she finally did.

All we're missing is Sade, huh? He nearly laughed to himself before reminding himself it would be a mistake.

"So what do you get when you put someone who makes people better and someone who makes things and people worse in a room together?" He asked, hoping she could make him better understand what she sought to get from their reconnection. She didn't think long at all.

"I think you get balance. They bring out each other's strengths and nullify their weaknesses."

"Wrong," Marc responded as if he had a buzzer in his hand. "They both gain another weakness."

"Such a pessimistic way of thinking. Caring doesn't make someone weak."

You should know. Your whole thing is taking care of people , right? She nearly said before he snickered as if what she had said was missing his point.

“You need to get out more.”

“I did . I’ve been to two different New York’s now.” She rebuked.

“I'm sure that was fun but what did you learn from that experience? Aside from the fact that there are other universes out there.”

"I learned that there was a badass, sexually confident version of me out there who was capable of somehow bewitching two different men at once when I can't even seem to get a date with one."

I also learned that I would never make it as a matchmaker. Praise be to Simone O'Hara but whatever I was trying to achieve pushing her and Marc together backfired. What if I was just trying to fulfill some fantasy of my own? Live vicariously through her?

"Are you even trying ?" Marc asked with a knowing glance.

As in , are you trying right now?

“Sounds like you’re challenging me.”

Her saying that brought an idea to his mind. If he had any chance at keeping this at bay, she would need a distraction. Someone who would treat her well. Someone who deserved what she had to offer. It would be a pin in his side for a little bit, but he would live. More importantly, so would she, and he could continue to watch her from afar as always.

“Maybe I am. I don’t think you realize how much joy you would bring to someone’s life.” He spoke up. "Admit it. You’re bored.”

He was right about that. After the multiversal misstep, she realized just how fruitful her life could be. She could be married or she could be fucking around, she could be rearranging the faces of villainy, but she wasn't built for that. She was a pediatric psychiatrist who sat around reading in her spare time.

What Simone-928 had was messy and complicated, but it was her own. It was exciting. It was sexy. As she reflected on that, she tuned back in on Marc's voice as he seemed to wrap up some explanation about why she was so bored. “You’re 37 and haven't even lived.”

“So what's living?” She questioned, really hoping he could provide something substantial.

“Living is trying things. Stepping out of your comfort zone. Doing things for the sake of feeling good for an hour and then regret it after like normal people do!”

“I could if I wanted to.”

No, I couldn't. I nearly had to chicken out of a staged kiss with 928's Marc because I made a suggestion based on a hunch. Thank god he didn't do it.

It didn't take an eye for the divine to see that Moni could have it all if she wanted to. Marc wanted to know why she didn't want to. She could have any man, woman, or otherwise that she wanted, and that included him if she so chose to leap across this couch the same way she did the center console of the Durango.

Even thinking about it had him leaning forward a bit now, resting his elbows on his knees in case he needed to conceal himself. He would concede. This game of chicken would be over with. He was glad she didn't, though.

There are better options. Safer options.

Instead of outwardly asking her to elaborate on why, he cocked his head. That seemed to do the trick.

“I’m scared. Simple as that.”

“Then be scared. Be scared as hell but don’t just back down because of your fear. Some of the greatest decisions are made while people are afraid.” He encouraged her, still staring her down as if he could tell her motives before they happened.

“Are you daring me to?” She asked, thinking he was being far too cryptic. If this was his way of inviting her tongue down his throat, he was giving her way too much space to overthink it.

“Sure. I’m daring you.”

“Can’t turn that down, can I?”

“Some things never change, huh?”

“It’s actually horrible how far a dare can make me go. Even now.”

I'm gonna do it. She thought, the image replaying in her mind on a loop. The image of her blinking and then suddenly being in his lap. There was a step missing there. A step her legs wouldn't let her take as they stayed locked. Her gaze flicked between his pupils as if screaming for him to break her out of this perpetual hell that was her own cowardice.

The silence was deafening. Marc couldn't tell if she had gotten the wrong idea or the right one. He couldn't tell what the right one was. All he knew was that he had to be smart and make the decision to leave now, allowing her to draw her own conclusion.

“This was fun. I do need to jet, though.” He broke the quiet, gathering himself to his feet. As if slipping out of a trance, she blinked up at him.

Oh. That wasn't what he was getting at at all.

“Alright." She said, joining him in standing with the intention of doing the polite thing and walking him to the door. Then it occurred to her that she didn't want to go another long stint without a way to contact him. "Give me your number first.”

“Already doing things out of your safe space?” He asked cockily, watching as she pulled out her phone and opened the contact screen. Before either of them could think it over, she was right at his side and handed her phone to him.

“No. I’m gonna call you every day." She said, suddenly realizing what she had done and connecting that he hadn't jumped back like she had a virus he didn't want to catch. "Don’t be weird.”

Against his better judgment, he jotted his personal number into the correct field on the new contact screen. He wanted to make a comment about how it was her who had said something weird but shelved it as the device changed hands. She smelled really good, looking up at him with glittering eyes as if feeling accomplished in getting his contact information.

"I guess that means I'll be hearing from you." He stated with a playful groan, trying to hide that he felt a bit giddy over it also.

"What was it you said? ' You're gonna have a hell of a time getting rid of me now' ?" She poked, and that specific piece of dialogue and what they were doing when he said it flooded back, causing his stomach to do a flip. He had to get going before they had a repeat. Pokerface unbreaking, he gave her a nod.

"Good to know." Was all he could think to say before cutting the eye contact and striding to the door.

"Keep your phone on!" She called out as the door opened and he disappeared on the other side. It felt good. Like she had been given a mission. Like she would be better for it. Marc was a tough egg to crack, but she was nothing if not persistent.

Chapter 5: Drive Over Me

Summary:

This was is short so I'm double-posting today. I also updated the tags for accuracy.

" Feel my heart in a box
You can count on me
You put the key in your pocket and we count to three
Say what's yours is mine is a guarantee
I can be the one you wanna hold day and night
Tell me that you like it when I call you all the time "
-"Drive Over Me" by Between Friends

 

Moni hated working at Spade's Hardware with a disdain so strong, she felt her stomach lurch before each shift. She was a cashier, meaning she dealt with rude and creepy old men for the full five hours she was there. On top of that, she was the only woman working there and that caused the owner Dave to feel compelled to make her uniform different from the mens'.

The dark blue collared company shirt was standard, only it was way too tight despite her asking for a medium when she was hired and her efforts to size up ever since fell on deaf ears. Along with that, she was made to wear a black pleated skirt while the men wore khakis. They looked like prep school rejects, and their boss seemed to take some sick pleasure in that fact.

The one upside to working at Spade's, like many other things in her life, was that Marc worked there with her. He was one of the stock boys, so they didn't see each other a lot on the clock, but they convinced Dave to give them the same hours for the sake of her having a ride to work.

“Why don’t you just quit? I will if you will.” Marc asked as they made their commute. The skirt felt so much shorter when she sat down, putting her in the habit of placing her coat in her lap on cooler days and on warmer, self-consciously tugging the bottom hem as if it miraculously made it longer. This evening in particular had to be the hottest of the year.

Marc noticed her shyness over the skirt, gathering if she was weird about it around him then it had to be worse on the sales floor. He hated that, and not only for her sake but because he knew how people looked at her. She didn't want attention and he didn't want her receiving it if it was unwanted.

“As if anywhere else will give us the same schedule,” Moni replied with a cynical chuckle, fastening the top button of her shirt as if that little bit of skin being covered would make all the difference. His eyes flicked to her as she did this, then back to the road.

There was one point when Marc gave her his shirt and went to Dave under the guise that he misplaced it, but that didn't work out. All it took was one shift where Moni wore the men's large top before new employee handbooks were passed out with a new line added to the uniform section that stated the shirts couldn't be baggy. When they questioned Dave about this, he said baggy clothes looked unpolished and left a bad impression on his store.

Once they were clocked in, the store was dead for a while. While Moni waited at a register in the front of the store for a customer to enter or decide she was the chosen one to check out their items, Marc was in the back stacking lumber with their coworker and fellow classmate Jameson Coleman.

Back when Marc played baseball, they were on the team together, and like most of the baseball players at their school, Jameson let it go to his head. His hair was sandy blond and cut into an awful mullet that did his abnormally long neck no favors.

He was a few inches shorter than Marc but slightly more built. Jameson was obnoxious and often attempted to engage in 'locker room talk' with Marc, which he was decent at ignoring.

“Tell me you hit that,” Jameson asked in a not-so-quiet tone as he looked back toward the front of the store. From their vantage point, they got a clear shot of the back of Moni's bare legs. Marc made a point not to ogle on the clock after he smashed his thumb under a two-by-four while distracted. The finger swelled up to the size of a dollar coin and the nail turned purple.

“Hit what?” Marc asked with genuine concern, wondering if hitting something had to do with their job and if he missed that somehow. Jameson lightly backhanded his shoulder like they were buddies.

“ Simone , dude!”

They were sharing the weight of a seven-foot plank, doing what they normally do in this part of the job and putting it with others of the same wood type and size. When Jameson clarified that he was asking if Marc had done something with Moni, he nearly dropped his end of the oversized stick.

I could always lie so he leaves her alone. Marc thought to himself but thought better of it when he realized how quickly word could spread around the halls of Lincoln Park High. The last thing either of them needed was another rumor going around, particularly started by him.

“No, man, she’s just cool. ” Marc replied with a shake of his head. They placed their current piece and stepped down their respective ladders to retrieve another as Jameson looked at him with lifted eyebrows.

“Would you?”

Yes. In a heartbeat. Marc answered in his mind but spoke the opposite out loud.

“No.”

“So you wouldn't mind putting in a good word for me?”

I should beat the breaks off of you for even suggesting it. He responded in his mind again as he remembered they were at work and if he got into another fight, he would be in deep shit.

There was always the looming threat of being sent back to the facility, so he needed to watch his behavior and med intake. That didn't mean he could talk a little bit of shit.

“She’ll say no. She kinda hates you.” He spoke from a place of deep selfishness, but it was honest. Moni felt the same way about Jameson as he did and agreed that he was a douchebag. He imagined if he even so much as brought it up, she would gag.

The subject dropped, likely bruising the guy's ego a bit, and they continued to get work done up until Marc's break time. This was normally spent outside in his car with a snack and a Dr. Pepper, and Moni would join him if she managed to get the floor clear enough to run it by Dave.

Heading outside meant passing between two registers with small commercial refrigerators on the ends. From the one by Moni's, Marc retrieved his beverage and stood behind her current customer.

He was a regular that she referred to as 'Gross Greg'; he was middle-aged, nearly bald, and carried a beer gut under his ill-fitting, barbeque-stained shirt.

“You know you look a lot like my wife when we first met.” Gross Greg told her in a low tone as if it were to remain between the two of them. Marc's gaze passed between the man and Moni, who laughed uncomfortably as she rang up a 150-count box of washers.

“Yeah?” She asked, pretending to show interest to avoid getting pinned as the 'quiet bitch' who 'can't take a compliment' . The guy didn't seem to take the hint, unfortunately.

“Yeah, she’s also Mexican.” He said as if making some connection between the two. Marc rolled his eyes at the racism, and Moni let it slide.

“Seven dollars and thirty cents.”

As Gross Greg handed Moni a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill, he made himself appear taller, extending his neck and shifting his eyes behind the counter the best he could manage. She didn't notice this as she counted his change but Marc clocked what he was doing instantly.

“Had a beautiful set of hips too, like you.” Gross Greg said, and Marc decided he had heard enough as her pupils flicked to his as if signaling that she was uneasy and didn't know how to get out.

“How would your wife feel if she knew you were hitting on a seventeen-year-old Cuban girl just trying to ring up your washers, old timer?” Marc spoke up without holding back anything but his urge to place a heavy hand on the shorter man's shoulder. Gross Greg turned his head in Marc's direction as if he had something to respond with, but Moni chimed in as she held out his cash.

"12.70 is your change."

The stare-down lingered for a moment, Marc's poker face unbreaking as he looked down on the man literally and figuratively. He opened his mouth as if to give a clever comeback but closed it when Marc put his drink down on the counter for Moni to ring up next. Rather than extend this confrontation, Gross Greg took his bag and his cash and scurried out the door.

Moni took the bottle and ran it over the register with a faint beep sound before handing it back and putting in the employee code they all used to get half-off on most items. She looked up at his face with eyes that seemed to redden within the few seconds they were away from him, and before he could ask if she was cool, their boss called out from the other end of the counter.

“Spector. My office right now.”

 

It came time to clock out, and as always, Marc was the first one out the door to get the car started and the air conditioner blowing while Moni and the other cashier finished closing protocol.

The cashier's name was Theo and he was working at the store while on his summer break from college. He had graduated the year before, making him around nineteen to twenty years old at this point .

He wasn't a terrible guy, typically ran with the burnouts from what Marc could recall. He had a goatee and hair down to his shoulders that Dave made him wear back in a low ponytail since he insisted he wouldn't cut his 'hippie hair' even for work. The upside was that he was nice to Moni, but like all other guys who were nice to her, Marc couldn't shake that there were other motives.

He watched from inside the car, looking in through the front window of the store as Moni swept the dirt from the day's foot traffic into the dustpan Theo held. It was a small hand-held one, which meant he had to kneel down to collect the rubbish. He looked up at her and must have said something funny as she laughed.

Is he looking up her skirt? Marc thought as he leaned in as close as he could, chest resting on the steering wheel. He could have sworn he saw Theo's eyes narrow at her thighs as she swept up the remaining dust. Marc felt the base of his neck grow tight as he continued to watch the interaction like a cop about to bust a creeper at a playground.

Without thinking, he leaned even further forward and as a deep breath filled his lungs, his chest extended into the horn, laying on a loud honk that startled the two chuckling amongst themselves inside the store.

Marc quickly fell back into his seat in a panic that shifted into amusement as Theo and Moni peered out the window and through the windshield, no longer laughing and standing bolt upright like they had been caught doing something they weren't supposed to. Moni gave him a thumbs up under the assumption that he honked to tell her to hurry up before disappearing to put the broom away.

Within minutes, she reappeared, eyes forward as Theo waved goodbye. She didn't wave back or say anything as she charged as quickly as she could out the glass doors. Marc nearly broke into a laughing fit as he saw Theo's hand freeze and lower to his side slowly , having been left hanging.

" Sorry. " Moni said as she slid into the passenger seat. She didn't state why she was sorry, and Marc assumed it was because she took a bit longer than normal. Rather than dwell on it, she changed the subject right away. “What’d Dave want?”

“He gave me my second warning.” He told her as he turned his body and rested his right arm on her seat to back out of his parking spot.

“For what? Not stocking for two seconds?”

“For intimidating the regulars.”

“The regulars are horrendous,” Moni said as he faced forward again. He agreed but didn't voice that off the rip, still slightly hung up on Theo. His silence must have been telling, so she spoke again. “Thank you for that, by the way.”

His expression softened at this along with his heart. She didn't need to thank him for things like that. It wouldn't have been easy for him to stand there and let Gross Greg harass her until he inevitably left. She had told him about plenty of weirdos hitting on her, but this was his first time seeing it with his own eyes.

“How often does that happen?” He asked, passing a glance at her since the road was mostly empty. She snickered at this,

“Have you seen what Dave has me wearing? At least twice a shift. Can’t get someone my own age to ask me out but I sure can pull an old fogey.” 

Moni's self-deprecation always got under Marc's skin. In his eyes, she was perfect, and he knew that to be true for many other guys he knew. The thing was, she would have guys her own age lining up if it weren't for his hovering. All he wished was that he would have the same courage to ask her out as he does when it comes to telling those boys to back off.

“You aren’t exactly the most talkative girl in school.” Marc teased, relying on a mild fact about her to avoid having to hear her talk badly about herself much longer.

“Maybe if they had something more interesting to say, I would talk to them.”

“Then what’s your excuse with me?” He wondered and noted her looking over at him from the corner of his eye. He managed to get a good look at her as he turned his face from the road ahead for a brief moment. Even though she was illuminated only by the passing street lights, she was breathtaking. She would either respond with something sweet or smart, and he would eat it up either way.

“I’m stuck with you.” She replied with a grin that would kill him dead if it were possible. It had to be the truest statement of all, but it being a fact didn't make him any less happy to hear coming from her lips. He gave her a not-so-gentle nudge on the upper arm in playful offense.

“You sure know how to make a guy feel special.”

Chapter 6: Long Nights

" Why you gotta ask, won’t you just take it?
You want someone that won't fake it, want someone that's down to get you naked
I know I'm a problem, I know that I'm something you should ponder
Go on, just sponsor the monster "
-"Long Nights" by 6LACK

 

For the first time in a long time, Simone found herself crying at work. Not out of despair, but because she found herself in a session with that five-year-old girl again. The tears that flowed were rageful.

She never considered herself a violent person by any means , but as she learned more about what happened to this girl, something triggered inside of her that had her imagining what her patient's mother's eyes would look like if she feared for her life as her daughter did. That was an image that was hard to shake free from.

Friday after work typically meant ordering out and sitting back with a novel or finding a movie to watch. Not for the near-reinvented Simone who wanted to be exciting, though. Marc had given her a challenge, and she fully intended to follow through with it. What she didn't want to do; however, was jump in by herself.

She sat on her couch sifting through the contacts in her phone in hopes of stumbling upon someone who could be up for hanging out with her and she quickly realized she barely spoke to half of the people that would be suitable to take along. Aside from Ericka, Phoebe was the only person she kept in contact with over the years, and that held problems on its own.

Phoebe was married and had children. On top of that, she was a third-grade English teacher. Anytime Simone was free to hang out, Phoebe was not, and vice-versa. She debated even asking, predicting the answer before she even got it. Still, she wanted to try.

Simone : Wanna go to a bar with me tonight?

As always, Phoebe texted back quickly.

Phoebe : YOU wanna go to a bar? LOL Are you feeling okay?

Simone : I’m feeling great!

Phoebe : I would love to but I can’t. Pete is doing D&D tonight so I’m on kid duty.

Phoebe : Maybe Saturday?

Simone : We’ll see how tonight goes before I commit to that lmao

 

Simone did her best to dress the part of someone who wanted to get up to mischief for the night. Nothing in her immediate selection of clothes was good enough so, being a person who rarely throws things away if she can help it, she dug through an old box from when she was in college. Aside from the black jeans looking like they were painted on, the Nine Inch Nails t-shirt fit fine.

"I look like I'm trying to be the cool mom." She said to herself with a scoff. "What am I even doing ? What's the goal?"

To get laid. She answered in her head and made herself cackle.

"Yeah, right ."

Still, her own self-doubt didn't stop her from swinging by the drugstore near her house before seeking out a bar. If she hooked up with anyone, they likely wouldn't be a penis-haver, but you never know until you get that far. She was prompted to peruse the great wall of condoms because Phoebe told her that men don't bring their own rubbers anymore.

Why are there so many? She thought as her eyes scanned the different colors, descriptions, and flavors. Ribbed for her pleasure? Bareskin? 'Fire and ice' does not sound pleasant at all. Who wants IcyHot on their cooch?

Her eyes landed on the magnum pack and she couldn't help but laugh. Buying large condoms was a waste of money for such a meaningless ego boost. She bore witness to regular free clinic contraceptives fitting around bulbous yellow squash without so much as a tear in health class.

The way I would opt out of a sexual situation so fucking fast if someone whipped out a magnum condom. If it were possible to dry up, that's exactly what would happen to me.

She was overthinking it, and she knew it. Stalling herself and questioning if any of this was a good idea anymore. From her left, someone approached and casually grabbed a pack of plain Jane Trojans. Not wanting to be in their business, she pretended not to acknowledge them. They started to walk away but stopped after a step or two and turned around.

“ Simone ?” They said her name as if they knew her and she suddenly had no choice but to look at them. It didn't take long to recognize the man, despite how different he looked from when she saw him last.

“Nick Yun? Crazy seeing you here." Simone spoke, sounding surprised. The man who stood before her had a neck tattoo, hair longer than her own, and a handlebar mustache that somehow fit with the punky leather jacket and ripped jeans he wore. Tucked under his right arm was a jet-black helmet littered with stickers.

He used to be a nerdy goofball who was only on the track team because his parents wanted him to play a sport of some kind. Marc hung around with him a lot more than she did back then and though she hadn't seen him in so many years, last she heard he was still married to his high school girlfriend Sadie Blanch. Nick smiled at her like she was relieved she recognized him, and then she realized what she had said. "Well, not that crazy I guess. Typically the penis-haver buys the rubbers."

There was a small exchange of nervous chuckles as she felt her brain melting yet again at what she had just said out loud. It never occurred to her how under-socialized she was, but then again, Nick was good-looking and stopped to talk to her for whatever reason. It was in her coding to be awkward. She put her hand up as if to halt herself. "I’m gonna stop talking.”

“No, you’re good.” He reassured her, reminding her how deep his voice was once again and in turn making her remind herself that he was married. There was a beat of quiet after that before he gestured to her as if looking for something to talk about. “Big plans?”

“I’m not sure. I really don’t know why I’m even here." She started as she remembered she was standing in front of a metric ton of condoms. "I was going to go to a bar but now I'm not sure .”

“It just so happens I work at a bar. Kiebler’s.” He clarified as if a lightbulb popped up above his head. She knew about Kiebler's enough to know that it was a biker bar. Suddenly, the helmet he carried made more sense. "I can get you in and you can sit at the bar. I’ll make sure nobody bugs you and you’re presence alone will sell more drinks.”

Was that a compliment? She thought as her mind lingered on that particular part of what he said. She wasn't used to this kind of attention and as much as she wanted to decline and go home, she remembered what Marc had said to her .

"Be scared as hell but don’t just back down because of your fear."

“You know what? Why the hell not?”

 

From the outside, the place looked rough and tumble and not at all somewhere Simone would dream of spending her evening. When she was let in through the employee door; however, she was proved wrong. If the biker gangs of Chicago enjoyed soft green mood lighting and 80s power ballads, she could see herself partying with them more often.

She did as agreed and took a seat on a barstool as Nick relieved another bartender. As he got behind the bar, he pulled off his jacket to reveal full sleeves of colorful tattoos and a shirt that dawned the cover art for the album 'Hypnotize' by System Of A Down. After she made a joke about how they were both dressed for a concert in the early aughts, he made her a ranch water.

It didn't take long for her to remember why she didn't drink much anymore as the little bit of tequila in the bottle of Topo Chico started to go to her head and cause her to mention Nick's wife. When he told her they had recently gotten divorced, she relaxed a bit and easily conversed.

A few drinks later, she started to feel proud of herself. Before the tequila, she was inelegant and looked like a mother wearing her kid's clothes. After the tequila, she was a funny, confident woman in her late thirties who could say she still fit in her clothes from over a decade ago.

Marc would be proud. She thought to herself, then suddenly felt the need to bug him.

 

It was a quiet night at the Midnight Mission as Marc sat shoveling Chinese takeout into his mouth, mask pulled just above his nose. Quiet was normally good because it meant he was doing something right. Nowadays, it just left room for his mind to wander back to Chicago. It was torturous.

As if she knew he was thinking about her, he suddenly started to get a Facetime call from Moni. She certainly wasn't kidding about calling him every day, even seemingly going as far as to follow his nocturnal schedule to ensure he answered. A video call was new and he found himself yanking away his mask and making sure he looked decent before answering.

“What’s up fucker?” Moni slurred as her face filled his screen. This was clear that she wasn't home as the sound of clanking pool balls and what sounded like 'Alone' by Heart played in the background. He was taken aback by the abrupt and aggressive greeting.

“Come again?” He asked with a ticked eyebrow. His confusion made her giggle coquettishly and the sound made his breath catch in his windpipe.

“If you insist.” She teased. It became clear to him what this was as a bottle came into the frame and rested against her lips as if she was debating taking a sip or not .

“Are you drunk?”

“Shwasted.”

“Where are you?”

“Kiebler’s.”

Marc had to think for a moment if he knew about Kiebler's or not. As far as bars in Chicago went, there were only a few he could recognize the names of if they were still around. A memory flashed in his mind of driving by a building with motorcycles parked out front. The neon sign was old and the 'I' was always out, but he knew the place.

“That’s a biker bar. How the fuck did you get in there?” He questioned, knowing for a fact that a place like that wasn't built for sweet, beautiful pediatric psychiatrists who probably never so much as rode on the back of a bike let alone drive one.

“I’m cute, that’s how.” She answered with a tilt of her head. “And I know the bartender.”

“Who’s the bartender?" He found himself asking before he realized he was even interested . An image manifested in his mind of an older, heavier-set woman who Moni probably met through Ericka.

“You’ll never guess." She started, and when Marc didn't didn't attempt, she continued. "Okay, I won’t make you. It’s Nicolas.”

Nicolas? He had to think of people that he knew with that name. He doubted any of the ones that came to mind first were people that Moni knew and he landed on his friend from high school.

“Nick Yun?”

“Yessir! He’s covered in tattoos now, has a mustache, divorced with two daughters. Total babe.” She rambled on as if she had no regard for the words coming out of her mouth before turning the phone to where the screen faced the other side of the bar. “Say hi!”

When Marc realized what she was doing, he moved out of view as quickly as he could but not before getting a clear shot of who she was trying to show him. He had a hand towel slung over one shoulder and a long waterfall of black hair over the other. Aside from a few age lines and how far away he stood, he certainly looked like the Nick he palled around with. He awkwardly waved to the camera before Moni was back in the shot.

“Moni, you can’t tell people I’m alive.” He snipped as quietly as he could and she giggled again, carelessly.

“I didn’t . I told him I was calling my side piece.”

She's a real devil when she drinks. Marc noted, glad that she didn't touch the stuff when they were in school. As what she said registered in his mind, he wondered why she would bother to tell such a bold lie to Nick.

“If I'm supposed to be the side piece, who’s the main?”

“Dunno. Haven’t found them yet.” She mumbled as she realized she had been called out. The neck of the bottle met her pout again and he had to fight himself from gawking as he became envious of the glass.

“Then wouldn’t I be the hypothetical main?” He pointed out the flaw, saying it as if he didn't truly care one way or the other. Her index finger came up and pointed to the phone as she squinted.

“You got me there. Good thing this is fiction."

Is it? He wanted to say but wouldn't let the words slip past his gums. Her gaze shifted somewhere beyond her phone, and all at once, her interest went with it.

"Gotta go though. Bye!” She spoke quickly before the call ended, leaving Marc to stare at his reflection in the blank black mirror. Air expelled through his lips, making them flap like a horse as he tried to relax.

" Nick Yun ." He said the name to himself and realized it sounded the same way it did when he would say Ericka aloud.

He got Moni into the bar he works at, he looks like a Korean Dave Navarro these days, he's divorced, and he seems to have no issue with getting her drunk.

Marc told himself he wouldn't do it. He swore he would let it go if she did what he dared her to do and yet, here he was, picking apart Nick Yun like the man was actively doing something wrong. Deciding it would be better to know for sure, he decided to look into his old pal Nicky.

 

What had pulled Simone away from the call so suddenly was Nick leaning over the bar, seemingly wanting to talk more with her. She felt guilty for hanging up in Marc's face how she did, but he was the one who told her to put herself out there. As the phone slid back into her purse, Nick grinned at her like she was trying to tell her a kiddish secret. 

“Tell me the truth." He started before chuckling like it was foolish. "What was up with you and Spector back in school?”

The question made her kiss her teeth. It was a lot tougher to answer than she would have back in the day. The truth was loaded, but she responded just as she would have as a teenager.

“We were best friends.”

Nick stared at her blankly for a moment, then snickered as if it was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard. She wanted to feign offense, but knowing what she knew now, it really did sound like a bald-faced lie.

“Did he know that? He was in love with you.”

“ Me ? No.” She played clueless, waving a hand as if batting the idea out of the air.

“ Yes , you. I remember this time Quentin wanted to ask you out and Marc was in a bad way about it. Come to think of it, half the track team would have gone for you if Marc hadn’t been attached to you so much.” He explained, conjuring an image of Quentin Jorden in her mind. Other than her and Nick, Marc hung around with him the most.

It was brand-new information for her. She had gone her entire school career under the impression that nobody was interested in her until Marc. Whether that was accidental or by his design, she didn't know and was a bit too sauced to care for the time being. She took that as a sign on its own that she'd had enough to drink.

 

The next morning, Simone remembered that she had drunk-dialed Marc but the conversation itself was a bit foggy. She imagined she made a complete fool of herself and was mortified at what she could have said to him even more than she was concerned about what kind of impression she made with Nick.

Probably never gonna get invited back to Kiebler's again. She thought to herself as she shoved a ripe banana into her blender with one hand while scrolling through her phone for activity from the previous night with another. Then, she spotted a text at the very top of her recents from a number she didn't have saved.

Unknown: Hey, it's Nick. It was good catching up.

She eyed the text for what felt like several minutes. When had she given him her number? What else had she done? She didn't drink nearly enough to blackout, remembering leaving the bar and making it home for a shower and going to bed.

I certainly can't just ask him how he got my number. If I did give it to him at some point, that would be embarrassing .

As she finished making her smoothie, the call with Spector wracked her brain. She remembered making an orgasm joke and cringed to herself as that came back seamlessly. Then she remembered turning her phone all the way around so Marc could say hello to Nick and nearly choked on her own saliva as she realized how much of a no-no that was.

The answers to her questions would lie with Marc. He would tell her how big of a fool she made of herself. Checking the time, she found that it was still early and maybe that meant he hadn't gone to bed just yet. Vigilantes need hang time, too.

She quickly assessed her appearance, debating if she wanted to video chat or not after her morning run. Her face was shiny with a combination of sleep and exercise dew, her top knot had a billion ringletted flyaways, and the bangs she was trying so desperately to grow out strung to either side of her forehead like a Victorian boy with a middle part.

"Why do I care?" She questioned aloud. "Marc literally wears a mask."

But the man under the mask still happens to look like a snack without it. She responded in her head. It was thoughts like that that made her want to smack her face against her countertop really hard.

Before she could overthink it, she hit the call button. The preview of her face, as it rang, had her adjusting the angles and picking at her hair as if it would help her at all. Within two blinks, Marc's face filled her screen.

“Hung over?” He asked instead of starting with a normal greeting. Though she certainly looked rough, she wasn't feeling the next-day effects of liquor consumption and chalked that up to the amount of water she drank on top of the poison.

“I’m not in my 20s. I know how to hydrate.”

“ Sounded like you were having a good time.”

“It was fine.” She said with a shrug. On the other end of the call, Marc was dressed out into a comfortable black t-shirt. His hair was a mess , also , and she felt like she might have woken him up based on the rasp in his voice that made her brainstem twitch.

“ Fine? ” He questioned her word choice with one thick, dark eyebrow lifted. The longer she stared at him, the more she realized he was lying down but where she couldn't quite see. A futon, maybe?

“It was a biker bar, not a nightclub." She reminded him as if that explained. "I left after a few hours and went for an Italian beef.”

His tired espresso eyes flashed with something she couldn't quite put her finger on as he propped himself up on one elbow with a grunt that made her nearly hang up the call. She had to put the phone down on the counter for a moment, bracing the edge of her kitchen island to get ahold of herself.

On the other end of the call, Marc realized he was now looking straight up at her Spanish lace ceiling. It wasn't nearly as nice of a sight but still better than the drop ceiling above his sarcophagus . He heard what sounded like a heavy exhale and the question on his lips about what she just said yearned to be let out.

“Is that an innuendo?”

“No, I actually got a sandwich," Moni answered with a snicker, still off camera. He wished he could see what she was doing. "What's with the questions?”

“ Nick . ” Marc said simply . He had done his homework on his old friend and found that he was pretty much spotless. He had an MBA, two daughters, divorced, and seemed to be an adrenaline junky. He was also in a band and , if Marc had to take a guess, was one of those guys who posts thirst traps in his helmet on social media.

Without warning, Moni was back on camera and had put on a headband to get her bangs out of her face. He didn't mind her bangs, but seeing her familiar widow's peak brought him comfort . He had nearly forgotten what they were talking about before she spoke again.

“What about him?”

Don't play that way, Moni. He nearly spoke aloud.

“You were talking about how he’s a babe with tattoos and a mustache.”

“We shot the shit for a while but I didn’t take him home or anything, if that's what you think.”

Marc could have sighed with relief if he didn't know he would never hear the end of it. Nick was a fine enough guy, but he hated the idea of her settling for someone who had a master's degree and still chose to work in a bar for a living.

An even worse feeling arose when he thought about how much she had to drink, worried she might have gotten taken advantage of. He decided to try and sleep off his nerves over it, but that didn't last long before she called. As he tuned back into the call, he noticed she was sitting on her couch now with a furrowed brow. "So, I heard from Nick that Quentin wanted to ask me out and you told him not to.”

“Well, yeah, Quintin was a punk-ass who would have used you and dumped you.” He clarified. There were actually a lot of guys in school who would question Marc about whether they could go out with Moni or not.

While he never directly told them not to, he had a reputation for being the school crash-out with two major long-standing rumors to proceed him: that he went to juvie instead of Putnam and that Moni was his girl.

Those deterred the douchebags from her plenty without much personal interference.

“So you were allowed to date Sydney and Beth but I couldn’t get a date?” She inquired, not fully buying the excuse because of what Nick added about the rest of the track team. They weren't all terrible, unlike the two girls he dated who hated her so much you would think she insulted their ancestors.

Marc couldn't help but chuckle at the comment, thinking she would have figured out by now that in both instances, he went out with them to make her jealous. Obviously, it never worked because she never suddenly got the gumption to fight for his affections.

“ It didn’t work out with Syd and Beth anyway, so I'm not sure what your point is.”

It was as he said this that a message popped up at the top of her screen from an unknown number. Taking the second it sat there to read the message before it disappeared, she realized it was Nick again.

Unknown: Your friend invited you to come see Glass Journal next Friday at 8:30! Click the link for details.

"Uh," She stammered, looking like she froze with how focused she became.

"You still there?"

"Yeah, I just, uh." She realized she was stuttering and couldn't figure out why. "Nick texted me."

"What's it say?"

"It's some automated invitation to some show. They must be local because I've never heard of them." She explained, trying to scrub through her knowledge of the Chicago band scene and coming up empty. Ericka's band had the tendency to take smaller talent on tour with them. "I gotta go."

"Alright. I'm going to bed. Have a good day, Moni."

"Yeah, you too. Sleep tight."

Chapter 7: Awkward

" It was worth it (Ooh, it was)
I would do it again (Hey)
I know you hurt me, but (Hey)
This is more than a friendship
Now I made it awkward "
-"Awkward" by SZA

 

“C’mon, Moni! One party at Javi’s won’t kill you.” Marc said as he walked backward in front of Moni through the courtyard of their school. He had been invited during fifth period and ever since, he had devoted each spare moment to convincing her to go.

“What’s so fun about assholes getting drunk and being loud?” She asked as she dragged her feet. She knew trying to argue over it would get her nowhere. Marc could convince her to do just about anything with a charming smile and a glance. That was why he was walking backward, expertly navigating to his parking spot without looking.

“Because I’ll be there, not drinking—if you don't want me to—to make fun of them with you!” He spoke, stopping his stride halfway through his sentence so she would take him seriously. She looked up at him, and just as prophesized, she caved with a groan.

“ Fine . And I don’t care about you drinking, I just don’t like when you drink too much. You get all weird and sappy on me and I never know what to do with you.” She explained as they picked up walking again, this time side-by-side. Sappy was never Moni's issue, but it was easier to deal with him when he was normal.

She was reminded of Javi's last party. It was the first one they went to and Marc overdid it. While decently tipsy , he turned into a 'where's my hug' guy, becoming a bit more touchy-feeling than she was used to and springing up a new round of rumors from those who caught him trying to hold her hand.

“And you’re so difficult to get into the fuckin car when you're buzzed.” Moni continued, lightly shoulder-checking him and watching him pretend to stumble.

“Like you don’t know how to get me to go anywhere.” He returned this by doing the same to her, and she momentarily lost her balance for real.

“I lure you with the promise of tater tots and vanilla root beer from Benson’s.”

“Smart girl.” He complimented with a tone that was meant to sound sarcastic. That didn't stop warmth from rising in her cheeks, and she averted her face away to compose herself. “That’s the part where you get mad or try to hit me for talking to you like you’re a dog.”

“You want me to hit you? I didn’t realize you were into that.” Moni poked, and Marc tutted,

“I said try to hit me. You wouldn’t get close.”

“Wanna bet?” She challenged, bringing her hand back and winding up to smack him on the arm. He knew what she was up to, and with his car just a few feet away, he acted like a WWF wrestler and pivoted behind her. In a single motion, he took that arm along with her other and locked them behind her head with his own. It wasn't as painful as it was annoying.

“What the fuck, dude!” She griped, struggling against the hold and only getting her chin shoved further into her chest. This was something he hadn't tried in quite some time and he couldn't help but laugh at her kicking off of the loose pebbles on the ground like a baby deer.

“Say it.” He insisted, but she wasn't done trying.

“No.”

“Say uncle .”

“I don’t think I have to tell you how seriously fucked it is to have someone with a pedo uncle say 'uncle' when they want you to let them go.” She explained with a strain in her voice, trying to push with her arms now and forgetting how they were practically noodles. People had begun to stare, and the fact that he didn't seem to care about that made her nervous.

“You aren’t gonna break the masterlock. You never do.” He taunted, and more eyes from students trying to get into their cars found them. She had to accept defeat this time.

“Fuck me, fine ! Uncle!” She snapped through gritted teeth, and he dropped the hold with a chuckle.

"Told you."

“Jackass. One of these days." She eyed him with a fist in front of her face as he skirted around the car. "Straight to the fuckin' moon.”

Marc could only laugh more because she had been saying that for years and wasn't a violent person. They both got into the Durango and Moni's eyes drifted between the faces of those who watched that outwardly strange altercation giggling amongst themselves.

Add another to the rumor mill, why don't you? She thought to herself, sinking back into her seat a bit more. As the years passed, she found it more difficult to deal with the onslaught of discussion around her status with Marc because it was just that: discussion and assumption.

There was no good that came out of everyone and their mother assuming you were the girlfriend of the boy you liked if it was never going to happen. Marc was sweet to her, but she never caught any indications that he liked her that way. To make matters worse, he treated her like he treated Randall at times. Case in point: say uncle.

“When my parents ask where we’re going tonight, let me do the talking. You suck at lying.” Marc established, pulling her out of her thoughts. "I'm gonna tell them there’s a study group at the library and you’re heading the Spanish table.” 

“Why me?” She asked, making him glance over with a ticked eyebrow. She wasn't the only student who was fluent , but she was the only one who decided to put Spanish on her schedule for an easy grade every year. All she could do was agree to go along with it. “Si tú lo dices.”

“See? Easy.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re gonna be there.” She pointed out the flaw in his plan and he stuck a finger in the air.

“My parents never need a reason why I do anything with you. They love you.”

“So that’s why I’m the head of this excuse. ” Moni said with an air of understanding.

"And you’re just gonna stand there and nod until we get out of the house.”

“You forgot the ‘smile and look pretty’ part, wiseass.”

“Goes without saying,” Marc responded plainly and she felt her body tense up. He didn't even try to hide it under his breath.

There's no way he meant it like that. She thought, doubting herself and pretending not to give it a second thought. That did little to quell the rough thudding of her heart and the reforming blush on her face.

 

When it came time for them to leave for the party, Moni's nerves were even more on edge. There were a few things she hated doing and lying in order to go somewhere she knew she shouldn't be was one of them. After her dad died, her mom made her promise she would be careful. Going to a party where there would be drinking and who knows what else didn't seem careful at all .

"Ma, Dad, we're leaving!" Marc called out to his parents in the kitchen and hoped they wouldn't question it. It was 7:30 on a Friday, so it wasn't too out of place for them to be seeing a movie or grabbing ice cream. For whatever reason, Elias and Wendy seemed to be on their guard that night.

“Where are you two going?” Wendy asked as she exited the kitchen with her husband following. Marc took a step forward, half-obscuring Moni as if it would trick them into believing she wasn't there at all .

“There’s a study group at the library.”

“At 7:30? On a Friday night?” Elias crossed his arms and questioned it before looking from his son to the girl by his side. “Is that right, Moni?”

“Yeah, she’s-“ Marc began to speak once more but was stopped by his dad's hand going up in front of him.

“I asked her.”

All eyes were on Moni now except Marc's, who was pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He had little faith in her ability to lie to his parents, but if there was one thing that was certain , it was that she would have his back. If not for his benefit, then to impress him.

“Yep. I’m tutoring some classmates in Spanish.” She double-down by adding on the subject as Marc had earlier before putting her hand on his shoulder. "He's going because he could use the help."

His parents looked at each other for a moment, then at Marc, then back to her. She kept as straight of a face as she could, even as Marc peered back at the slight that was clearly meant to be payback for putting her at the center of this excuse. To their surprise, Elias shrugged it off.

“Well, at least he’s worried about his grade in that class. I wonder why that could be.” He feigned curiosity, passing his pupils between the two before Wendy nudged him with her elbow. “Just make sure you’re back by 10.”

 

When they arrived at the party, it was just as expected. Javi's grandiose driveway was packed with cars and there were students out front, in the backyard, and inside. He was known for throwing elaborate parties and always managed to get away with it because his parents were away a lot.

For the first thirty minutes, Moni followed Marc while he messed around with Nick and Quentin, a beer in his hand and very little regard for her, from what she could tell. Chaos began immediately as Junior Clark jumped into the pool with a banana costume on and Tony Castello demanded they 'get some karaoke in this bitch'.

Moni was fine with trailing behind the track guys until they started letting the alcohol go to their heads. That was when they started getting up to mischief. Quentin had found a lighter on the ground and started flicking it like he planned to set one of them on fire, and when he did it to Moni, who was already on edge, she screamed.

"Don't do that, man!" Marc told him upon seeing this, but not taking it seriously. "If she catches fire, I gotta do this-"

This was punctuated by him picking Moni up over his shoulder and swinging her like he was about to toss her into the pool. She would have found this a lot funnier if he had been sober, but it only pissed her off as she believed she would truly end up in the drink.

"Put me down, Marc." She insisted, lightly pounding at his back with the side of her fist. For a moment, he didn't listen as he swayed in the direction of the water, so she hit him more forcefully. "Now, Spector!"

It seemed that did the trick, and he knelt down to place her back on her feet. Of course, that came with a small stumble that had her reaching out to assist in steadying him. This was somehow worse than the last time and even though she told him she didn't mind him partying a bit, she didn't think she would be at the receiving end of his practical jokes.

What lit a fire under her was how he didn't acknowledge that she was clearly pissed. She stood with her arms crossed, looking for an apology, but he went right back to his conversation with the boys.

I guess I'm going inside . She thought, breaking away from the group and heading for the back door.

Even in Moni's efforts to stay unnoticed by the other students, she couldn't help but notice the eyes on her. Some people talking about what happened outside, some talking about the Masterlock in the parking lot at school, and more likely than not, some were probably laughing at her for not having any fun.

"Simone! Over here!" A voice called out to her as she walked through the living room. She tried to ignore it for a moment, only passing through to get to the front door and wait in the car, but they called her again. Giving in, she looked in their direction.

It was Javi shouting for her. He was sitting in a circle with a bunch of other students and there was a bottle in the middle of them. As she noticed, he waved her over. "We're playing truth or dare. Get in on this!"

He was always a sharp-looking rich boy with almond eyes and good teeth from years of expensive dental work. She had a crush on him at one point as a kid, but the older they got, the more she realized he was a dillhole obsessed with vanity. He even had a little comb for the mustache he had been growing out ever since he was able to sprout facial hair.

Something told her to turn around and leave, but the longer they stared at her, the more she realized how much of a paria she had become. With a sigh, she sat in the empty space between Ericka Fatu and Sadie Blanch.

She noticed from the corner of her eye that Marc had wandered in, scanning each group of people for her and as he finally spotted her, she pretended not to care. Javi reached for the bottle, gave it a solid spin, and sat back as they all watched where it would land.

Marc strode behind the crowd and into Moni's line of sight. He stared at her with crossed arms like he was indifferent about the situation she had landed in. She glared up at him, and as she did this, she missed the bottle coming to a complete stop in her direction. Javi clapped his hands loudly and beckoned her attention. “Would you look at that! Truth or dare?”

“Pick dare. He’s being a prick and asking the grossest questions for truth.” Ericka whispered in her ear, trying to be a friend. Suddenly, Moni regretted sitting down but decided to nut up and shrug.

“Dare, I guess.”

“I dare you to kiss me. ” Javi called out immediately as if he had been waiting for it. Her eyes went wide and she couldn't stop herself from glancing up at Marc doing the same as they both said 'huh?' in unison. “Come on! Just a little kiss?”

"On the cheek, maybe. " Moni muttered anxiously, suddenly feeling sick. She didn't want to wimp out, but she had never kissed anyone before. The idea of kissing Javi, of all people, gave her the jeebees. He didn't seem to find this suggestion sufficient.

"Who do I look like? Your brother?"

“She’s clearly uncomfortable, Javi. ” Marc spoke up, bending down slightly to ensure that the boy knew he was there. Evidently, Javi didn't care.

“She can speak for herself, Spector." He responded, not taking his eyes off of her. "What’ll it be, Simone? Dodgers take shots.”

Of course, they do. She thought to herself, feeling like her chest would collapse. She couldn't take the shot because she needed to get them home but she was sure she would rather go into the pool than kiss Javier Espinoza. He was slimy and arrogant and everything she hated.

The third option was to make a break for it, but as she watched Marc's eyes shift between her and the front door, she realized that was what he expected her to do. Everyone expected that of her.

Why is it okay for Marc to do whatever he wants while I get left in the dust, and for what? So he can have a good time and keep his best excuse to get away with everything? He's leagues ahead of me and I've never been able to catch up.

Angry and against her better judgment, she stood up on boneless legs. There was a bitter taste in the back of her throat and spots in her vision. She kept imagining turning and going for the door but her feet took her right next to Javi, who was still sitting.

Marc kept shaking his head at her and unsurprisingly, Ericka was also. It was nearly enough to make her walk away but she was tired of being the butt-end of the joke. Marc was cool. Ericka was cooler. If Moni did this one thing, she wouldn't have to worry about them looking at her like she was some innocent kid anymore.

Kneeling down next to Javi, she could smell the booze on his breath. Her hands were shaking fiercely but she proceeded. In the split-second there was before her lips reached his, she realized just how much she didn't want to do this but it was too late.

What was meant to be a small peck backfired as Javi grabbed both sides of her face as if her head was a basketball and he shoved his tongue into her mouth. A loud, frightened squeak escaped her nostrils, and in response, she shoved him away with every bit of strength she could manage.

Javi was grinning at her like it was funny. His liquor-tainted saliva soaked her mouth on the inside and out and he thought it was hilarious. She didn't bother to look at the disappointed face of Marc before she booked it to the door and ended up on the lawn, spitting and swiping at her mouth but the taste was still there.

“Why’d you do that if you didn’t want to?” Marc called out as he followed her brisk pace to the car. As much as she wanted to ignore him, she was suddenly in a fighting mood.

“You saw how they all looked at me! What was I supposed to do?”

“Since when do you care what those people think?”

“Because I'm tired of being made out to be the wet blanket while you act like a damn fool.”

“Is this about the pool thing?” He asked, thinking that was the point she was trying to make. She whipped around to face him, stopping with her shoes on the grass and poking a harsh finger into the center of his chest so hard it hurt her knuckle.

“That and the fact that it somehow became my job to babysit you while you run around and have a good time with Nick and Quentin." She yelled without thinking, her voice breaking as she failed to hold back a sob. "You barely said a word to me since we got here!”

It felt like her ribs had been crushed and the hot tears fled down her cheeks before she noticed them. She was sure this would go down in history as the worst night of her life. She was embarrassed, devastated, and revolted all at once, and now her best friend looked down on her.

His eyes softened as he noticed her tears and he reached forward to try and bring her in for a hug. Surprisingly, she shied away, too upset to simply accept comfort from him right away.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” He apologized, and like always, she couldn't stay mad at him. That didn't stop a new rush of anguish from taking hold of her.

“It’s fine. I’m just… that was…” The words she wanted to say became lost in a repeated motion toward the door. She didn't expect him to understand what she meant, but somehow, he did.

“Fuck, that was your first kiss.” He stated, momentarily sharing in her disappointment. She nodded lightly to confirm that he got it right on the nose, and all at once, his sympathy twisted into rage. A crease formed between his brows and his pupils pulsated with heat. “What the fuck .”

The shout seemed to echo through the streets and he started to storm back toward the door. As much as she didn't want to go back in the house, she knew if there was any time to be Marc's Jiminy Cricket, it would be now.

“Marc, don’t worry about it.” She insisted but it fell on deaf ears as he forced the front door open. The room felt silent, and every head fell in his direction as he stomped over to Javi who was standing with a bottle in his hand.

“Woah, man, what’s with the hostility? I knew you were into her but I didn’t think it was anything serious." Javi began to justify, giving Marc a victorious grin. "She didn’t have to tongue me down like that.”

It was quicker than Moni's eyes could fully register. One second Javi was on his feet, then there was a loud thump, then he was on the ground holding his face and groaning in pain.

“Punk-asses like you have to force girls to kiss you!” Marc seethed, delivering a hard kick to his stomach and gaining another yelp from the guy on the ground.

Moni was indifferent and it was weird. She knew Marc shouldn't have been doing this. She knew how much trouble he could get into, but deep down she just wanted to stand back and admire his violent defense of her. It was actually kind of hot. Then she remembered what happened the last time he got into a fight like this with Danny and where that landed him .

“Marc!” She yelled out to him as he fell to his knees to continue to supply blows. He cocked his fist back, and out of instinct alone, she grabbed it with both hands. “ Stop , Marc. We gotta get the fuck outta here.”

As he looked back at her, something in his eyes flickered away from the drunken frenzy to something she could quite place. Whatever it was, it seemed to get through to him. He looked back down at the bruised Javi and nodded.

“Yeah, we do.” He agreed, and without skipping a beat, they charged out again and to the car. Marc circled around to the driver's side door and in a panic, Moni pushed him out of the way. As the message was clear, he rushed to the other side and before they even buckled up, she floored it out of the driveway, sitting on the very edge of the seat.

“You can’t just punch someone in their home, Spector!” She said with a biting frustration, partially blaming herself for letting it go on for as long as it did. If he had kept going, Javi would have ended up in the hospital, and Marc would have ended up in Putnam by morning.

“He pressured you into kissing him.”

“That doesn’t mean you can go fucking apeshit! You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t call the cops on you.”

“And get busted for throwing a party in the process. As if.”

She couldn't stand when he got like this. Careless. Reckless. Not thinking through the consequences of his actions. Even in the quiet, dark car, she could see him moping in the corner of her eye over her continuing to disagree. It seemed like a good time for a check-in.

“Are you cool?” She asked.

“I’m solid.” He answered, looking in her direction. “You?”

“Not cool. Not solid.”

“Pull over.”

“You’re not driving”

“Just pull over.”

As always, Marc's insistence worked, and she slowed down to the shoulder of the road and put the car in park. She didn't look at him right away, sinking back into the seat that she didn't adjust to make driving easier for her. He turned his body in her direction.

“If you get into a situation like that again where you’re uncomfortable and don’t know how to get out, you need to find a way to let me know.”

“I don’t need you to protect me, Spector.” She mumbled stubbornly, and he rolled his eyes so hard she didn't have to look at him to know.

“Too bad. The code word is Waterloo .” He said, coming up with a random phrase on the spot. She thought it was ridiculous and didn't reply right away , only letting her head slump in his direction. Before she could so much as disagree, he pushed harder. “Say it.”

“Waterloo.” She said through a heavy breath and coming from her own mouth, it nearly made her laugh.

“Fantastic. Let’s get you home before your mom has a conniption.”

“I’m taking you home and walking the rest of the way.” She told him and she pulled the lever to move the seat up and started driving again. Marc scoffed at this.

“Driving around the block isn’t a big deal.”

“Neither is walking.”

“At night?”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“You punched Javi.”

“I would’ve clocked him sober, too, making you put your face anywhere near that nasty mustache.”

"I oughta clock you." She responded, unable to keep it together as the hilarity of his disgust lifted her spirits. She also found it cute that he cared so much. "One of these days, Spector."

"You know I was right to do it. Things like that should be with people you want them to be with."

Like you . She thought to herself, knowing how awful it would turn out if she said it aloud. His logic was sound, but Moni recognized that she did it out of spite.

"Well, maybe that's my fault for waiting to kiss someone until I was seventeen."

"Don't do that to yourself. There's nothing wrong with waiting for the right person." He argued, and a fit of jealousy crept up inside of her.

"Was Sydney the right person?" She asked, hoping he didn't catch the chagrin in her tone at her name. Marc and Syd dated for about a month before he broke up with her because she didn't like his friendship with Moni. She was his first kiss, and Moni questioned often if she was his first other things , as well.

"At the time, I thought so." He answered, turning his head to the window on his right. They didn't talk about Syd a lot, or Beth, his most recent ex-girlfriend, for that matter. Moni had learned to pretend to be fine with the idea that girls liked Marc and Marc liked them right back sometimes.

It was just how guys were, even if she happened to be envious of the girls who got his attention when she didn't. She'd had a hell of a night, and something probed her to ask something she didn't want to know the answer to before.

"Last year, homecoming... did you..." She trailed off, unsure of how to ask about his randomly disappearing with Syd after taking weeks to let it go. It was a fair assumption. She was his girlfriend, after all. Marc understood what she was getting at.

"I didn't have sex with her." He clarified, and suddenly, she could breathe again. There was a pause where she wondered what the appropriate response was, not wanting to say ' oh , good' or 'damn, that sucks' because she didn't know all the details.

Marc brought his face back in her direction, and for a moment , she pulled her eyes from the road to look back. He was studying her face. "Would you have thought any less of me if I did?"

That was something she wasn't sure about, either. The idea of him doing that got under her skin, but she didn't think she would necessarily think less of him. It was more in her coding to pretend to be cool about it while internally screaming and crying alone about it later. She chose the middle-ground answer.

"You really liked her." She responded within a sober exhale that didn't mean to sound as loud as it did.

"Sure, but I didn't love her. Call me a hopeless romantic but teenage hormones or not, I wasn't looking to do that with someone I don't really love." He explained, and if it didn't make sense to her, it could have been mistaken for a drunken ramble. "And you will definitely know when I do it."

Let's hope that I'm the first to know because I'll be there. She thought to herself, trying to keep the curl of her mouth down. Seeming ready to change the subject, he shifted in his seat.

"Be honest with me. Who would you have preferred to have your first kiss with?"

You . She answered in her head, and for a moment, it looked like that was what he wanted to hear based on the smirk that panted the lower half of his face. Even if that was the god's-honest, she couldn't bring herself to say it.

"Not Javi Espinoza, that's for sure."

" Fuck Javi Espinoza." He agreed, making her laugh. "I'm so sorry I talked you into even going to that party."

"Party? What party?" She played dumb as she pulled the car into his spot in front of his house. They made great timing, as it was only 9:30. That gave her thirty minutes to get back home before her curfew.

"Ah, smart girl." Marc complimented as he realized what she did there and she found herself fighting another rouge. They got out of the car and she tossed him his keys. Even buzzed, he was able to catch them with both hands.

"Go straight upstairs. Don't let your parents get a good look at you." She warned, implying that he didn't seem straight and narrow by any stretch of the imagination. She expected a snide comment, but he held his arms up instead.

This is what I'm talking about. You get all sappy on me . She thought but didn't say as she play-stumbled into his embrace. His arms wrapped around her as she held his middle, and it was as if all of the night's problems vanished . He still smelled really good , and her stomach did cartwheels as his hands ran up and down her back.

"Be careful walking home. I love you."

"I will. I love you too." She replied, finally letting him go,

 

That wouldn't be the end of Moni's strange night, as it would happen. She was in bed, already decked out in her big Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt and fuzzy blue pajama bottoms, nearly asleep when she heard a knock on her window that startled her.

She sat up fast, and the gap between her curtains showed her that it was Marc. He waved at her when she noticed him, and she peered at her open bedroom door to make sure her mom didn't hear the tapping on the glass. Once she was sure, she got out of bed and slid the pane open.

" What are you doing here?"

"I was laying there in bed and it got me thinking; you remember when we used to build pillow forts?" He asked with eyes of childish wonder. She stared back at him, blinking away the rush of adrenaline from being rattled awake that clouded her.

"Yeah, I remember. What of it?" She questioned. As if setting a scene for her, Marc put his hands in the air.

"How did we never kiss in the pillow forts?"

There was a moment where she had to figure out if she heard him correctly. It was an odd question, and she stammered trying to find out exactly how to answer. Then she got a better look at him and saw the dilation in his pupils. It suddenly made more sense.

"Are you high?"

"Roger Watts might have given me a cookie at the party and I ate it because it was a cookie and I feel great now." He rambled, connecting the dots along with her. "But, like, we used to stack pillows and blankets around us, you know?"

"That's how you make a pillow fort, yeah." She agreed with a hint of sarcasm, still stuck on the part about kissing. His eyes went blank as they drifted down, and then back up to her gaze.

"What was I saying?"

"I'm still trying to figure that out."

"Wait, I remember." He said, shaking away the cobwebs of whatever distracted him. "Okay, so, we used to build these pillow forts, right?"

"I swear to god, Spector, if you say pillow forts again I will close this window."

"Wait, don't close it. Imagine if your first kiss was in a pi... Makeshift cushion bunker?"

"It wasn't, Marc. And no amount of cushion would have made kissing Javi any easier."

"Nah, fuck that guy. Forget that ever happened." He said, waving his hands in the air as if erasing history. It was sweet that he tried, at least.

"How? It's seared into my brain and the brains of ten other people." As she spoke, she looked back at her door again to check for mom and turned back when she was in the clear. "I'm so confused as to how any of this correlates and I'm not building a makeshift cushion bunker with you at one in the morning."

"Listen to me." He reached through the window to put his hands on her shoulders and gave her a light shake as if she should understand what he was getting at by now. "If anyone ever asks, Javi wasn't your first kiss. It was me , in a makeshift cushion bunker."

He removed his hands and brought a finger up to his temple, giving it a little tap as he nodded. He really thought it was onto something. Still wanting to mope about the truth, she frowned.

"But that didn't happen, genius."

"But it's believable and better than telling people what really happened! Would you rather have the story be that Javi went full Golden Retriever on you at a party when you were seventeen?"

"I don't care about what the story would be, though! Sure, I can lie but that won't change what really happened." She argued, and as she saw the light fall from his face, she didn't want him to concern himself with her anymore. "Maybe I'm making too big of a deal out of this."

Her brushing it off only seemed to bring back his gumption , and the stoned Spector's eyes went wide .

"Javi kissed you? I don't remember that. When did that happen?" He suddenly began to play clueless just as she had before. It felt like he was missing the point.

"That's not funny, Marc."

" Obviously not. You're talking nonsense about a nightmare you had one time. As for your real, actual first kiss-"

His words were cut off abruptly by his lips tapping against hers. She was not prepared, didn't see it coming, and once he retreated, she stood with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. He smiled at her with a sense of accomplishment, like he had suddenly saved the day. It would have been mission successful if she didn't feel like her head was spinning on her shoulders.

Did that just happen? She thought to herself. Yes, it did. But it didn't mean anything. He's high and drunk and taking pity on me.

Even with that in mind, her heart felt like it dropped into her stomach and she could barely breathe. It wasn't perfect, but it was what she wanted, fireworks and all . The fireworks were actually spotty vision. She couldn't figure out what to do now, contemplating grabbing the front of his shirt and yanking him over to really kiss her, but she was stuck fast.

"You cool?" He asked, noticing how she locked up and wondering if he had made the wrong move. In her panic , she nodded, but before she could tell him she was cool, she heard the creaking of her mother's bedroom door. Without another word, she briskly closed the window and her curtains before jumping back to her bed. There were a few footsteps that stopped in front of her door before they started again, growing distant until the door creaked once more. Scared to move, she wondered if Marc was still at the window.

 

The remainder of Moni's weekend was a teeter-totter between excited and nervous for Monday. She waited for Marc to call her, but he never did. Though it was confusing, she felt like change was in the air, imagining getting into the car and being greeted by a profession of love.

Then Marc picked her up and said good morning as always. It wasn't anything to be worried about, but there were a few minutes where neither of them knew what to say. Her heart was doing leaps , she was scared but trying to keep her spirits high. Once he pulled up to his assigned parking spot, he turned off the car and sighed.

"I'm sorry about Friday night." He apologized, not fully bringing himself to look at her.

"Which part?"

"All of it."

Don't say that.

"How much do you remember? You were kinda..."

"Fucked up. I know. Worse, I was off my meds. My parents flipped shit when they noticed. That's why I couldn't apologize sooner." He began to explain, insinuating that he was grounded without going into any detail. "I remember a lot of it. Javi kissing you, me punching him. And I know it was a dick move showing up at your window one AM and I shouldn't have kissed you. We don't have to talk about it."

Moni felt herself falling from her previous high, the rush she got from feeling his lips against her suddenly eons away. It really hadn't meant anything. Just a pot and alcohol-influenced stupor mixed with him not being all there. Her sinuses began to burn like a million little fire ants crawled into her nose, but she needed to suck it up or risk making everything worse.

"It's cool. No worries." She let him off the hook even though her mind felt like it was buzzing with a thousand different ways to tell him she wasn't good with that. None of them found their way through her teeth quite the same way a quip could. "I kissed you in a pillow fort anyway, when we were, like, seven."

The sullen atmosphere in the vehicle seemed to dissipate as Marc's mood lightened. He let out a relieved laugh that filled her senses, and all at once, the urge to cry was shelved. He then looked at her with a grin that reminded her why she always had his back.

"Oh? That's right! I'm so glad you reminded me."

Chapter 8: Used

Summary:

I don't want to put it in the tags because it won't be a big thing but there is a brief mention of disordered eating. It really isn't heavily delved into and can easily be overlooked, but I wanted to mention it here in case someone needed a heads-up.

" You caught in the maze, I
Thought it'd be easy to get myself what I needed, but it takes some time
And I'm out of patience, I burned it with you "
-"Used" by SZA

 

Maricella Eden Ortiz, five years old. Her father's name is Jose Ronaldo Nueves Ortiz and her mother's name is Kharma Macayla Shaw. They're both in their early thirties, intravenous drug users, and disgusting, awful people who got their kicks from tormenting their little girl. Any morally decent person would agree they deserve to rot in prison for what they did.

Then Dr. Fredrick made Maricella laugh. All she did was teach her how to make a hand puppet out of felt and googly eyes. Then, when Simone told her that her puppet's name was Scooby and did her best impression to go with it, she laughed so hard her face turned red.

Yep. Her parents have to die.

 

After the day she had, Simone nearly forgot that she agreed to meet up with Nick to see some band called Glass Journal. She didn't look into the band or even so much as ask questions about them and as the week passed, she realized she hardly even thought about Nick at all.

He would text her the odd meme and she would send back a laughing emoji, but that was the extent of their interaction until her phone sent her a reminder about the concert. That prompted her to shoot him a text to tell him she would be there but she only got a thumbs-up emoji in response. No clarification of where they planned to meet up, no offer to pick her up for the show, nothing. She didn't sweat this.

She made sure to get through her daily activities early to get ready. Her visit with mom was uneventful, then she had a snack because she forgot to get lunch, and as she eyed herself in the mirror while putting her makeup on, she realized she was in dire need of a root touch-up.

Or I could just be like O'Hara and embrace the gray. She made it look good.

Once Simone got to the venue, she spent a decent deal of time scanning the crowd of standing fans, unable to locate Nick. Moving through the mass of people wasn't hard but there was no shortage of long-haired individuals covered in tattoos.

Did he invite me here just to be a no-show? She thought, questioning if there was a misunderstanding somewhere. Their conversations were by no means profound so she couldn't think of how any wires were crossed. It was far more likely that Nick realized they had zero chemistry and decided to ghost her. That was understandable as well, even if it did nothing for her confidence.

As she gave the masses one final scan, they began to go nuts and her attention was brought to the stage. Five guys entered from stage right, each of them decked out in body art and punky clothing. The one she could only assume was the vocalist rocked a black turtleneck but the tattoos on his hands and fingers told her they had to go all the way up and likely down.

Within seconds, she focused in on the drummer and she realized why she couldn't find Nick among the fans. He sat behind the kit and spun one of the sticks in his left hand, eyes darting around the many faces that arrived to see his band. It didn't take long for him to spot Simone and, despite her previous concerns, he flashed her a big smile and winked at her.

I guess he's cute. She thought as she felt a bit of heat rush to her face.

 

The set was about an hour and a half of original songs within the range of Midwest Emo and Alternative Metal. Needless to say, Glass Journal rocked, and though Simone wasn't a music critic by any means, she had been in a long-term relationship with the bassist of a metal band and felt she had the high authority to tell them that they killed it.

At the end of the show, Nick pointed at her and waved her up while the fans filed out. It reminded her of when Ericka's band was small and how she always insisted on watching from the audience instead of backstage. They always sounded better that way.

In the greenroom, the bandmates seemed to be eager to party a bit but were fine with leaving the couch unoccupied for Nick and-

"What was your name? I'm so sorry, I know Nicky told me but I forgot." The singer asked as they sat down. Simone left just enough space between herself and the now decently sweaty drummer to her right to not invade his space.

"I'm Simone." She introduced herself with a nervous grin. The singer apologized again for forgetting before pointing to the other members and stating their names.

"I'm Dustin, our lead guitar is Jonah, bass is Carl, and rhythm guitar is Max. Obviously, you know Nicky and for that reason, I'll stop talking so you two can chat."

As the four other men took shots and goofed off, Simone and Nick sat awkwardly, engaging in small talk for a few minutes about the band before he made a face. It was the kind of expression someone wears when they're about to say something that could be deemed as dumb.

“Listen, I wanted to ask you something.”

“I’m all ears.” She replied, turning her body in his direction to give him her full attention.

“I can’t stop thinking about the other night at Kiebler’s. That guy on your phone..." He trailed off with some hesitation and Simone felt her chest begin to tighten as she remembered turning her phone in Nick's direction while on video with Marc. "I can’t believe I’m about to ask this but that wasn’t Marc, was it?”

He seemed unsure. Am I about to gaslight this guy? She thought to herself as she squinted and found the nerve to do just that.

“ What ? No.” She said in a manner that sounded like a lie in her own ears but somehow, he didn't hold a hint of suspicion.

“See? I knew it sounded crazy. I guess I just miss the guy.”

Me too. She said in her mind, meaning it in a more immediate sense. She knew what it was like to miss Marc after years of absence or alleged death like Nick did. What she felt wasn't that anymore, and the longer she let her mind wander, the wider-stretched the silence became with Nick. Thankfully, he picked the conversation back up.

“So, back to the guy on your phone. Boyfriend?” He asked with a bit of expectation in his voice and another nervous laugh exited her throat.

“He's not. Just someone I know."

Why did that feel like a bigger lie than telling him the guy wasn't Marc? She thought to herself, feeling like a kid again and relating the feeling to when she would be grilled by adults wanting to know if he was her 'little boyfriend' and all she could think to do was feign a gag at the thought.

Her mind felt locked up as she realized she had nothing productive to bring to this conversation. The very mention of Marc sent her psyche into a place that could only be described as hyper fixation. Her heart thumped in her chest with excitement and her gaze drifted to the floor as if it could find him in the white tiles.

"I'll be honest, I was surprised to see you at the drug store. We both live in the city but never crossed paths since... when was it? My wedding?" Nick spoke again, yanking her squirrelly brain back to the present time. The question lagged in her mind, but after remembering the exact event he spoke of, she suddenly felt more connected to the conversation.

"I think so. I almost wasn't able to go because of finals." She expressed interest now that she left the topic of Marc passing. There was a memory of her roommate Trina talking her into going because she never did anything outside of classwork. She had started her period that week and found herself crying during their vows.

"I see, so you're still all work and no play?" He asked her, knowing her well enough to know that not much had changed in that regard. She decided to laugh along.

"Pretty much. I've been trying to take some advice recently and get out there, get a life."

Nick seemed to understand what she was saying, eyeing her like she was preaching to the choir before scanning the room. His bandmates were still around trying to catch popcorn in their mouths and getting roudier by the minute.

"I'm gonna step outside for a minute. You coming?" He offered, nodding his head toward the back entrance to his left. Wordlessly, she stood up alongside him and they exited the warm building. The back parking lot was nearly empty aside from a couple of cars that she could only assume belonged to staff or the bandmates.

The air was crisp enough for her breath to become visible, and just above them stood a full moon in a sky without a single star. It was as if it beckoned her to look at it and she couldn't help but wonder what Simone O'Hara was up to. It had been three weeks since she came home. That meant Miguel was long gone at this point. That thought flooded her heart with sympathy.

In her distraction, she didn't catch Nick closing the distance between their bodies and once she clocked back into reality, she started stepping backward out of instinct. He looked down at her with a familiar look, the same he held just before they came outside and she realized that his look of understanding wasn't for her trying to get a life.

" Oh , hey." She muttered anxiously the closer he got and she promptly found her back against the cold brick wall. This wasn't the vibe she was trying to give off, and as much as her thumping heart told her to scurry away, her brain screamed that this was necessary.

"Hi." Nick replied softly, and before anything else could leave her lips to question what was about to happen, he kissed her. A small, surprised yelp fled her nostrils in response and her eyes widened as she realized what was happening. He construed her sound as a green light and continued to kiss her.

Don't you dare chicken out. Her brain yelled.

It was nice, oddly enough. He held her waist with care, his long locks enclosing their faces to their surroundings. She allowed herself to kiss back, even taking a deep breath when his tongue dipped through the space between her teeth.

See? This isn't so bad! She thought. His mustache feels like dozens of ants on my upper lip, though.

After that thought, her face began to itch. She had the willpower to put that aside, but it was like the strangeness escalated from there. Her hands lazed limply to her sides, unsure whether to wrap around his neck or back. She found it impossible to breathe between the wall and his body.

His pace was a lot faster than her own, and before she had a spare moment to sync up, there was the faint feeling of something pressed to her waistline.

His phone, maybe? Probably his wallet?

There was nothing she could think of that would convince her that what she felt wasn't what it was , and once it ticked in her mind exactly what it was, panic smacked into her like a train. She pulled her face back, skirted slightly to her right, and made a faint 'ope' noise.

"What's the matter?" He asked her breathlessly. She stared at him, mouth agape for a moment, unable to grasp the words she was looking for.

"Uh, I just, uh."

Simone's body stayed tucked to the wall as if she was frightened and she hadn't realized just how weird she was being about this until Nick assessed himself and looked down at his forming erection. His hands came up to his face with embarrassment and he took a step back.

"Shit. I'm sorry. That's super weird of me." He apologized. "I probably just made this super uncomfortable."

Her stomach turned and her skin crawled, and she couldn't for the life of her figure out why. Nick was handsome, he was friendly, and she just freaked out on him out of the blue. She felt that, if anything, she should apologize.

"A natural bodily response and partially my bad." She tried to brush it off with a nervous chuckle but found herself unable to bring her eyes back up to him. They stayed glued to the asphalt as if his dick was on his face. There was only one reasonable explanation that came to mind. "I was just with Ericka for so long-"

"You're not over Ericka?"

"Of course, I am. That's not what I meant." She saved as quickly as she could, finally pulling her stare back to his face and, out of impulse, jolting it back down to her shoes. "Like, I'm just weird around penises?"

You liar! You're just weird. Period. She criticized herself, feet shifting along a few loose pebbles as she awaited real judgment. To her surprise, Nick didn't rebuke this in the slightest.

"Oh, no, I get that. Alright." He spoke, now stammering more than Simone. "That doesn't have to happen."

God, you botched the hell out of this, did you? She continued to condemn herself. It became clear at that point that she just needed to go home.

"Okay." She mumbled, nodding her head, still looking at everything but him. From the corner of her eye, she saw him rock on the balls of his feet.

"Cool."

What do I do now?

"I'll call you?" She asked, trying to be polite and give herself room to make a break for it.

"Yeah, looking forward to it." He responded, slowly striding to the door they came from. Her brain felt like it had been put through a food processor and there was a lump in her throat the size of her fist. When she couldn't come up with anything else to say to save her life, she just waited until the door opened and closed, signaling his exit from the vicinity.

At that point, Simone began her journey home. Once she was off the train and back in her neighborhood, she pulled out her phone to call Phoebe.

"Hey, girl, what's up?" The woman's voice vibrated from the speaker immediately. Having a lot on her mind and wanting to waste as little of the working mom's night as possible, Simone cut to the chase.

“I made out with Nick.”

There was a long pause as Phoebe needed to think about the name. Simone remembered that she, in her week of barely paying the man any mind, never once mentioned Nick Yun from school. Through the phone, she could hear Phoebs muttering the name as if attempting to conjure an idea as if it were Beetlejuice. Then, there was a snapping sound.

“Skinny Nicky?” She asked, stating Nick's old elementary school nickname like it was a longshot but that was exactly the one.

“He’s not skinny anymore.” Simone sighed as she confirmed her suspicion. As expected, an excited gasp followed.

“That’s good!”

“ No . No, it’s bad . I’m panicking.”

“Do you not like not-skinny Nicky?”

“I don’t know!" Simone groaned. "He’s cool and good at kissing but that’s literally it."

"How did this even happen?"

"Well, I went to one of his house shows because he's in a band." She started to explain and another rise of panic flooded her as she made a connection she didn't before. " Of course , he's in a band! It's like I have 'Get over here! I fuck musicians!' written on my face or something."

A loud laugh came through the phone at this as her friend showed amusement at the correlation. Only Simone Fredrick could pull two rock musicians of different genders and be completely unhappy with both.

"Anyway, after we went to the back and he started kissing me and I kissed back and then I felt his dick through his pants, Phoebs! I got weirded out."

"He must really like you!" Phoebe teased, clearly finding Simone's frustration to be unfounded. It was remarkably easy for a straight married woman in her last thirties to feel a bit of envy over her situation. She was never able to relate to the problems she had with Ericka, claiming she didn't understand gay girl issues.

Simone couldn't come up with anything to say. She suddenly didn't want Nick to like her at all. It was a fickle way of thinking, but even if she had a crush on him at all late last week, she was sorely thrown for a loop by the prospect of him liking her back enough to grow aroused by her. Sensing her mini sidewalk mental breakdown, Phoebe sighed.

"You're having a post-lesbian relationship crisis. And you've never been with a man, so you're doubling up. Just tell him that."

Yet another wave of panic set in as she realized she never told Phoebe about Marc. Like a switch had been flipped, he was on her mind again. Such a crucial detail somehow got past her best girlfriend and she didn't have to wonder how for very long. It was something she wanted to keep to herself because of how soon he left after.

"I kinda did. He understood." She explained. Another excited gasp rang in her ear.

"That's so sweet!"

"No, because that means he'll be fine with waiting for me to figure it out and that's a lot of pressure on me to figure it out!"

"Girl, you're so dramatic." Phoebe brushed it off. "I gotta go, though. It's time for Rocky to go to bed."

"Okay. I'm gonna contemplate if I need to block his number or not."

"Don't you dare, Simmy! Bye!"

 

Only two things in this life are certain: gods are real and silver is lethal to vampires. There are also plenty of myths, such as the inability to get vampire blood out of white vestments. It was a bitch to do, but certainly possible. Marc would know, seeing as getting splattered with blood-suckers' bodily fluids was becoming commonplace these days.

He dragged his feet back into the Mission, sore to the bone and feeling far more tired than normal. He had been throwing himself into work to keep his mind busy and off of Moni. When he couldn't get it off of her, at least he managed to block out Nick Yun.

"Your cell's been going off in there, Mr. Knight." Reese informed him, and he groaned. It was another early call from Moni, no doubt.

I swear that woman runs on military time. Up before the crack of dawn, even on her days off. He thought to himself, knowing she woke up early and went for a run with her earbuds in, then came home for a coffee and a clean breakfast. He often wondered what else she did on her days off. Maybe sitting around in her pajamas, probably reading a book with a cute pair of reading glasses on.

Sometimes he imagined himself there with his head in her lap as she read a part of her book aloud. Their own little slice of paradise. He would never have trouble sleeping again if he were lulled to rest by her voice each day. It was the fact that she made him think that way that made her dangerous.

Yet, here he was, picking up his phone to call her back once he was seated in his green armchair and taking care not to video call so she wouldn't see all the blood.

"Hello?" Moni answered almost timidly. It wasn't her usually peppy and enthused greeting and Marc couldn't stop himself from growing concerned.

“You cool?” He questioned, leaning forward a bit now as if she could see him. A small sigh followed his query.

“No.”

“Didn’t sound like it.”

“I made out with Nick.” She said in a bummed tone that left him conflicted about how he felt about this news. The part of his brain that focused on words alone made him bitter while the part that considered how gloomy she seemed was weirdly ecstatic.

“Oh." Was all that came out of his mouth in response for a moment as he wondered how to approach this. He didn't want the dirty details as much as he wanted an admission that it was as awful as it sounded. "How was that?”

“I mean, it was fine, but I feel bad.”

There was that word again. Fine . The same word she used to describe her night at Kiebler's. He was beginning to learn that 'fine' for Moni just meant dull. Boring. Nothing to write home about. But that second part was far more interesting.

“Why do you feel bad?” He asked with genuine interest.

“I don’t think I like him like that.”

On the other side of the conversation, Moni was picking at a bowl of oatmeal with her spoon. She wasn't hungry, she barely slept, and she had one unread text message from none other than Nick Yun. This was something she had never experienced in her life.

There was a short break in communication that could have fooled her into thinking Marc had hung up on her until he cackled. She was caught off guard by the almost maniacal laughter that forced her to pull the phone from her ear. "What’s so funny?”

“You wouldn’t believe how many people say that about people they’ve fucked and you’re upset over a kiss ?”

“Right, keep on laughing while I sit here making this man feel led on.”

“He's a grown man, Moni. Just tell him that.”

“No, you’re supposed to tell me ‘ oh he’s cool just give him a chance’ like everyone else."

Now why would I do that? Marc thought to himself, slumping back in the chair. He certainly wouldn't encourage her to pursue a relationship she was too good for. It wasn't lost on him that he had challenged her to take on this venture only to decide to backtrack once she started doing it.

"I'm sure he'll understand." He reassured her again, and another beat of quiet followed before her voice came back far more hushed, like she was telling him a secret.

"He popped a semi, Marc."

It took every bit of willpower he had to not laugh again until the feeling faded when he realized he understood the man. Marc hadn't even been nearly that close to her in almost two decades and he still found himself in similar situations from simply speaking to her.

"Of course, he did." He said, mouth moving before his brain could stop it.

"Of course? What's that supposed to mean?"

That sounded dangerously close to relation. Moni thought to herself, knowing if it were, he would never admit it. She wondered if she still had that effect on him and the idea alone made her shift in her seat. The problem probably wasn't Nick's penis.

"You're overthinking it." Marc swiftly countered. "He's a guy in his 30s with kids. You making out with him was probably the most exciting thing to happen to him in forever. I doubt he'll think twice if you cut it off."

"So maybe he doesn't like me like that." She muttered more to herself than to him. It made a lot more sense to her than Nick being somehow taken by their dry conversations. More likely than not, he got the idea from seeing her in the condom aisle and assumed she was down for no-strings sex. She thought that could be her, but apparently, she couldn't even commit to that.

Regardless of Nick's intentions, Marc knew it had everything to do with Moni and nothing to do with his age or recent divorce. Poor Nick probably couldn't wait to get his hands on her and Marc found himself amused all over again at the idea of her shying away when she realized.

She's just too precious.

"I'm gonna trust you on this," Moni spoke back up, forcing his brain back to their conversation. "The last thing I need is another song written about me."

"It'll be fine." He assured her, feeling a little proud of himself.

Moni will break it off with Nick and everything will be right in the world.

Chapter 9: Language

" It's your fault for loving me
You put your trust in me
And I didn't ask
And I didn't ask
I ain't sign off for nothin' like that "
-"Language" by Paperboy Fabe

 

It was a blast from the past running into Ericka Fatu again at the city Christmas parade. It had been a couple of years since graduation and Simone was so taken aback by her that she nearly forgot how to speak. She looked great, of course. A few tattoos scattered around what she could see of her ebony skin, a septum ring, and her signature braids.

They exchanged numbers and arranged to hang out and catch up sometime. That brought Simone to one of her band's gigs. They called themselves 'Tempest Temple' and did mostly covers of famous outfits like Sound Garden and Linkin Park. Maybe it was the atmosphere, maybe it was the gorgeous girl playing the bass, but Simone suddenly found herself way more into rock music.

The vibes with Ericka were always immaculate. She was hilarious, smart, fun to talk to, and always had a killer playlist for when Simone would pick her up to hang out. Even in her dorm, where they would chill while she did her homework, she had something new to say or show her.

That all came to a halt when Ericka asked Simone if she wanted to go on a proper date. Of course, she had started to develop feelings for her long-time friend, but there was a strange sense of guilt that followed her for that. A deep pit in her stomach, an omen telling her it wouldn't be a good idea.

"I would love to, I'm just trying to stay out of the dating thing until I'm done with school," Simone explained. She had been sitting at her desk chair, proofreading her essay while Ericka lay on Simone's bed and tossed a tennis ball to herself. Her long, denim-clad legs rested on the wall, going straight up, and her hair hung in a lengthy stream down the edge of the bed.

At the explanation, Ericka pulled her legs down and sat up to look at her. There was disappointment in her onyx eyes, but she still nodded with understanding.

"Must get lonely." Her honey-rich voice muttered through plush lips that, if she had the courage, Simone would have kissed by now. She wasn't like Ericka, though.

"I get by," Simone replied with a shrug, unable to push down the feeling of regret that followed her denial. She knew why she felt this way, the sting of what happened with Marc never fully leaving her being.

Once it got quiet after that, Trina came back to their shared dorm, and Ericka took that as her cue to leave. There was a glance exchanged as she grabbed her coat, and she was gone before Simone could even say 'goodbye'.

"Don't tell me you broke that girl's heart, now. " Trina said in her thick Louisiana accent, not missing the odd pass. From what Simone could gather, Trina was only the second out-of-closet lesbian she knew and often held the wisdom of an old man in her half-shaved curly head.

 

Simone and Erika didn't speak to each other for a long time after that, never calling or running into each other at all until Simone went to a bar with Phoebe while she was in town. It was an interesting place that did theme nights and live music, and the band scheduled for that night called themselves 'Homewrecker.'

It wasn't until Simone spotted the familiar members of the band she once knew at Tempest Temple that she saw Ericka again, rocking out on her cream-colored bass. When they spotted each other, it felt like the puzzle pieces had fallen into place. Ericka had cut her short and natural for the first time since she had known her and the only thing Simone could think was-

Hot damn.

It was over for her after that. They hung out twice before Ericka kissed her and took her breath away. Then after they hooked up for the first time, there was no question. Ericka said they were official, and Simone didn't disagree . The question that was on her now-girlfriend's lips; however, caught Simone off guard.

“So, what was the deal with you and Marc? Were you an item?” She asked, running her hand over the bare skin of Simone's thigh. It wasn't something she wanted to discuss post-coitus.

“No.” She answered, and it was honest in her eyes. Being an item for barely a day didn't count. She realized that now. Ericka seemed surprised by this.

“Really? Because it was kinda a running thing to refer to you as ‘Spector’s girl’. ”

“That’s crazy. Why would anyone think that?”

“We thought it was just an unspoken thing like, you guys were this labelless but totally obvious couple.”

“Well, we were never together,” Simone said, hoping doubling down would make her let the subject die, but she realized she must have said it with hesitation as Ericka's eyebrow perched high on her forehead.

“But you slept with him?”

Why do I feel like this is about to be our first fight? Simone thought to herself as the question held the harsh weight of judgment. What she couldn't put her finger on was why.

“I mean, yeah, like one time.”

That's still a lie. It was technically three. She thought, internal panic setting in as Ericka blinked in disbelief.

“Oh. Wow . So, you’re bi?”

“I am,” Simone admitted for the first time out loud. She had never placed a label on her sexuality before, never quite being gay but never quite being straight. She knew for certain she wasn't straight; though, as she eyed her girlfriend's naked form standing from the bed and decided she would likely drop the new label if she asked. “Is that an issue?”

“No, it’s just, my ex Candice was bi and she cheated on me and left me for a man. I guess I just don’t want that to happen again.”

“In my defense, I haven’t been able to get a relationship literally my whole life so I don’t see how I would ever attempt to pursue two.” Simone attempted to deprecate herself in a joking manner with hopes of convincing her that she wouldn't treat her like Candice did. As Ericka pulled a shirt over her head, she chuckled, and that seemed to do the trick.

“Full disclosure, I have no intention of bringing toys into our bed.” She stated out of the blue.

“Oh, okay, no problem. Could I ask why, though?”

“Because one minute you’ll want me to use a strap on you and the next you’ll want the real thing.”

That sounds seriously wrong. Simone thought to herself as she did her best to not let her feelings flood her face.

“Highly unlikely but I’m fine with that. Boundaries are to be respected.” She muttered instead.

“Good. So long as we’re on the same page.” Ericka said with a sweet smile before crawling back into the bed and meeting her with a kiss. Her apprehensions were whisked away, and as their lips parted, she had one last thing to say about it. “Dicks can’t make girls come anyway. It makes no sense anatomically. A huge flaw in heterosexuality.”

 

Years passed, Ericka's band got bigger , Simone's career became more successful, and everything was great until it wasn't. It got to the point where it felt like Ericka was happier to be on the road than at home with Simone, and Simone had a hard time getting her head out of Milestones.

Sex became a drag because of Ericka's insecurities, even at one point blaming Orlando Bloom as Legolas for Simone trying to initiate love-making after they watched 'The Fellowship of the Ring' together. Simone could only be accused of being turned on by some random man so many times before she stopped being spontaneous.

One night, everything hit the fan all at once. What started as a small spat about Ericka forgetting to feed their cat Uncle Fester turned into a bigger fight where they aired their grievances. Simone expressed that Ericka's constant touring was making her forgetful of what needed to be done at home, and that led to the real reason Ericka constantly wanted to be out of the house.

"You're drinking again," Simone said, not meaning for it to be an accusation, but the assumption seemed to hold water as Ericka grew more defensive. She was an alcoholic and had been clean for months before but recently had been sneaking around, drinking in the garage.

“Because you have no fire! You’ve only ever been passionate about your job. I have to beg you to do anything with me." She shouted from several feet away as Simone stood, taking the scolding with crossed arms as Earthquake Ericka shook her. "Eight years and I haven’t seen you look at me like you did with-“

The pause was a show of restraint. Ericka knew she was about to say something that would hurt and even though Simone knew where she was going with it, she wanted her to say it.

“With who , Ericka?” She pushed, and her partner took that challenge.

“You’ll always be Spector’s girl .”

The accusatory tone made Simone's hands tremble. Marc had been dead for years and she had the audacity to be jealous of a ghost. A man who didn't stick around long enough to accomplish half of what Ericka had. The resentment had been there since day one but in this moment, Simone finally spoke up about one thing that made them infinitely different.

“Well, at least Spector stood up for me when people would talk about me. You couldn’t even tell your own bandmates to ease up when they were saying I’m boring or a buzzkill when you were talking about me going on the tour.”

Ericka squinted at her for a long pause, trying to figure out how she knew about that. Simone had never gone through Ericka's phone but in the one instance she did, she just needed to use the calculator when her's died.

Then a text came in from her band's group chat, and that group chat contained a litany of messages about how boring she was and how Ericka wouldn't be able to have fun on tour if Simone talked along. The connection had been made, and she snickered cynically.

“You saw that? What was that, two months ago? And you didn’t say anything?" She snapped. "You’re spineless. That’s why Marc always had to stand up for you. You never could do it yourself.”

Ericka was right, but she was out of line. The words Simone wanted to say bunched up in her chest as she stood, seething.

“You wanna see me stand up for myself? Alright. You get on my ass about being a control freak but you’re territorial and you have deep-rooted biphobia because of Candice. I’m not a control freak. You just hate that every time you make a decision against what I suggest, it turns out I was right. I have no fire because I got tired of giving you my opinion when you ask and then you turn around and do what you want anyway. At least I have a modicum of control outside of this relationship. Nearly 10 years, Ericka, I’ve been your goddamn doormat. I’m the reason this place is still standing. I keep up with every bill, the cleaning, the grocery list, your drinks don’t make it to the coasters themselves, you know! If I stopped doing everything around here you would probably just complain about it being complete chaos instead of doing something about it. You wake up at one in the afternoon while I’m at work and probably don’t even notice that I got up two hours early to make sure the coffee pot was set for you or the dishwasher was unloaded because it’s just another day for Ericka fucking Fatu!”

“Are you really not gonna say anything?” Ericka taunted as she stood at the entrance of the kitchen. As much as Simone wanted to, she just couldn't. “That’s what I figured.”

“I’m gonna get a hotel.”

“Wow! She can finally speak for herself.”

“You know what, Ericka, I’ve had-” Simone stopped herself, hands opening and closing as the words got lost as fast as they appeared. All Ericka had to do was stare daggers into her, and she would be proved right. There was nothing said as Ericka waited for her to finish her sentence and instead, she threw a bag together.

There were no words exchanged, so eye contact, and Simone didn't even give Fester a scratch behind the ears before she was out the door and into the hallway of their apartment building. Everything about this sucked. She hated to leave this unfinished, but it was beyond that now. All she could do was stand in the hallway and cry.

Chapter 10: Love Me

" Use me 'til you crave me
Take me to the edge
Kiss me so I can't breathe
Choke me 'til I can't speak
Give me a reason to live "
-"Love Me" by Magnolia Park

 

Marc found himself in Chicago on a whim, and that same whim took him straight to Moni's front door. Through the windows, he could tell that the living room lights were off but the kitchen was fully illuminated. If he focused hard enough, he could even hear music playing.

As he put his hand up to knock on the dark-stained door, he remembered what happened the last time he was there . No security and not a single care in the world.

I bet her door's unlocked. He thought as he considered if he really wanted to walk in unannounced. It came down to a fifty-fifty chance: if the door was unlocked, he would walk in and if it wasn't he would knock. Too easy.

He couldn't have been more correct. The door popped open without so much as a hitch in the bearings in the knob. Through the small gap, he could clearly see that she wasn't on her couch, and that made him creep through a bit stealthier than he would have if she had been there to see him.

The one downside of having a well-kept house was there wasn't a single natural occurrence to give away that someone just strode into your place without an invitation. No creaking floorboards, no squeaky door hinges, and these beautiful vinyl pieces that covered the surface of her living room floor were padded underneath, muffling footsteps that would otherwise sound hollow.

Whatever music was playing grew louder the closer he got to the kitchen. The song switched right as he stood in the entryway, and a different hip-hoppy song blasted through the speaker of her phone that sat on the breakfast bar.

He wasn't familiar with the tune and found out very quickly that he didn't give a shit what the song was as he spotted Moni with her back turned in his direction, stirring something at her stove and swaying her hips to the beat.

"She see money all around me, I look like I'm the man." She sang along, harmonizing with the vocals, and far too lost in her own world to notice he was less than fifteen feet away from her. She was wearing a pair of gray joggers and an oversized dark blue t-shirt that shifted just enough as she moved for him to get a decent view of her ass.

By no means did Marc invade her house just to admire her rocking her body around like she was being paid for it, but intentions were hardly ever a factor in stopping him. It would have been fitting for him to stick his tongue out like a dog and drool with how immediately distracted he became by the sight before him.

And I almost talked myself out of this. He thought as a smile crept up on his face at the idea of her turning around, maybe jumping or screaming at the sight of him and telling him he was right about needing to beef up the precautions around here. It was 7:30 in the evening and Moni didn't even have her front door locked.

It made him wonder if she invited the danger. Maybe she liked the idea of flirting with near-death. Perhaps she wanted an excuse to pull the chef's knife from her chopping block and let loose.

Nah . That's not my Moni. He thought, still eyeing the woman so far off her guard that he could lunge at her, put a hand over her mouth, and make her believe someone truly had just broken into her house for nefarious purposes. He would let her go, of course, after he felt his point had been proven.

If she wanted me to let her go, that is. Could be something she's into.

Once Moni had her plate put together without turning around at all , she did a sort of dancey pivot. Not expecting him to be standing in the dim light of her living room, she took a couple of steps before a look of absolute terror rose on her face. She yelped, and just as quickly, her plate fell from her hands and clattered to the floor.

There was a moment when Marc saw her eyes shift from him straight to the chopping block on her bar before she noticed the intruder wasn't some stranger. Followed by this was a flash of what he could only assume was relief that switched into rage.

“What the fuck!” She shouted, not so much asking as she was making a statement. As mean as it seemed, now he was laughing. Her hands came to her face, exasperated once she saw what became of her meal. Thick slices of bread, some sort of meat, and cheese were now spread randomly around her tiles. “You can’t just-“

She cut herself off with her hands in the air, miming a strangling motion with clasped hands as he continued to cackle. Somehow, she managed to groan in frustration louder than he laughed.

He started to feel bad as she bent down and picked up the pieces, piling them onto the plate with the most genuine disappointment. It almost looked like a French dip sandwich made with garlic bread. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to know you’re the man and have money all around you,” Marc admitted as his fit died down. Simone thought about it, the music still playing a few feet away and was mortified to now know that he had seen her sing and dance to 'Crew' by Goldlink and probably looking like an idiot doing so. An embarrassed blush pooled in her cheeks as she stood up with her plate of floor-soiled food.

“Perfect. Don’t forget that next time you get the itch to break into my house.”

“I didn’t break anything. Your front door was unlocked.” He corrected as if it helped at all. She rolled her eyes at this, not as mad about the fact that he was here as she was about him startling her.

“So you didn’t knock?”

“Told you to get a doorbell camera.” He said, observing her as she tossed the plate into the sink, bread and all. A scan around her kitchen told him she was an expert at making just enough food for one person, both living and eating by herself each night. There were no leftovers to replace what she lost and it was time to stop being an ass. “Come on, I’ll get you something to eat to make up for it.”

“I was looking forward to those!” Moni whined, gesturing to her sink. He couldn't help but raise a single eyebrow at her pouting and her behavior had him teetering between guilt and amusement again. It struck him as her being a brat but there was nothing he could do about that other than giving her what she wanted.

“Have you eaten at all today?” He questioned, folding his arms over his chest.

This was a question she wasn't prepared for and she wondered if she was so transparent that he just happened to know that she was grouchy due to hunger. The more she thought about it, she realized she got sidetracked during her lunch that day.

“I had coffee?” She answered in the form of a question and gave a shrug to match. It was a terrible answer and the way he blinked at her confirmed it to be so.

“That’s not good for you. I bet you're dehydrated as hell, too.”

“I can keep up with my water goals. I’m a runner.”

You're also a human being who needs sustenance. He thought, finding himself getting irritated along with his concern. First, no security system, and now she doesn't eat. It's like I gotta take care of her or something.

“Get your fuckin' coat." He told her in a tone that was a half-demand and he expected her to get snippy with him over it. To his surprise, she did so without question.

 

Under the impression that Moni didn't have a car, Marc got a rental when he got into the city to avoid public transport this time. To skirt around questions, she didn't correct his assumption and instead asked him when he planned to fly in and for how long. That led to an explanation about how he—or Steven , rather—had the means to fly private.

It was during that explanation that she realized she didn't even really know what it was that Steven did to get the kind of dosh he had, so she questioned it. Marc explained that Steven was a movie producer, and Moni started cackling because the Steven on Earth-928 was so different.

"He was English, first of all, and was broke when he met me on the other Earth but Simone-928 got into some trouble and ended up leaving him with all her money. He invested it, then they all died and he gave the money back. Then when the trio came back , Jake ended up with the money because Steven had been placed in the body of— get this —a movie producer's son. Crazy shit."

"So we were all separated? How did that happen?" Marc asked, trying to imagine what that would be like, and decided it sounded like more trouble. From the corner of his eye, he could see her shrug.

"Khonshu fucked up somewhere, I guess. Everything moves so much faster there, so I imagine they've figured it out by now."

"You almost sound envious of the fast life."

In truth, it wasn't as much envy as it was longing. She found herself missing that bunch more often than not, hoping they all came together and resolved their problems in the time since she had been away. She certainly wasn't envious of the dysfunction.

"I'm getting too old for fast. I don't know how they do it."

It wasn't roast beef on garlic bread, but Marc couldn't think of the last time he had deep dish and took the liberty of choosing the classic for their dinner. Moni had no requests or complaints , just that she wanted something soon.

He considered something a bit finer in the dining department, not forgetting that he still owed her a dinner date, but realized neither of them was dressed for that sort of thing. He felt like he had regressed in age, flicking his eyes from the food to the woman in front of him with a v-neck just deep enough to remind him that he had the brain of a caveman at times.

"Real inconspicuous of you. Normal people who have nothing to hide totally wear their hoods when they eat." Moni teased, not letting the opportunity to talk shit about him having to obscure his profile go to waste.

I guess there are consequences to faking your own death, eh, Spector? She thought.

"You don't have to tell me it's weird. I know it is." He responded, sinking back in his seat a bit and remembering how small the square tables were when his knees brushed against hers. Even through two layers of clothes, the contact sent a jolt through him that reminded him just how starved of physical contact he was.

Though she thought she'd had her fill of physical contact after the fiasco with Nick, there was no denying the tightening in her chest that came with that accidental touch. Something about it felt illicit, like a looming fall from grace that comes with even thinking about taking a bite from the forbidden fruit.

As if she had no control over the movement of her own legs, she brought her right foot up and went to cross it over her left leg, but her ankle was stopped halfway through the motion by his thigh intruding the space.

She hadn't realized how wide of a spread he had and almost dropped her foot back to the floor but that gnawing magnatism kept her where she was. She expected him to maneuver out of it, given his insistence on keeping her away, but he stayed, posture and position unwavering.

Butterflies on acid doing the macarena. She thought to herself.

"Feeling better?" Marc asked with a ticked eyebrow, and though she knew he was referring to her consumption of food , she couldn't let the strange ease that flooded her from this moment go amiss. That ease didn't feel like relief; though, as it brought on a new, probing edge of dissatisfaction that could only be resolved by getting closer.

The words she was looking for to respond were lodged so far down her throat she couldn't cough them up by speaking alone. She was sure if she tried, it would come out as a pathetic whimper. Instead, she mouthed 'I'm feeling better' and signed along with it just as she would with her deaf patients. Marc looked taken aback by this.

“You know how to sign?” He asked, momentarily forgetting about the situation under the table at this new fact. There was a flicker in her eyes as she was pulled back to the conversation and she cleared her throat.

“Two of my kids are deaf.” She explained before promptly shaking her head as if clearing the cobwebs. “My patients , I mean."

He had made that connection on his own, knowing for certain that Moni didn't have children but what he didn't expect was how often she would continue to surprise him. He wanted to believe that she hadn't changed, wanted to think his assumptions about her based only on what he knew were correct but everything she did left him all the more curious.

“What else have I yet to learn?”

Feeling put in the spot, Moni didn't take long to think about it before coming up empty. No fun facts, no dirty secrets, nothing wholly interesting enough to put him in awe of her.

"I’m sure there isn’t much.” She dismissed the question with a nervous laugh. “How about you? What don’t I know?”

I used to carve peoples' faces off, I killed Rand, your panties were lost somewhere in Fallujah, and that's just off the top of my head. He thought, deciding he didn't want to share any of those.

“A lot.” He said instead, garnering the second eye-roll of the night.

“Okay, then, tell me one thing.”

“I have a daughter." He offered the information, finding it to be sufficient and trusting Moni enough to let her know. "Diatrice.”

“Really?” She probed for further confirmation that he wasn't fucking with her. It was shocking but not unwelcome news. If anything, it just made him infinitely more scrumptious as she found herself growing an attraction for single parents the older she got and if Nick and Johnny from the pet store were any indication, she attracted them right back.

“I don’t see her very often but it’s safer that way. She’s taken care of.” Marc clarified, seeming a bit saddened as he spoke but finding the perfect segway back to Moni. “Do you want any?”

There was a pause as she thought, but not about the question he asked. Her mind began to wander , picturing Marc learning how to braid hair or giving a piggyback ride to a tiny little girl version of himself. Her heart swelled at the image of him being the best girl-dad he could be, but she snapped back to his question with a heavy exhale.

“I mean, sure. I’ve thought about it. Got my eggs scooped out because I was thinking about it too much, even. I just don’t know if I can do pregnancy.” She explained, choosing not to get into the dirty details of her first go-round with that. The sickness, the agony, all of it was far too brutal for her to feel comfortable going that route again. The plan was for Ericka to carry what would have been their child, but that wasn’t in their future.

“You must be really good with them.”

“I think so. Sometimes you get some special cases where you just wanna hug them and tell them everything will get better and take them home to make sure it happens.”

“So you wanna adopt?”

“Not right now, of course.” She specified without denying. This made Marc snicker.

“At least you already have kids.”

“ Precisely .” She agreed, circling back to calling her patients her kids. In many ways, she thought of them as much. They were all special to her but the idea brought her mind to Maricella and for whatever reason, she couldn't keep herself from talking about her to Marc right then.

“There is one girl. Five. She’s been through the wringer. She can’t talk—not one of the deaf ones, she mute—but I made her laugh the other day. That’s a personal goal of mine when I get a new kid. Some are tough to crack but I always make it happen. I had her really laughing, like a good belly laugh.”

As Moni spoke, Marc recognized the twinkle in her eyes. The way she spoke of the girl felt maternal and protective. She truly cared for her, maybe above the other kids.

“Adopt her.” He suggested the second he found a gap to get a word out. She pursed her lips at this.

“I can’t.”

“You can .”

“Nope. It’s not my job to mother them, it’s my job to treat them.”

There was another break in the conversation as she realized she didn't believe her own words. The drawings that hung in her office of flowers, butterflies, and suns with sunglasses on them were all from Maricella.

Moni wasn't meant to be her psychiatrist full-time. The state just needed help with her case but after the second session, she suggested further treatment, took her on free of charge and it was still selfish.

It was to keep an eye on her and monitor her progress, making sure her parents never got near her again. She imagined if anyone understood that feeling, it would be Marc. "I know about what her parents did to her and I probably only know the surface of it. I don’t know what kind of people could do that.” 

As the words flowed, he saw that twinkle ebb and flow until it dimmed into something he wasn't used to seeing with Moni. It was paired with a crease in her brow and a dead stare at the table . Like a viper protecting its brood. The cogs turned in Marc's mind and he found himself desperately wanting to uncover that nerve and poke it.

“You looked into her parents, didn't you?” He inquired, and as if she were reading from a script, her eyes didn't move with her mouth.

“I know their names, birthdays, everything the legal system knows. I committed their faces to my memory.”

That was pure, seething hatred. Never in his life had he seen anything so dark residing in Moni's soul. It was something he was used to seeing in some of the worst villains he had faced. Sometimes in his own eyes when he looked in a mirror. This was a woman who had likely contemplated double homicide numerous times.

And I thought you were out of surprises. He thought as the sick part of his brain panted with a voyeuristic urge to hear her confirm that she would slaughter that girl's parents for what they did.

“How would you do it?” He asked emptily, and without needing to further explain , she was on the same wavelength.

“I’d make it personal. It wouldn’t be quick. It never was for Maricella." She uttered her name without even thinking about it, lost in a fantasy of blood and bone. "Her mother was the worst from what I’ve heard so I’d start with her.”

“No." Marc corrected. "Start with the father and make the mother watch.”

She was ashamed to admit that she had considered that but confirmation that it was the way to go was like sweet sap on her tongue. Bloodlust wasn't normal for her but she knew just as well that you don't start thinking this way overnight.

It manifested across a long period of hearing children cry about what had been done to them. By strangers, family, family friends, teachers, fucking bus drivers, neighbors, anyone that they were meant to trust.

Her own uncle was among them and though he never touched Moni, he had victims. Girls she went to school with. If she could trace these crimson-soaked visions back, that was where they began.

Simone-928 killed her tío and she turned into the baddest bitch in Hell's Kitchen. I wonder what could have become of me if I had her upbringing.

“Smart.” Was all she managed to utter in response, her leg inching upward on his thigh a bit as if it were a little treat for his cooperation. Her focus was zeroed in on Marc now and she didn't miss the way he fixated on her like the pizza between them just didn't cut it and for a moment she thought she held the kind of bewitching power her other-worldly counterpart.

All it took was the ding of the glass door to remind her that she was sitting in a pizza place and worse, that the incoming patron was someone who not only knew her but knew Marc. He had a clean haircut that matched his freshly-pressed white button-up and black slacks as he entered with the same swagger in his walk that he had in high school. Panic set in quickly.

"Shit. Don't turn around but Quentin just walked in."

"Quentin Jorden?" Marc broke from his trance-like state at the name and sat up, causing Moni's foot to fall back to the floor. As hard as she tried to avert her gaze from Quentin, he spotted her like he was looking for her, flashing a smile as he approached.

"He saw me. He's walking this way. What do we do about you?"

And this is why I don't come to Chicago. Marc thought, knowing there was only one thing he really could do aside from making off to the bathroom.

"There's a reason I can be three different people." He muttered as he reached into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a piece of clear plastic film with that high-quality fake mustache on it that she had seen before in the cab.

"You had that the whole time and you've been sitting here with your hood up?" She asked, trying to keep her amusement at bay as he placed the facial hair on his upper lip. A harsh exhale followed, and like he had become a brand-new man, Marc was no longer in front of her.

"To answer your question; he hates the 'tache." Jake's New York accent flowed eloquently and the hood was pushed away. "How ya been, beautiful? Long time, no see."

A rouge began to tint her cheeks at the complimentary nickname and as much as she wanted to answer, she couldn't. Quentin had made it to the end of their table in the nick of time.

"Simone Fredrick, as I live and breathe!" He called out with his hands tucked into his pockets. As inopportune as his intrusion was, she couldn't help but be polite.

"Quentin! It's good to see you! Where've you been?"

"Here and there. I opened up shop in Rockford. I heard you got your PsyD, though. That's awesome!" He responded, relating to her. This would have surprised her if she didn't know that Ericka stayed in contact with Quentin.

His cola eyes seemed to smile at her even more than his mouth did and she realized nothing had changed about the man before her. He was still a charmer. She knew he was a radiologist these days and played off of that fact.

"Well, I imagine it isn't anywhere near what you've got going on, Dr. Jorden."

It occurred to her that he had yet to take notice of the man she sat with, be it recognizing his face or even acknowledging his existence. Not wanting to be rude, she shifted back to Jake. "Oh, this is Jake, my..."

"I'm the boyfriend. Good to meet ya , pal." Jake finished her sentence with a grin and an extended hand. He didn't appreciate the way this guy was eyeing her, watching him drag his eyes from her face down her body several times since he arrived.

Get rid of this guy. Marc told him, and so he would.

"Ah, so Simone can be tied down," Quentin replied with a laugh as he took Jake's hand and shook it twice.

"More ways than one, if you catch my drift." Jake quipped and noticed Simone's jaw drop at the comment. It was meant to make Quentin uncomfortable, and by the way he shied back, it succeeded.

"Alrighty, well, I'm here to pick up a delivery. It was great seeing you again, and it was nice meeting you, Jake."

"Yeah. You, also." She mumbled, still too bewildered by Jake's words to provide Quentin with a proper peppy goodbye. Once he was at the pickup counter and far enough out of earshot, she stared daggers into Jake. " Boyfriend ? More ways than one? I could kill you, Lockley!" She snipped through a tight jaw. The boyfriend lie was fine, but the second part seemingly served no purpose but to humiliate her. He eyed her like he had done nothing wrong, leaning forward.

"What? You don't think I caught that? His eyes were stuck to your rack."

"They were not! He was just being nice!"

"And you, all 'Dr. Jorden' like he probably ain't gonna choke the chicken thinking about that later."

"You're disgusting."

"Yeah? And you're about to have bigger problems than me."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" She questioned, and as if she already knew the answer, she checked to see if Quentin had left yet. He was nowhere to be found, and once that was established, the mustache came off.

"Pack up your leftovers. We need to get out of here." Marc said, making it clear he had returned if the overall demeanor shift didn't give that away already. She sensed irritation high enough to cause her to hear her own heartbeat thump in her ears and without question, she did as he said.

The ride was eerily quiet and thick with tension to the point where Simone had to turn the heater down to be able to breathe. Her glance grazed over him, assessing his body language. His jaw was clenched, he was driving with both hands on the wheel, and you would think his foot was made of lead with his mild speeding and heavy-handedness on stops.

"You cool?" She finally brought herself to ask , but it fell on deaf ears as he stayed focused on the road. She was familiar with this, having seen something similar a few times but never had she gotten the cold shoulder because of his jealousy. "So, what, Jake can call me beautiful but some guy I don't know anymore can't compliment me on my achievements?"

"Is that what it was?" He asked in a way that was meant to be a slight on her. It felt like a slap in the face, blame aimed in her direction without reason other than the fact that she was there. "That's not what I saw."

Why do you care so much? She wanted to ask as her brain went into overdrive, thinking about every instance he could have expressed that he had a problem with something like that and never did. Every opportunity he could have made her aware of some underlying feelings he might have had for her. Nothing.

The fact that he would act this way now felt childish. The possessive nature alone despite never once outright telling her what she did wrong should have had her ready to get out of the car and continue the journey back home by herself.

If that was the case, why did the sickly feeling she was supposed to have feel like butterflies on acid again? Because it registered as confirmation? Because it meant there was still a part of him that saw her the way she wanted him to? She was aware he had no right to act like this and yet, she welcomed it.

They arrived back at her house in a flash and Simone exited the car upon it coming to a complete stop in her driveway. She circled around the black sedan slowly and she noticed he hadn't turned the car off or gotten out yet.

The last thing she wanted him to do was take off, so she tapped on the driver's side window with the knuckle of her index finger lightly. It was so dark she couldn't see inside through the tinted window and didn't think he had paid her any mind until the window began to roll down.

It was the first time he had looked directly at her since they were at the table at the pizza place. His gaze wasn't hateful as much as it was frustrated, but if she had to guess, it had softened significantly by her beckoning his attention instead of retreating into the house without him.

"Let's go." She requested, nodding toward the front door. There was a hint of hesitation, but as a blast of fridged air whistled through her bones, his mind was made up. The window came back up, the ignition was killed, and the car door opened as she went to unlock her front entrance.

Once inside, Marc planted himself in the middle of her couch on the part of the L that faced the television. As Simone was too nervous to sit down, she stayed upright with her arms crossed over her chest, looking at him with expectant eyes, waiting for him to say what was on his mind.

" 'So Simone can be tied down.' Why would he say that, Moni?" He finally spoke up but in less of an accusatory fashion and more of an invitation for her to take a guess. That told her he thought he knew the answer, but she took a crack at it anyway.

"Your guess is as good as mine. He knew about Ericka. Hell, I'm pretty sure they're friends."

"It was a dig. I never let him get close to you and that meant you may as well have been completely unattainable to anyone."

It was the only reasonable explanation in Marc's mind. A smug jackass like Quentin would rather assume Moni was a prude than acknowledge that her relationship with Ericka ever really happened. He would prefer to live in a world where the only thing holding her back was Marc.

I was unattainable. You made sure of that. She nearly voiced but decided to take a different route.

"You wanna know something?" She asked, garnering a 'hm' from him that invited her to proceed. "Ericka told me everyone used to call me 'Spector's girl' . Never to my face, obviously. Did you know anything about that?"

"Of course, I did. It was what the guys would say to try and rile me up."

He knew the phrase well beyond just that, though. Sure, it was used as a response from anyone within earshot of another commenting on Moni in her track shorts but he never made an effort to keep it out of anyone's mouth. Even as a joke, it was taken seriously.

"It seems everyone knew about that but me. " Moni said with an unbelieving snicker and Marc shook his head as he replied.

"You knew, you just didn't hear people around you say it."

"How was I supposed to know I was Spector's girl before I ever was ?"

Because you always were. He thought to himself, outwardly replying with a shrug instead. She's smart. She'll catch on, eventually.

Simone took the shrug as bait to ask again but chose not to. He knew what he meant but whatever game he played would end too soon if he gave her all the answers. It annoyed her.

"I just can't help but imagine Quenton's face if he realized it was me sitting there. None of that would have happened." He said as if he knew for sure. Simone was amused by the idea of what would have actually happened.

"He probably would've shit himself. Like everyone else, he thinks you're dead."

That's why this would never work. She thought and the realization felt like someone squeezed her heart as hard as they could. Her words seemed to serve as a heavy reminder to Marc, as well, as his eyes grew a bit gloomier. His pupils met hers, and there sat a hint of remorse.

"I didn't mean to get like that. Quentin just always got under my skin." He told the half-truth as if it were a half-apology. "I'm not entirely sure why I came by, in the first place. Now that you're fed; though, I'll get out of your hair."

"Stay." Simone spat without thinking as she saw him attempt to stand. She didn't want him to go so soon as this was their first time truly spending time together. The last thing she wanted was for deep dish that ended in disaster to be the end of their night. "We did the dinner part. You still owe me a movie."

I owe you a lot more than a movie if memory serves. He thought as he reflected on their date plans of yesteryear. He relaxed back onto the sofa and suddenly decided he was in the mood to watch a movie.

Of course, Moni picked 'Revenge Of The Sith' and cued it up on her Xbox. Out of respect for Marc's boundaries after pushing them earlier, she lay back on the opposite side of the sofa. Her arm rested between her head and a throw pillow for a better view of the TV while one leg curled upward on the couch and the other dangled.

He was thankful she was still enthralled by Star Wars enough to pay him no mind. It would have been just as difficult to keep his attention away from her if he hadn't seen the movie dozens of times.

It was like she had been trying his patience all night long without even realizing it. The dancing in the kitchen, the mini tantrum over her garlic bread, the tension over pizza, her leg resting on his thigh, the Quentin bullshit, the very mention of her being his girl, bringing up their date, and now there she was, spread-eagled like he wasn't six-feet away.

I'm going to lose my mind. He thought to himself as his eyes grazed over her body, illuminated only by the light from the TV. He hated to admit that he was suffering from being so far away, even more than the times before. The sight of the shirt she wore clinging around the mound of her breasts and torso, the joggers that somehow hugged her thighs and calves perfectly.

An idea came to mind that he fought himself over for nearly half of the movie. He had come to terms with the fact that he didn't want her with Nick or Ericka, he didn't like the interaction with Quentin, and he wasn't foolish enough to assume anyone else would be fine.

There was no winning spot to be in if he wasn't under her skin.

Like a man possessed, he got up from the couch and trailed around the back to not get in the way of the movie. She was more than welcome to continue watching it if she could concentrate that well.

Moni didn't notice he had stood until his form appeared directly in front of her at the very end of the sectional. For a moment, she was confused, thinking she needed to pause so he could tell her something. It became abundantly clear what he was up to when he dropped to his knees as if in worship.

Her breath caught in her windpipe as his hands glided up her legs slowly, sending her eyelids fluttering at the very feeling until they reached her hips. His fingertips curled under the support band on her joggers and underwear but before pulling toward him, they lifted her up from the sofa.

This surprised her for a moment before she discovered the purpose was due to her not lifting her lower body to allow space for the pants to slide away. It was evident that if she wouldn't move unprompted, he would make her.

In a flash, every bit of coverage on the lower half of her body vanished and his hands went wandering back up to her hips. Finding their target, they gave her a rough yank forward. He didn't speak as he did this, eyes seemingly scanning her reactions, in search of rejection.

"What're you..." She began to ask, the words punching out a little harder than she meant for them to in the wake of her anxiety. She wondered if she dozed off at some point because of how unprecedented this felt.

"We decided against the movie." He answered her incomplete sentence and locked his forearms over her thighs as he positioned himself. It was easy to remember why he was so eager to be here now. Outwardly confident in his abilities, he found himself incredibly intimidated now that the assignment was right in front of him.

She spent a decade getting tonguefucked by another woman. No pressure. He thought to himself, considering the best course of action. His mind flipped through things he knew she liked like a rolodex. Why am I overthinking this? She practically melted just from me touching her.

It was then his mind traveled back to the time in his Durango. She did the same thing then , also , and he didn't even know what he was doing. He was also reminded of something he did on a whim, out of a pure, selfish urge. He wanted to hold her closer, squeeze her tighter, but because he couldn't, his jaw opened and closed around the soft skin of her shoulder.

Eyeing the meat of her right inner thigh, he doubted if she would even still be into that. As he thought about it, Moni's body trembled slightly as if he needed a reminder that her cunt was parallel to his face.

Why the hell not? He wondered, passing a glance up to her eyes as he bit down on the tender flesh. A yelp arose from her with a sharp breath as her hands gripped either side of the couch. He held for a moment out of curiosity, seeing just how long she would let it happen before he released.

Holy fuck. She thought as the pain signals that fired off when his teeth dug into her translated into inconceivable pleasure. Once he backed off, she felt a sliver of disappointment, missing the pinching feeling in that sensitive area.

Then she began to overthink everything as there was a seemingly endless break in any activity. She peered down past her heaving chest and found his eyes still locked to her as if she were his prey. It felt like she would scream if he didn't do something but her own doubt crept in.

Why would he risk this? After weeks of establishing that this wasn't what he wanted?

The apprehension was shoved from her body all at once as she felt his tongue slide through her folds in one solid swipe, ending on her clit. The millisecond of contact was enough to send a twitch through her body. She feared looking back down, unable to comprehend the expression on his face in response to the mess he was making of her.

"Watch me, Moni." He said in a pebbly voice that left hot breath on her cunt. She wasn't overly familiar with this game but she knew enough to know that it wasn't a request, it was a demand, and he wouldn't continue until she looked at him.

With arms that felt like jelly, she reached above her head in search of the throw pillow that had been left behind as he manhandled her. Once secured, she placed it under her head and found the best view of his tousled dark hair and malicious eyes peeking beyond her mound.

Pretty as can be and compliant. Marc thought as he stared up at her pouty, flushed face. She watched him with a familiar look in her eyes that he couldn't place. His cock was aching and every inch of this gorgeous woman would be so easily accessible but that wasn't the move tonight. It felt like the perfect time to stop toying with her.

His lips closed around her clit and began to suck, and Moni's body reacted accordingly. She shuddered at the much-needed attention and an involuntary groan spilled through her teeth. It had been years since anything but her own fingers explored the area and you would think Marc knew his way around with how his tongue swirled around her bundle.

Seeming pleased by the reaction he got , he kept going, spelling his full government name out with his tongue and studying her with great interest. Her legs draped over his shoulders like a scarf made just for him, and the part of him that wanted to tease her was gone.

His right hand met up with his face and he sank his middle finger into her. His already straining length twitched, her walls thrumming around his finger like she had never been touched in her life. She was soaked but still seemed to take the single digit with some resistance, and though the puny moans she made were beautiful, they weren't enough,

She felt him bend his finger and her toes curled as the newly introduced pressure on the soft, spongy spot that she would have bet her whole bank account that he wouldn't find. A much louder, needier sound forced its way through her throat and she lost any train of thought she had before then.

Wanting to push her a bit further, Marc began to heighten his efforts. Sucking harder and flicking his tongue faster as her wetness coated his finger all the way down to his knuckles. His ring finger slipped in next to it, joining the rough manipulation and proving to him just how tight she was.

Her head fell back, eyes clamping shut. He could have been mean and halted so she could look at him again, but he didn't want to prolong this much longer. She was close and he was in the business of making her quake with pleasure, not torture . At least, not this time.

His opposite hand made a grip on her hipbone so deep she swore it might bruise along with the place he bit her, but she didn't care. Any worry about his intentions or questions about what he was thinking went out the window.

It was as if watching Marc commit the act did it for her a lot more than the act itself. She didn't think it was possible for a man to look so damn good with her legs strung around his neck. It was to the point where she felt like she was hanging on by a fragile thread, liable to come at any moment.

There's no way. It's only been a few minutes. That logical part of her brain managed to function long enough to consider that thought.

It all happened so fast. First, there was the feeling of her walls clenching around his fingers like they could swallow them up. Following that was a surprising gush of liquid that trickled down his chin and hand that was paired with her shakily shouting his name in a way that sounded like praise.

She didn't have a second to feel embarrassed about the fact that she just squirted all over him. His tongue stopped working and the grunt that he made in response was like nothing she had ever heard before. It was beastly and deep, and his fingers still proceeded to curl and draw more wetness from her like he was unsatisfied.

Her world was spinning as she came back down the impossibly long high. She wondered what he would do next. It seemed likely that he would want to fuck her now, enjoying the excess of slick he had just created that coated her caverns. It seemed more than fair. Hell, she even wanted it.

Marc began to stand back up and allowed her legs to fall bonelessly to the couch. There was a moment where he stared at her, admiring her agape mouth and the rising and falling of her chest. To her surprise, he didn't start unfastening his jeans for her to return the favor.

"Enjoy the rest of the movie, Moni." He said like an accomplished man. No other words, no other motions, not even a blink as he turned and made off for her door with an air of confidence.

She couldn't bring herself to say anything in response, dumbfounded by the events that occurred and thoroughly knocked on her ass by one of, if not the best orgasm of her life.

Notes:

Holy smokes.

Chapter 11: Flowerchild

Summary:

So, I've changed where I wanted this chapter to go several times. First, it was going to go in 'Normal People' after the chapter where Simone is talking about the events of this chapter. Then, I planned to put it in place of the first flashback chapter of this work. It ended up here for comparison purposes, and because I feel like if I wait any longer to place this flashback, it will lose any value it may hold to the story with how often it is referenced.

That being said, I hope you enjoy it, and just in case you miss it, all characters involved are 18 or older so I did not tack on the underage archive warning. If you feel that I should add that warning regardless, please let me know. Your opinions, especially for tags and warnings because I'm bad at those, are appreciated. I also just love engagement.

" I fell into your forbidden arms
Beautiful flower child
I am nothing but an echo through your halls
Well, won't you
Won't you just stay here for longer?
I've given all to what was left of you
I don't know where I went wrong, I went wrong "
-"Flowerchild" by Citizen

 

"Do you have the notes from Bridges' class yesterday?" Marc asked, pulling his eyes from the dirt road for a moment to see Moni digging through her binder. She had wanted to be sure she finished her Civics homework, and if she hadn't, she would quickly do it before they got to their destination .

Their teacher for that class, Mr. Weiss, was the only one they had together who assigned weekend work. If need be, she would copy her answers over to Marc's, as well so he wouldn't have to worry about it.

"No, I didn't take any notes because I thought you would." She answered quickly, coming to the conclusion that she had left the sheet they were given on her desk at home and closed the binder. "I was studying for Honkala's test that whole period."

"Studying?" He questioned, making a face of false judgment before it broke with a grin, unable to keep it up when she looked at him with squinted eyes.

"I have an 83 in her class right now! I'm trying to get back up to a 90 before we get progress reports." Moni defended, making him chuckle.

"How do you have a B in Spanish?"

"I imagine for the same reason you have a C in English, Spector." She teased him back, both knowing they spend a lot more time creatively passing notes back and forth than they do paying attention in either class.

"Smartass." He affectionately mumbled the worn-out term, shifting his gaze to her once more . It lingered this time, and as much as she wanted to pretend not to catch it, he wouldn't pull away. The static resonating from the stereo reflected how fuzzy her brain felt when he did this.

No matter how skilled of a driver he was or how empty the road ahead appeared, there was no way he could keep it up long. The longer he did; however, the harder it was for her to shift the involuntary blush and smile that crept up on her face.

"Eyes on the road." She giggled anxiously, causing his eyes to snap back to the windshield and stay there. Unnerved by the fluttering in her stomach, her own glance began to wander without her consent from his freshly-shaven jaw to the dark hair that curled around his ears, to the single hand he had on the wheel.

She always loved his hands, noting how they were larger compared to how they were when they were young enough to hold hands and it meant nothing. At their age, holding hands came with commitments that she was just not brave enough to introduce.

"At least you're not spending your weekend studying." Marc's voice yanked her out of her own head, and she had to remember the topic from before along with the reason they were in the car, to begin with. Another flustered laugh fell through her teeth.

"Yeah, it's way more fun to be surrounded by a bunch of drunk toddlers." She replied with a bit of sarcasm. Another pause followed as they turned right onto a less pebbly road, dust kicking up behind the SUV. His speed diminished as he let off the gas slightly.

"Do you really wanna go to this thing? Be honest with me." He asked, reading her tone effortlessly, as always. When he had brought it up with her, he was approached by a couple of other guys on their track team about it. It was her first time hearing about any kind of party, and she assumed his asking her to go with him meant he wanted to attend.

"Not really. It isn't my scene, but I'm fine with going since you wanna go." She admitted but saved in an effort to impress him. She had no intentions to partake in the drinking or possible pot smoking, but she was happy to look after Marc if he chose to participate. For the first time since she called him out for his staring, he looked at her again and shrugged.

"Actually, the idea of hanging around people we barely like kinda blows, doesn't it?"

Soon enough, Moni would discover the turn Marc took was in the opposite direction of the campground everyone planned to meet at. He knew she would flake on the party and rather than talk her into going or turn around and go home, he sought out a different place for them to camp alone.

Their families weren't expecting them back until afternoon the next day, and they had already spent the gas to get to the state park. All it took was a sharp turn off the beaten path to find a decently secluded area with a clearing. They parked, and from the cargo bay came a large blue Igloo cooler full of ice, soda, bottled water, hot dogs, and s'more ingredients.

"What the fuck." She groaned when she saw the contents of the cooler , clearly packed in the case of this event. "Am I really so predictable?"

"Nope. I just know you." He corrected her, unfolding a lawn chair for her to sit in. She rolled her eyes at this,

"In other words, I'm predictable." She doubled down, still pointing to the contingency plan before them and chuckling. "You make me wanna scream sometimes."

This wasn't the first time she said that phrase to him, like the time she left her good running shoes in his car and he cleaned out the floorboard only to forget to put them back in so she would have them for their track meet. She had to run in her dirty old pair of Chuck Taylors and ended up busting the sole from the toe and rolling her ankle. Needless to say, she never forgot her tennies again, but there was a certain charm to when she would say it without fully meaning it.

"We're in the middle of nowhere, Moni. Scream all you want!" He suggested playfully before planting his feet on the ground, cupping his hands around his mouth, and hollering as loud as he could. Moni nearly doubled over in laughter listening to the long shout.

He looked at her when he was finished and gestured for her to give it a try . For a moment, her shyness took over and made her shake her head. "C'mon, it's therapeutic! Release all that tension, Miss B-in-Spanish."

His insistence and challenging gave her the push she needed, and she copied his movements before letting out a howl that was no doubt heard by other campers in the area. As her voice died off, leaving nothing but an echo in the air , he applauded her.

After their scream-fest, they swam for a little while, taking turns attempting to dunk one another under the water by faking distractions of the 'what's that in the water?' and 'Is that a bear?' variety. Eventually, it just became more fun to pretend to see what the other was pointing out.

When he finally got fed up with her no longer falling for his fibs but somehow getting him with a claim to have spotted Big Foot in the tree line, he picked her up and tossed her a few feet away with a big splash. Moni was too busy having a good time to be upset over the water that entered her nose.

When the sun began to set, Marc started a fire to roast marshmallows and dry their swimsuits for another swim the next day. They each had one change of clothes, but as Moni changed in the car, she realized quickly that she made an error in not packing a bra, having worn her suit under her clothes for the drive up. She didn't sweat this fact; though, wearing bigger shirts as a rule and being barely a B-cup in breast size.

They had just gotten the tent up when the unexpected struck, making them both realize they hadn't checked the weather report for the day because they assumed the planners of this party had accounted for weather being a major make-or-break to camping plans.

It started with a drop in temperature, followed by a small droplet of water hitting Moni in her hairline and running down her scalp. Then, within seconds, a full-blown downpour. The fire was doused, the tent was washed, and so were they as they rushed back to the car. The pair were too busy cracking up to even begin to discuss going home, looking akin to drowned rats after spending hours drying from the dip in the lake.

Marc started the car to get the heater going, realizing quickly that Moni was shivering and the towels he had brought were out in the rain. If the plan was to go home for the night, they would have to wait for a break to collect their belonging before driving off. From his bag in the floorboard of the back seat, he retrieved his spare T-shirt and peeled the wet one away from his skin to change out.

When he tossed the drenched article back into the cargo bay, he leaned even further over the center console to dig through Moni's duffle, pulling her dry clothes out and placing them on the dashboard. She eyeballed them for a moment, confused as if she didn't know what they were.

"You're not staying in wet clothes for however long we're here." He pressed, watching her continue to shiver and hug herself. "Hop in the back and change. I'll keep my eyes forward."

She understood that he was right and was remarkably polite about it, taking her comfort into consideration . With a sheepish nod, she climbed between the front seats and struggled against the sopping wet fabric suctioning itself to her body.

First, the shorts, being the easiest and oddly enough least uncomfortable piece of clothing to change out of in the presence of your male best friend. She couldn't help but dart her eyes to the rearview mirror, double-checking exactly where his eyes were and finding them glued to the dash. She asked herself if she would be upset over him sneaking a peak.

No. I would be embarrassed, but no. Not upset.

Lightly lifting her bare butt from the seat, she wiggled her dry track shorts over her damp skin. It seemed so painless to be half-naked with him less than a foot away. Her brain felt like it was going into overdrive, picturing him in full turn and catching her on purpose. She found herself wishing he would, but before she got to the top, he halted her. "Actually-"

She froze in place and gulped loudly with her fingers wrapped around the bottom hem of her shirt. Her heart was thumping loudly in her ears, unsure of where he was going or what he was thinking. Without moving his eyeballs for even a second, he continued. "Can you hand me my shorts so I can get outta these while you're back there?"

"Uh, yeah, I got you." She replied with a shakey voice through a throat that felt too dry and pulled out the red basketball shorts without delay. "Your ass getting cold up there?"

"It's not my ass that's cold." He informed her jokingly, garnering a small snicker as she understood he meant his balls. Then, the funny comment twisted in her mind, turning into something depraved. There were plenty of ways to keep warm, after all.

Goddammit, stop it! She mentally yelled into the recesses of her mind and shook away the dirty images. The pit of her belly felt nauseous and anxious. A lump formed in her throat that could very well have either been the need to vomit or the invitation to climb back with her stuck fast. She knew she would lose her nerve if she made the effort, though. Back out last-second, look like a chump, a tease, things she didn’t want on her record with Marc.

From the corner of her eye, she could see him shifting and stumbling to change with the steering wheel impeding his movement. In an effort to be a decent friend, she decided to make a suggestion.

"You could always move your seat back a bit. I won't miss the space." She called out, and with a huff for clearly not thinking about that, he pulled the lever and let the seat slide until it clicked.

It was awkward, neither of them considering just how far back the seat would go. Moni found herself in limbo between getting out of her shirt with confidence that he wasn't looking at her and staying her hand to ensure he knew she wasn't able to see what he was working with, peepers finding the intricacies in the back of the passenger seat headrest. Somehow, this set the middle ground as pretending she forgot how to take off a normal shirt, simultaneously screeching at herself in her mind all the while genuinely wondering if she was pulling off this horrendous stunt or if he saw through it.

Then, before she could even blink, he moved his seat forward once again and clapped his eyes back to the dashboard. For a moment, she was shocked at how fast he did that before realizing that she was just being considerably slow about her own undressing. She felt a tease about being a sloth coming, so she pulled the wet shirt away with a good yank and the intention to be swift with putting the other shirt over her bare torso.

The fumbling began, unintentionally this time. First unable to find the neck hole and then becoming unsure which side was the front because she cut the tags off of all her clothes. She suddenly couldn't grasp the concept of putting a shirt on and grew frustrated by this . Her eyes went to the mirror again to find he was still laser-focused on the speedometer.

“Shit.” She murmured. Without daring to look, he shifted his head to the side nearest her.

“Did hypothermia get you or something? You cool?” 

“No, I’m not cool.” 

“What’s wrong, then?”

Something in her prodded her, slightly offended by his avoidance of looking at her in any capacity. It somehow made her feel more self-conscious than if she had caught him sneaking an eyeful. She knew it was ridiculous. She knew she couldn’t have expected him to read her mind. Yet, she still couldn’t control the words flowing from her mouth.

“You know, you don’t have to act like I’m a nun or something.”

“I’m confused.” He replied, suddenly finding his scuffed steering wheel to be far more interesting than the shirtless girl in his back seat. An unusual, harsh cackle forced its way out of her throat as she finally found the back of her shirt but she held it in her lap for a moment . She was shaking but more because she was speaking her mind than because she was cold.

“You’ve been staring off into space for 10 minutes like you haven’t seen me naked before.”

“Yeah, I did when I was like six at a pool party and I didn’t know what I was looking at.” 

Stupid idiot . She thought to herself . As if he would ever be interested in you.

“Well, still.” She said in a voice just above a whisper. Her eyes began to burn, feeling like she could cry because she didn't want to fight with him but couldn't get a grip.

“Shit, Moni, do you want me to look?” He asked, eyes finally locking to hers in the rearview, not veering even a little. She stayed there for a beat and scowled, both because he had to ask and because she was making a fool of herself. She pried her pupils away and brought her attention back to the shirt.

“Never mind.” 

“Are you actually mad at me for trying to be a gentleman?”

“I don’t even remember what my point was. Just got angry with this shirt, is all. Don’t worry about it.” She said with a sigh, finally pulling the top over her torso and beginning her climb back to the front. Marc watched her, thinking the whole argument was absurd, but wanting to figure out what she was truly upset about.

“Moni.” He spoke her name as if it would prompt her to tell him what was going on with her, but she planted herself in the passenger seat and crossed her arms.

“Just drop it, please.”

Eventually, the static on the radio was getting annoying, being the only sound made that wasn't the rain pounding the top of the car.

As she sifted through the sleeve of discs, she couldn't find the one she was looking for.

"Where's my CD?" She finally spoke up to ask, everting her eyes and pretending like she was still looking through the plastic separators even though she was confident it wasn't in there. Marc, still stuck on the situation from roughly twenty minutes before, let his head fall lazily in her direction.

"Which one?"

"Lovers Rock? I can't find it." She said as she zipped up the organizer and opened the glovebox on the off-chance he simply tossed it somewhere. She lifted and shuffled papers and manuals but there was nothing in there that even resembled a CD, making her grow even more irritated. Her eyes did land on three red-packaged Durex condoms no doubt snagged from the clinic. Three seemed like such an odd number.

"It's not gonna be there." The words cut through the static in a sing-songy sigh. Since he seemed so sure, she figured she would ask him to narrow it down for her if he wasn't going to help at all.

"Then where would it be? It's not in the deck."

There was another impossibly long pause, this time it was Moni taking care not to look at him as his eyes burned holes in her skin. She could tell he was annoyed with her and imagined him rushing to get the car packed the second there was a break in the rain.

This was supposed to be a good time. No stress, no nuisances, no school, no parents, nothing that would get under their skin, but that turned out to not be the case. Moni felt like she royally fucked up, made it weird, ruined everything. If he wanted to go home, she would share that sentiment. If he never spoke to her again after this, it would be the price she had to pay for acting like a total lunatic.

Marc's heavy exhale sliced through the thick silence that was somehow louder than the radio's white noise and she saw him shift out of the corner of her eye. It looked like he might get out of the car, dry clothes be damned, but instead, he only extended his arm to the radio to push the button that changed the output from FM to the disc tray.

Lo and behold, the song that bumped through the speakers was from the very CD she had been searching for. All it took was for Moni to hear the lyric ‘When you hold me’ to know it. He slumped back into the seat again, staring forward, awaiting more shit to be stirred.

What the fuck? She thought to herself, not angry, but amused. Does this motherfucker listen to Sade without me?

"No way, Marc!" Moni said, staring from the radio to him and then back to the radio. "You rarely let me play my stuff when I'm in the car with you and this is how I find out you listen to Sade when I'm not here?"

She laughed because it was so strangely out of character but that wasn't how Marc was taking it. He thought she was poking fun at him, which wasn't unheard of for the pair, but these were odd circumstances. Every word said, every action taken, seemed to touch a nerve.

"I only listen to your music when I miss you." He admitted with an air of defensiveness. She eyed him for a beat, thinking it was a lie.

"You literally see me every day and you can talk to me anytime, so when do you have time to miss me?"

What started as a humorous moment shifted with a gaze. There was something in his eye this time that was so desperately serious like he needed her to understand something but couldn't quite fit together the correct string of words. It was like how he looked at her through the rearview mirror; the look that told her she drove him nuts but he loved her just enough to put up with it.

"I always miss you when you aren't here." He confessed as if it would get him in trouble. It sounded like something nobody was allowed to know, especially her.

The air in the car felt thick as she picked the sentence apart. She knew how it sounded but couldn't decide what he meant. God, it was sweet. It didn't make any sense for someone to say to her, though. Even Marc. Specifically Marc. It felt like she was no longer tethered to this plane of existence, how the simple sentence made her feel along with the way he stared at her . As if she was someone special.

Her brain and her body were at odds. The logical move would have been to not make a big deal about it , forget any of this ever happened, and move on but the knot that formed in her stomach and her twitching legs that were ready to spring upward disagreed. As her brain told her not to do it, her body had different plans.

She kissed him, but not the way Moni would have kissed Marc. She kissed him like she wasn't a resident in her own head, with no idea what she was doing, but somehow she felt it. Her middle was leaned over the center console, her hands cupped his face, and for a beautiful moment, she felt like she could take over the world.

It was a long, lingering peck that made her skin feel tight and sent fire through her bloodstream. Though she knew what went through her mind, she didn't have the faintest idea of what went through Marc's. The wind from his nose fanned her top lip in what felt and sounded like a hitch in his breathing.

Without thinking, she shifted in an effort to somehow get closer, causing the passenger seat to roughly slide back, forcing her to part with him . It took the Durango rocking chair to wake her up to what she had done and panic filled her instantly.

"Fuck, I'm sorry." She apologized, awash with embarrassment and feeling like she needed to hide, covering her face with her hands. "That was super weird of me."

"Yeah, it was weird." He said with a stunned expression as he caught his breath. For a brief second, Moni was discouraged but not surprised by the comment. She made it creepy, now she would have to deal with the consequences and likely lose her best and only friend in the process .

As she sat kicking herself for her actions, she watched Marc's confused face slowly veer into understanding and then, in a twist that could have made her feel like she was dreaming, delight. He hadn't been able to take his eyes off of her as she was consumed by dread. "Good weird. Really good." He assured her. Still, she couldn't help but doubt herself and assume he was trying to save her from humiliation.

"Whatever, Spector. You don't want me like that." She corrected, flashing back to when she was in the back seat acting like a dunce. Without another argument in his defense, he cupped her face this time, pulling her right back to his mouth. It was her turn to be amazed as a whimper popped from her throat.

"I've wanted you to do that for so long." He whispered into her mouth, brushing his nose against hers.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was too scared to fuck this up! I thought you would hate me."

"Never." She said confidently, pressing her forehead to his. "I could never hate you."

What was meant to be one kiss turned into several really long kisses that would only be interrupted so they could just stop and look at each other, smiling like idiots. Eventually, the making out started to get heavy as they developed a proper rhythm.

The center console was getting in the way of their need to be closer, which led them to crawl into the back. There was plenty of space, yet she still found herself in his lap. Moni was almost entirely lost in him, aside from the part of her brain screaming at her-

Oh, my god! This is happening! I'm kissing Marc for real this time!

She was emboldened , stuck in a place where she so badly wanted to impress him and keep going. It was as if the timid girl had gone to sleep for a little while when she broke the kiss for a moment, only to pull off her shirt. Though his hands rested on the bare skin of her back, he didn't take his eyes off of her face, even if it looked like he was straining to do so.

"You can look, you know." She invited, resting her arms over his shoulders. His pupils flicked down for a moment, then back to her face with a grin before it faltered slightly.

"I gotta ask because, you know. Not to be presumptuous or anything but-" He stopped when he realized he was rambling, head scrambled no doubt by the events and the view. She looked at him, allowing him to gather his thoughts, wondering if she was making him nervous before he was able to shake away the cobwebs. "So, what are we doing?"

It was a fair but loaded question that she didn't know how to answer. She felt like she knew what she wanted to say, but it wouldn't go through the filter between her brain and mouth.

"Well, what do you wanna do?" She said safely with a slight stutter that she felt gave away the fact that she had absolutely no plan going into this. Of course, she knew that neither of them knew what the hell they were doing but she had hoped it would just come naturally. As it would turn out, some things were more organic than others. Her apprehensions didn't hold her back from how she felt, though.

"I mean, we don't have to do anything if you don't want to." Marc clarified, seeming just as anxious as she was. There was no reason for this to be as hard to talk about as it was, and she felt her lips trying to pull to his like a magnet. Still, she looked down at her shirtless form and the position she had posted herself and laughed a bit.

"I thought we were doing something."

"I hope so. I just-" He stopped mid-sentence, searching for the words he meant to say. "I don't want you to feel bad or anything."

He was so sweet to her. After how difficult she was earlier, she felt like it didn't need to be said, but there was a mutual understanding between them that even if they wanted to do this, they were terrified. She felt it would be best to scrap the flustered conversation, take a deep breath, and be as direct as possible.

"Marc. I wanna have sex with you. Do you wanna have sex with me?" She asked, unable to hold in her girlish giggles at speaking it aloud. Even with the only light being the dingy yellow overhead, she could see his eyes wander over her, darkening, drinking her in now that he had absolute confirmation that this would be happening.

"God, I do. I really, really do." He said through a sharp breath. As if the words themselves gave him a sprinkle of confidence, he began peppering little kisses along her collarbones. They tickled and sent a tingle throughout her whole being. His hands roamed where they pleased, and she let them, as his voice vibrated against her skin and reverberated to the pit of her stomach. "I think you can probably tell."

“I definitely can.” She cooed, allowing herself to sink deeper into her flesh and do what felt right. It was wild to her how she could feel his hardened member between the fabric of both of their clothes. She didn’t think they could get that hard. When she imagined what a fully erect penis would feel like, she pictured it being somewhat bendy like a sausage. Though she hadn’t actually touched it yet, the basketball shorts left nothing to the imagination, and it certainly didn’t seem mailable.

As far as doing what felt natural went, her body’s signs of the state she was in were all too clear to her. Pressure had already been accomplished, but she felt like she would explode if she didn’t apply friction to her middle. Exploding wasn’t on her agenda, even though she didn’t really have an agenda. She lightly rocked her hips to start and was decidedly surprised by how different it felt compared to a bunched-up pillow between her legs.

Marc’s exploration of her torso came to an end at this point, eyes widened and head fully rocked back at her grinding. The blissed-out look on his face gave her courage where moments before, she had spared all her reserves in taking off her shirt and saying the word ‘sex’ two times. 

Their lips reconnected somewhere in the middle when she feared the sounds pushing out of her throat sounded too staged. She had read in a magazine that it was a turn-off if the moans sounded too pornographic, but they were authentic. She spent several minutes all but whining through her nostrils when her mouth became otherwise occupied.

“Wait,” He called out, and she did as he requested, falling back slightly. His hands clasped her hips, his face was red, his hair was crazy from her fingers diving through it, and his lips were swollen. He looked like he might just pass out, chest rising and falling heavily. It truly was a sight to behold. One that she never imagined but could only have hoped to see him in one day. For how; though, he wanted her to stop.

“You cool?” She asked, keeping her vision on his face so he knew she was paying attention. The corner of his mouth twitched upward,

“I'm cool. I just need a second.” 

If that wasn’t a confidence booster, she didn’t know what was. Feeling even more bold now, she brought her feet down and turned around, leaning into the front seats. There, she turned off the heater and retrieved the condoms she spotted in the glovebox before she turned back around. Rather than resuming her position, she sat herself snuggly next to him.

"Can I ask a personal question?" She wondered, eyeing him with the same playful glance he had seen from her plenty tonight.

"We've been making out for a hot minute, I don't see why not."

"Why does a virgin need three loose condoms in their car?"

"Emergencies. Situations like this. Better to be prepared."

"Think about situations like this often?"

"You have no idea."

She did , in fact, have a pretty good idea and considered voicing that before she was overtaken by his lips once more. Unsure if she would have the nerve to commence anything again, she was elated that he initiated the act. If there was one thing to gather from this escapade thus far, it would be that they had gotten very good at kissing each other.

In a flash, Marc had his own shirt off, working quickly to pull it away so as not to disconnect from her for too long. Moni was growing weary, if not desperate to be rid of her shorts and broke the kiss again to plant her knees into the cloth seat. Before she got a chance to tuck her thumbs into her waistband, he was way ahead of her, running his lips over her belly while sliding the bottoms down her thighs to the bend of her legs.

Her vantage point was something out of a novel, her head forced to face down due to the top of the car. Marc looked up at her with half-lidded eyes as he kissed the smooth skin of her stomach and ran his hands along her newly bare hips and rear. To think she would have never gotten here if she hadn't wanted to listen to Sade.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" He whispered, earthen eyes trained on hers to let her know he was serious. All she could manage was a strained nod even though she wouldn't know that without him telling her.

Something in his pupils beckoned her to come back down from her half-stand, sitting on her calves for a moment before an awkward period of adjusting to both fully lose the shorts and maneuver semi-comfortably in the back seat that felt so much less spacious between the two of them. Somehow, they made it work with the back of her head propped up on the door's armrest.

No matter how prepared she felt, her bones were still riddled with anxiety. She thought back to a phone conversation she had with Phoebe the year before where she had dropped the bomb that she lost her v-card at church camp, of all places. Moni was shocked as the girl gave her nearly every detail other than the color of her underwear. The main thing that clung to her mind was the fact that Phoebe said it hurt.

With eyes stuck to the ceiling of the car and legs curled close to her bottom to give him room, she feared looking over as Marc secured the protection. She was afraid she would surely chicken out if she stared too hard. Everything seemed to be easy up until this point, and she would have punched herself in the face if she could have for thinking about Phoebe right then, of all times.

She wasn't sure if it was his heartbeat or her own that she felt when he placed himself on top of her. It pounded rapidly like she had just run her top speed. A whirlwind of emotions coursed through her: trepidation, excitement, joy, and a bundle of other feelings she didn't have the brainpower to find words for .

Everything felt miles away as if she were astral-projecting. She was dizzy and suddenly couldn't feel her limbs. Anxiety was nothing new for her, but she had never felt it quite like this. Her surroundings felt far more out of focus and fuzzy as if her mind was making an effort to check out. She imagined this was what it was like to have low blood sugar.

Without making another move, Marc seemed to hone in on her apprehensive demeanor. Moments before, she had been so lively. Now in the thick of it, she was somewhere else.

"You cool?" He asked in the softest tone she had ever heard, and it placed her right back in her own mind from whatever space she had gone to.

"I'm nervous." She admitted through a shallow breath. It sounded like a pathetic squeak in her own ears. He looked down at her like she was the most delicate and soft flower in existence , his left arm supporting his weight and the other bringing his hand up to caress her too-warm face.

"We don't have to do this right now. We can do literally anything else." He assured her, speaking quickly as if timing were the issue. It was so sweet how he regarded her, which took away a bit of her unease and sent her into save mode.

"No, I want to." She reminded him, bringing her hands to his back as if he would run away unless she touched him somehow. "I just heard it would hurt, is all."

"That makes sense." He spoke through his own shaky exhale. He didn't have to tell her that the last thing he wanted was to hurt her; his expression told her that already. She soothed herself with deep breaths during this pause until he kissed her again, pulling the last bit of air from her lungs. With his forehead resting on hers, he continued. "Don't be afraid of me, Moni. If something feels off, say something. If you need anything, speak up. If you can't speak, I dunno, punch me in the gut or something."

This garnered a giggle from deep within her belly. As always, he had a way of making her feel comfortable through casual humor, even in a not-casual situation such as this; naked and entangled in the back seat of the Durango in the middle of a storm in the woods. Thankfully, it wasn't the 13th of the month.

With another breath, they had liftoff as he entered her at a resistant pace. They each had the wind thoroughly knocked out of them, a sharp exhale expelling from Marc as Moni felt like she had forgotten how to breathe entirely, suddenly perfectly still with her eyes clamped shut. Once he hit bottom, a constricted but still high-pitched sound propelled from her windpipe.

It definitely hurt in places she didn't know it could. It felt like there was a cramp in her lower abdomen, her hole felt like it might rip, and somewhere in the middle, there was another dull ache. Neither of them moved, seemingly adjusting to two very different sensations. This felt like as good of a time as any to check-in . Marc was the first to say something.

"Are you..."

"I'm cool." She replied to the unfinished sentence, knowing what he would ask. Her eyes snapped open to find his staring back at her, widely. She couldn't tell if that was a good thing or not. He gulped loudly, appearing a bit debilitated.

"You sure?" He double-checked. She took a moment to find oxygen, which helped her settle a bit . Her muscles loosened as she acclimated to this unfamiliar tension in her lower regions. It was a lot of pressure, literally and figuratively, but overall she found she could withstand it.

"It just feels very, um," The correct verbiage was on the tip of her tongue, but she lost it just before it could reach the atmosphere. "Sorry, my brain isn't wanting to work."

They both let out a series of nervous laughs at her stumbling over her words, everything below their necks as still as statues. The last thing she wanted was to make it awkward, but her mouth had the tendency to run faster than her mind. "I'm not gonna sugarcoat it, I feel stretched but all's cool."

Marc blinked at her for a moment , the cogs visibly turning in his head as if mulling over whether that was a good or bad thing. Worse, if he could say something to that that wouldn't make him seem like a dick.

"Are you positive? Because I'm not totally sure if this is normal or not but, uh," He seemed to lose his own sense of speech this time, sharing in her brain fog. "You feel really ti... tense."

"No, no. I'm relaxed, I think." She clarified, doing her best to not call him out for changing his adjective choice. She didn't think his eyes could grow any bigger, but somehow they did when she said that. His lips moved soundlessly as if he were saying a silent prayer she couldn't comprehend before he nodded.

"Wow, okay. I'll go slow, then."

He did pace himself, flitting between studying her for signs of discomfort and focusing his attention on seemingly anything else so as to not go cross-eyed. The ache never subsided, but it became easier to manage against the secondary feeling that bloomed ahead of it which caused soft moans to spill through her teeth.

She needed to keep her brain in check as it felt like it might pop considering the position she was in. Never in a million years had she fathomed she would have her first time with Marc, even if she had thought about it and wished it to be so since developing those good old hormones that cause a normal, sweet crush to evolve into something more.

The sad truth was she never thought they would get this far, but she was okay with that. She was lucky enough to call him her friend. The assumption was if she ever had sex with anyone, it would be in college and likely lost past her current age of eighteen. She never had boyfriends, girlfriends, or even anyone interested in her enough to try to be. Just like in all other aspects, Marc was different. Marc was special.

In an effort to stay present and not allow her mind to wander anywhere, she reached her hands up to his face and pulled him in for another kiss, whispering his name into his mouth. As if it broke his concentration, his movements halted.

"You cool?" She asked with bated breath. She could distinguish the difference in patterns between their heartbeats this time, his thumping wildly against her own and nearly double the speed. His eyes appeared crazed and almost panicked.

"No. I swear to god, I was about to lose it when you said my name like that." He said in a fluster. Something about the way he said that pushed a button inside of her . It suddenly felt like she was on a mission to weaken his resolve. To feel him crumble on top of her became a craving her ego so desperately needed. Flashing her sweetest, most devious smile, she bit her bottom lip and ran the fingers of her right hand through the back of his hair.

" Marc ." She repeated exactly as she had before. He shook his head as his length retreated back to her entrance.

"I'm already thinking about baseball and Pokemon cards over here. I don't wanna finish."

"Please, do."

"I'm solid."

"The way I see it we have all night and two more condoms." She reminded him with a tick of her eyebrow. "No pressure. Unless you plan on getting sick of me anytime soon?"

The fog of stress disappeared as she spoke as if he had assumed this would be the only chance he got with her. The way she saw it, this was a long time coming and may be the first but certainly not the last time they end up here. She didn't have expectations, knowing through word of mouth that the first time always sucks. This one; however, was far from suckish.

In the beat of quiet, one of his hands came up to hers and pulled it away from his hair. Their fingers intertwined and he kissed the back of her palm, then wrist, forearm, and all the way up until his lips reached her ear. His warm breath left a dewy feeling over her lobe upon his exhaling as he pushed back into her.

"You're gonna have a hell of a time getting rid of me now, Moni." He growled as clearly as he could in her ear before picking back up where he left off. Like a hug, he lifted her slightly and wrapped his arms around her middle, prompting her to squeeze him back with all four of her limbs.

She could hear him try desperately to hold back expletives, voice muffled in the nape of her neck. Over the course of several more strides, he lost his composure and his will to go slow for fear of breaking her. Every time she would utter his name, it was like a coercion to go faster or harder, and by god, did it hurt but the pain was the last thing on Moni's mind as she was hypnotized by the sounds he made.

She had feared if it went on much longer she would have to tell him to slow back down, but in one final rousing thrust and a wheeze that sounded something like 'holyfuckMoni' , he was sapped. It was like she was in a haze, her skin moist with a mixture of both of their sweat. The windows of the car had fogged over, and he stayed still for close to a minute before bringing his face back to her view with a lazy grin.

She gave him a kiss on the tip of his nose, and he laughed coquettishly, letting his head slump onto her collarbone. They stayed there for a little while, and she would have assumed he had fallen asleep as she traced lines up and down his back with her fingertips if he hadn't begun to speak into her chin.

"I think my dad wants to send me away again."

"What?" She questioned, hearing what he had said but not understanding it. It had been years, and almost everything seemed normal. "I thought you were doing better."

"I am. He thinks I'm regressing." Marc admitted, positioning himself between her body and the seat to get a good look at her. "What does he know? He's just ashamed of me. I have you, though."

"You'll always have me," Moni spoke the words like a promise, sealed like another series of hungry kisses akin to the ones when she straddled him earlier. Abruptly, he stopped and looked at her thoughtfully.

"We should run away." He stated. Assuming he was playing around, she entertained it.

"And go where?"

"Anywhere you want. There's a whole world out there. A world where my dad can't sign a paper and put me in Putnam because he thinks I'm messed up in the head."

It became apparent to Moni that Marc meant it when he circled back to the subject of the facility. This made her start to sit up, and he followed suit, still looking at her with the utmost faith that she would agree. She needed a lot more information before she would give any confirmation.

"Are you sure he can do that? You're eighteen now."

"But I'm still in school, I'm technically under his care, and I've been admitted before. He can do whatever he wants." He explained as if it had been explained to him as such. It didn't sit right with her how irrational the reasoning sounded. It was like he knew more than he was letting on. Before she could make a comment , he followed up by looking at the radio. "What time is it?"

"Uh, 10:32." She informed him, having a better viewpoint of the tiny digital clock and still wearing her contacts.

"Shit. I normally take my meds around 8:30." He said in a way that seemed like he was talking to himself more than her, but it seemed unlikely once he leaned into her once more . "I was busy." He kissed her. "Very busy with these lips." He kissed her again, pushing her further down into the seat. "I just can't stop."

It was cute and affectionate, everything she ever wanted. He could effortlessly turn her on all over again if she didn't have it in her mind that he was already late taking his meds. She had been enough of a distraction from that, already.

"Take your pill and then we'll see what we can do." She spoke into the kiss, and he groaned in disappointment, jokingly. "Think of it as a reward."

"Yeah, I'll do that." He said, sitting back up and pulling her with him. Instead of reaching into his bag, she watched him unroll the window for a bit of fresh air. She expected a burst of rainwater to fly through but was surprised by the sound of a light trickle from the water on the surrounding trees. "Do you wanna go grab some stuff before that shit starts back up again?"

"That's probably a good idea." She agreed, grabbing his shirt from the floorboard and slipping her shorts back on. He watched her with fascination as if his shirt was the best thing she could ever wear. She didn't bother tying her shoes once they were on and gave him another kiss like it would be her last. "Take your pill." She said as sternly as she could manage through her giddiness, and he returned it with a nod.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll take it right now."

Moni left the car through the driver's side back door and noted the sore feeling she had as she walked to the tent to pull out the blankets and sleeping bags from inside, now entirely soaked. She weighed her options between leaving them out until they left or putting them in the car and risking water damage or mildew on the car floor.

Ultimately, she decided to take her chances with the great outdoors giving them a slight chance to dry. The tent would have to wait for when there was a little light outside to be disassembled so that left the ice chest as her one and only option. She pulled it to the car by the handle and popped the back hatch to slide it in. She could see the back of Marc's head from where she stood.

"I hope your parents don't get too mad about the sleeping bags. They're waterlogged." She called up to him, but it almost seemed like he didn't hear her. Skipping around to the door she came from, she got back in and found him staring down at his lap with a bottle of water in his hand from taking his pill.

"How bad I hurt you?" He asked with concern in his eyes. For a moment, she was confused until she spotted the lightest smear of pink along his thigh and tinting the rubber he was getting ready to discard.

"Babe, that's normal." She informed him, finally finding the courage to use a nickname that wasn't 'smartass' or his last name. "I'm not on my period and you didn't rip me in two. A little blood can happen during the first time."

Marc nearly sighed with relief as he pulled an empty plastic shopping sack from his bag and dropped the used contraceptive into it. She nearly asked what the sack was for until she thought better of it. Better to store wet clothes away from dry ones.

They ended up putting the other two condoms to use attempting to get a bit more creative and push boundaries with Marc making it his personal goal to make Moni achieve an orgasm. He wanted to go down on her, but she vehemently refused to allow it.

"Why not?" He asked, finding her denial to be silly.

"I didn't shower after school today, swam in a dirty lake, and just had my cherry popped. I need t o freshen up before letting you put your face in my business."

"I bet I can handle it."

"No. That's gross."

The second go was in the same position, but at a different angle to allow for his thumb to assist at her suggestion. Before she knew it, she was seeing stars and staring lovingly at him as he put his ear to her chest to listen to the drumming of her heart as she came down.

On the third, she insisted they sit the way they were before the clothes came off, and she had a tough time with it at first. He gripped her hips and guided her up and down, encouraging her with sweet words.

"There you go, baby. That's nice. You're doing so good."

This unlocked a thirst for praise in her. At one point, he bit her so hard it left teeth marks on her shoulder. It hurt, but she liked it, and she loved Marc so much she would allow him to break her skin as many times as he pleased.

Moni had never felt closer to him until that night. Change was in the air for real this time, and she was certain there wasn't a thing in the world that could keep them apart now.

Chapter 12: The Need to Know

" I'm not tryna pressure you
Just can't stop thinkin' 'bout you
You ain't even really gotta be my boyfriend "
-"The Need to Know" by Wale

 

Simone's night and the following morning were a doozy. There was a solid hour and a half where she didn't move from that spot on the couch, letting the rest of the movie play out along with the credits, followed by a long beat of silence once it was all over.

She was too stunned to move or pay attention to the flick anymore. It was like she had gotten slapped in the face by a phantom. It obviously happened, but she couldn't help but question if it did or not. There was no proof besides the lingering pain on her inner thigh and the wet spot under her ass and on the floor.

Once Simone found it in herself to get up and move, she turned on the lights to find said spots staring her in the face. This was followed by five minutes of hysterical laughter.

He just went down on me and fucking left? No discussion? What the fuck?

It felt like she had lost her mind. It wasn't funny but the cackling wouldn't stop as she tried to assess her situation. It wasn't forced by any means, she felt comfortable and safe the entire time, and more than that, she couldn't have asked for a better orgasm. Why did it feel so wrong? Why did she feel like if she called him, he wouldn't answer?

Where did he even go? She asked herself as she knelt down and cleaned up the mess she had made. Or, more accurately, that Marc had made. Once that was taken care of, she picked her joggers up from the floor to put them back on but spent a considerable amount of time looking for her underwear only to come to the conclusion that he had left with them.

I guess you're gonna miss... the panty raid. She thought to herself, cueing up another fit of hysterics that lasted until her gut hurt and her eyes watered. By no means were they the cutest pair of underwear she owned and hardly a perfect souvenir. If I had known I'd be Winnie the Pooh'd tonight, I would have put on something with a little more style.

Sleep wasn't for her that night. The more she thought about what happened, the more embarrassed she felt. She replayed his leaving a million times and a part of her wished she would have shaken away the cobwebs for five seconds to say something .

"Enjoy the rest of the movie, Moni." Marc had said.

Well, that's one way to let a girl know you don't wanna watch Star Wars.

Have some respect and clean up your mess, loverboy.

That was a helluva kiss goodbye. Wrong lips, though.

And you enjoy the damp T-shirt, Marc.

After contemplating witty comebacks for a nondescript amount of time, she pulled her phone out and started typing out a long text message, erasing and adding points and questions.

"Hey, what the fuck? You came into my house without knocking, you tried to pick a fight with me, then you put your mouth on my bits and dipped with MY underwear? Do you wanna elaborate on what your reasoning for that was? Maybe an explanation? A statement for what was going through your head? I mean, I'm not complaining about the act itself but goddamn, I'm a little worried that you plan on fucking off forever again. Sorry to say."

She reread the text and decided she hated every bit of it.

I can't send anything like this. That wouldn't be cool.

"Since when am I cool?" She asked herself aloud, then locked her phone and screamed into her pillow like a kid throwing a tantrum.

If he was trying to drive me fucking nuts; mission accomplished.

 

The next day, Simone awoke at her usual time and did her normal routine: run and shower. It was her day off, so she wasn't rushing for any reason but found herself taking an extra half a mile that morning out of frustration. It didn't serve its intended purpose of clearing her head. If anything, it made it worse, and her extremely noisy running playlist failed to drown it out.

Thanks for nothing , Lorna Shore.

She disconnected her earbuds and let the playlist continue for her shower, knowing that was where she would get lost in her thoughts. The racket of JPEGMAFIA and Danny Brown didn't help her forget to admire the purple oval formed on her left thigh or the light bruising on her hipbones.

At the end of her wash, she noticed a text from Phoebe asking if she wanted to hang out. She knew it had to be the most convenient time in the world for both of them to have nothing to do. No thoughts of Marc, no discussion, just hanging out with her friend. Or, so she thought.

“So Quentin Jordan reached out to me today and asked me about your boyfriend .” Phoebe piped up as she aggressively cut up a syrup-soaked waffle. They had decided to do breakfast, but this was not something Simone wanted to discuss with food in the vicinity.

Why would he even ask around? She thought, fearing that Marc wasn't the master of disguise he thought he was.

“Oh god.” Simone groaned as she felt blood rush to her ears. Her friend didn't seem to notice or care as she continued.

“And of course, I said I know about him because how embarrassing is it to not know about your best friend’s boyfriend? And I got to thinking about it and connected that it wasn’t Skinny Nicky or he would know who the hell he was. So I’m mad at you.”

There's a lot more that you would actually be mad about me not telling you so I suppose my fake boyfriend is relatively tame. Simone thought as she chose her words carefully in the face of the redheaded Irish woman with a butterknife in hand.

“Jake isn’t my boyfriend, Phoebe. He just said that because he thought Quentin was making me uncomfortable.”

“That still doesn’t tell me who Jake is.” She continued to pry, looking for details on this man that Simone had never mentioned before, and for good reason. All Simone could do was sigh as she provided the emptiest answer she could come up with between sips of hot coffee.

“Jake's a friend.”

“What kind of friend?”

Her stomach started to do flips as her mind flooded with the memory of ecstasy. The feeling of teeth digging into her skin. The way his eyes looked as she stared down at him.

"Watch me, Moni." He had said, and like a spell, she did.

It was clear that Marc and Jake were about to become the same person as the sane, rational part of Simone's brain insisted she seek advice on the happenings of the night before.

“The kind of friend that went down on me last night and then left,” Simone spoke softly, making sure none of the other diners were able to hear what she just said. Words she never thought she would state out loud. Saying it to someone else made her feel even crazier than she did simply dwelling on it.

The fork and knife left Phoebe's hands and clattered against the table. The shocked expression on her face grew the longer she processed the information just given to her. There was no take-backsies.

“Do what ? He ate you out and dipped? Why am I just now hearing about this?” She asked in a whisper-yell that had Simone shushing her.

“Because I haven’t even discussed it with him yet.”

“So he took you to tongue town, didn’t expect anything in return, left, and you’re avoiding him?" Phoebe questioned, walking her back through everything she had just been told and still missing the point. "What's wrong with you?”

“ Me ?” Simone snipped defensively. It was no surprise that her dear friend was under the assumption that it was her fault that they hadn't spoken. Phoebe knew her well enough to know that she rarely takes the road that leads to conflict. More often than not, it was to avoid putting her foot in her mouth.

This time, she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. It felt like a mistake. Like Marc had done it by accident, but it was hard to miss each action taken and each word said. Everything was absolutely intentional.

“You need to talk to him about it!” Phoebe insisted, voice lowered slightly as the waitress approached to top off their coffees.

That much, she knew, but it was easier said than done. Not only was she not great at expressing her feelings but she feared if she did, that would be the end of it. It would be awkward. She already had trouble being in his presence without remembering every detail of their night in the Durango. Now she couldn't get him out of her head.

“What if it changes things?” She asked as the waitress took her leave.

“Then he’s an asshole? Case closed.” Phoebe replied, proving that she still thought Jake was just some guy that Simone would have no issue cutting off. Then, in true Phoebe fashion, she lifted her eyebrows and leaned forward. “Is he cute?”

“I mean, yeah." She responded before realizing 'cute' was an understatement and certainly not Marc's aim. "He’s fine as fuck, actually.”

“Lock. It. Down!" Phoebe demanded with a gasp, and it occurred to Simone that she didn't know what 'locking it down' even looked like. Even considering an attempt put her nerves into knots.

 

Simone waited all day, knowing Marc would be asleep. It felt like she had been cursed. There might have been a solid hour where he didn't cross her mind that day and she found herself talking over what she would even say when she called.

"Hey, the other night was pretty wild, huh?"

No.

"We should do that again sometime."

Too forward.

"Told you I was hydrated."

Gross.

She knew she was obsessing over it but nothing felt worse than not knowing. At the same time; though, nothing felt better. It was weirdly exhilarating. The waiting, the mystery, being left wanting more.

There was no point in playing music or turning on the TV anymore. Even reading wouldn't pull her mind out of this world for long enough. Her focus was entirely taken away the second her phone dinged or her eyes drifted to that side of the sofa.

For a long while, she just sat quietly, thinking and rethinking and overthinking everything . Picking apart every event leading up to it. Searching for signs and signals that her dumb brain didn't pick up on.

The leg rest thing? That was hardly anything special, even if it felt like it was something to me. That strange conversation about kids? The topic it veered into?

Her mind raced, slightly embarrassed by her own oversharing in that part of their chat. The man was a superhero and she had confessed to murderous thoughts.

That wasn't quite right, though. The more she played it over, the clearer it became that he goaded her into it. There was a look of genuine interest behind his eyes like he was oddly thrilled to know that she wasn't as of sound mind as he imagined.

Is this what he wants? He wants me to jump through all these mental hoops, drive myself up the wall, and ensure that he takes up all unoccupied space in my brain just to catch and release? Can I put myself through that?

The next thing she knew, it was eight o'clock at night. If her hunches were correct, she wouldn't be hearing from him first, not that she ever did, to begin with. It would be suspicious to suddenly stop the streak of calling him every day.

God, Fredrick, there are people with real problems who could do this in their sleep. Shit or get off the pot. She thought to herself, imagining O'Hara telling her that. She wouldn't have let Marc leave her house without answering her questions, though.

There was heavy hesitation as Simone's finger hovered over the call button. A voice call, of course. Video would probably cause her to lock up or worse, Marc would read her like a book. She knew her voice could give her away just as well but there was no better solution. It was now or never.

As her hands shook, she decided to hit the button and put it on speaker, resting the device on the table in front of her as she sat with her knees curled to her chest. The line rang and rang, and the longer it buzzed the more she chewed the cuticle on her thumb. Then, it stopped ringing.

"Hello?" Marc's baritone swam through the speaker and into her ears, and she felt her back straighten out a bit in her dining chair. Her first attempt to speak was reduced to a frail squeak as her simple greeting caught in her chest.

Speak, stupid! She screamed at herself, and after a bubbly deep breath, she tried again. Her 'Hey' was weak, and she winced, but it sounded like English this time.

On the other side of the phone, Marc was listening to her struggle like one would listen to compositions of Beethoven. It was still relatively early in the night, so there wasn't much noise on the streets. That left him to sit in his office and wait for Moni to call, which he envisioned was a big step for her after he did what he did.

"What's up?" He questioned casually, trying not to tip her off that he knew she was squirming. His nonchalant effort in making conversation seemed to ground her enough to speak properly.

“Not much. Just got back from hanging out with Phoebe for the first time in forever. You?”

“Same as usual.” He replied, and it wasn't a lie. Much of his free time was spent doing this very same thing: daydreaming about her. Only, now he had a lot more to think about.

Needless to say, he got what he wanted and then some. He learned more from one session of oral than he ever would have known from conversation alone. It was hard to forget the way she clamped down on his fingers, how she tasted, or the fact that she turned into a little fountain.

That part was surprising, and the way she spoke his name as she came took him to rapids, himself. He didn't think it was possible to release without being touched, but the woman was enough of a marvel to pull it off without trying.

That was the main reason he had to dine and dash. If Moni knew she had that kind of power, he would be in trouble. Even thinking about it was making him restless but he was nothing if not patient. This meant turning the topic somewhere neither of them wanted it to go. “Did you ever figure out the whole Nick thing?”

Simone squinted at the phone for a moment, questioning if Marc wanted to know because he had pursued her or if he was just curious. She navigated out of the call screen and opened her messages to find that it was worse than she realized. One unread message from Nick Yun. The same message from the night of his show the week before.

“No, now that you mention it. I forgot to text him back.” She admitted with a cumbersome sigh as her forehead fell to her bent knees. It had slipped her mind entirely, the longer the big red '1' sat on the app the easier it was to overlook.

This news proved detrimental to Marc's budding plans for Moni. If she couldn't do something as simple as tell Nick that she didn't want to move forward with whatever they had going on, there was no stable foundation for a long-distance sexual game of chicken. She wanted love and intimacy but he couldn't commit to that yet.

“So you ghosted the guy.” He uttered with a tone of disappointment. Mind games were one thing but leading someone on and then never speaking to them again was childish. A loud groan of frustration vibrated against the shell of his ear at this.

“Not on purpose! I’ve been busy!” She defended.

“Well, if you’re gonna break his heart just get it over with.”

It suddenly felt like she wanted to cry. It didn't occur to her that when Quentin started asking around about her 'boyfriend' he might bring it up to Nick. Not only did that make her look like a terrible cheater, but it discounted her excuse of being weirded out by dicks. Then she remembered what Marc had told her the last time they spoke about this.

“ You were the one who said it wouldn’t break his heart.”

“I say a lot of things.”

“Or nothing at all.” She mumbled before she could bite it back and felt her heart plummet sixty feet. It was in reference to the night before and the day he disappeared all those years ago without letting her know. It said more than she meant for it to.

Marc recognized that he walked into that one but he didn't appreciate the slight. It wasn't like she had made any effort to bring up what happened, either. The only way out was through.

“Is there something you wanna tell me, Moni?” He opened the floor for her to speak her mind in a voice that sounded much more stern than he intended. There was a pregnant pause that he imagined consisted of her staring blankly at her phone, sifting through every possible way to reply.

That was precisely what was happening. Simone was so bent out of shape that her eye twitched. Her old high school friends now thought she had a boyfriend named Jake, who conveniently showed up around the time she started seeing Nick, but Jake was really Marc, the guy everyone thought was dead.

Where was all this worry about Nick's feelings when Jake decided to tell Quentin about our nonexistent relationship? Or when you went down on me out of fucking nowhere? I know I certainly wasn't thinking about Nick. How is this all somehow my fault?

The pieces started to fit together all at once. This was exactly like high school. The offense over her interaction with Quentin. How weird he was about Ericka and Nick. Her losing her mind all night and day over his actions. She was still Spector's girl and if she couldn't be Spector's girl to everyone else, Jake would act as a placeholder.

Marc doesn't give a single solitary shit about how Nick feels. He just wants Nick to know it was over before it even began.

It was twisted and batshit insane, but it made sense. It angered her and set ablaze the kerosene in her veins. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind, tell him she had him all figured out, but there was a secondary feeling that gave her pause.

Why is that weirdly charming?

The longer Marc sat quietly, waiting for a response, the more he felt like the fire he saw in her was a fluke. As badly as he loved her gentle quiet nature and wanted her to stay that way forever, there was an intriguing precarious side to her.

He got a sneak peek of it in her kitchen. The way her eyes flicked between several different emotions. Fear, curiosity, and what he later learned from the view from her lap was lust. Then at the pizza place, she spoke of wanting to avenge that little girl. It looked like Moni would go scorched-earth with how much she cared.

Just tell me what you want.

What happened next wasn't what Marc would call a favorable turn of events or even a breakthrough. The long silence was punctuated not by words, but by the line dropping. Moni had hung up on him without even so much as a goodbye.

That doesn't seem like good news at all.

"Did I just fuck up?" Marc asked the open air, knowing even if he was simply speaking to himself, he would get an answer.

" Yes. " Steven replied from inside his head.

"Big time, buddy." Jake chimed in as well. It was unusual for Marc to seek advice about women from either of them, but it seemed the council was in and ready to insert their two cents just as they had the night Moni showed up at the Mission.

"Alright, let me hear it." He invited the debate, leaning back in his seat. It was exactly the same as always. Steven sat in his luxurious big-window office and Jake was at his mood-lit club.

"You can’t just randomly decide to give someone head and not talk about it. This ain’t the Wild West!" Jake started them off. As if Steven had something prepared, he shifted a few papers around as he piped up next.

"No verbal or written consent, she was just watching her movie, then you had your face between her thighs and then you left her there. I'm not big on agreeing with Jake, but you could have at least asked how she was doing after that."

While true, Marc didn't like what they were implying. The thought had crossed his mind that she might not have wanted to go through with it but the way her body welcomed him convinced him otherwise.

"She knows she could’ve told me to stop if she didn’t want me to do it." He defended, causing Steven to cock his head.

"Did she, now? I distinctly remember you making an active effort to scare her off."

"And she wasn't afraid of me. I don't see your point."

"You've done this before. Every instance you've ever gotten close to her, you've found a way to avoid it. We know she's special but you can't seem to decide if everyone is unworthy of her or if it's just you." Steven continued, reminding Marc of the kiss at her window and the day he fled the city.

They were right. They were always right. Marc wanted Moni to want him, wanted her to fight for him the way she did when he tried to refuse to talk with her. The night this all started back up again. It felt good to know someone cared that deeply for him even if he didn't feel like he deserved it.

"So what do I do?" He asked, accepting that he may be in the wrong.

“Lock it down. ” Jake spoke up again. Marc was hoping to hear him say to cut the shit and that she was better off finding someone else.

“I can’t. Why do you think I never reached out in the first place?”

“Because she’s your kryptonite. She could fold you like laundry.” Jake answered, and Steven followed up.

"Or cause you to ejaculate in your pants like some barbarian."

And I thought it would have been bad if she knew about that.

"You at least owe her more than you're givin' and you know it. She could be good for you." Jake made sure to point out. There was no question that her entering his life felt like an improvement, but that didn't help with the question that continued to ring in his mind.

Would I be any good for her?

Chapter 13: What You Heard

" You don't need me, please believe me
This ain't easy, you know I've been like feindin'
Let me unleash my demons on you
What's the word? Tell me what you've heard
Don't tell me what to do, just tell me when it hurts
When I get you to myself, it's murder "
-"What You Heard" by Sonder

 

Marc had a problem. A mind-blowingly sexy, Cuban, roughly five-foot-three-inch problem. It was just as predicted; he couldn't wait around for her to crawl to him. He thought about her night and goddamn day. He was obsessed all over again.

It had been two days since Moni hung up on him and there hadn't been so much as a text message since. It was strange as he had grown used to her calls each day and while a mild distraction, he suddenly needed to hear her voice like he needed air and a measly call wouldn't do the trick.

That urge brought Marc to her house once again, early enough in the day for him to pop in and pop out, but that meant she wasn't home from work yet. When he tried the door as he did last time, it was locked, but he noticed something different immediately.

There was a brand-new doorbell camera where her old doorbell used to be. It was glowing, meaning it was fully functioning, and staring right at him as he stood with his hood up and tried to enter the house. A victorious feeling washed over him as he realized she had done what he suggested, but was quickly whisked away when the device made a noise.

Across town, Simone had just wrapped up a session when her phone buzzed from her desk. Typically, her instinct was to ignore it while at work, but the patterns of the haptics told her it was from her front door.

It's probably just the mailman. She thought but still strode to her desk to open the notification anyway. What showed up wasn’t the mailman, but Marc, staring at the doorbell like it could perform a facial scan and let him pass.

Seeing him made her heart leap even if an audible groan left her mouth. Marc knew she was at work but he didn't know she had a fancy new camera as per his advice.

"Planning to break into my house again?" She said as she pressed the button to speak through the camera.

Just because I'm making him think I'm mad at him doesn't mean I can't joke.

It seemed he thought it was funny as a small chuckle filled her ears and his face averted to the ground. His being there wasn't doing her any favors in trying to Uno-reverse his mind games.

Maybe his arrival goes to show that I’m that much closer to winning.

"I didn't even break in the first time, I told you that." He clarified before backing up from her patio and turning his head in a survey of her house.

"Whatcha looking for?" She asked, wishing he could see the expression on her face.

Marc didn't have to see it to hear it. That inquisitive squint and furrowed brow were seared into his brain. It was cute, but her insistence that he broke in was even more so.

"How many of your windows do you think are unlached? Taking bets now." He said just loud enough for the microphone in the doorbell to catch before looking straight into the lens and passing a wink.

This fucker really is trying to break in! She thought as the wink froze her feet to the floor and her mouth agape. Before she could even find an appropriate response, he was out of view.

The more she thought about it, she realized the window in front of her sink was often unlatched so she could open it on nice days. Then there was the window to her garage, but that was too small for even her to fit through. That left the last possible option as her bedroom window, which she was almost positive was locked right now.

Marc tried the two in the living room first, but neither budded even slightly. That led him to stride around to the left side of the house. Both looked to lead to bedrooms of sorts from what he could see through the small cracks in the blinds, but as he gripped the outer glass with his palms, no dice.

I suppose I owe you an apology. He thought to himself, thinking it would have to be the same for the rest, but deciding to be sure. Around the back of the home was a well taken care of porch. Out of curiosity, he thumbed over the screen door's latch to see if that happened to be unlocked, but it rendered the same results as the front.

A few feet away, there was another window that was a bit higher up from the ground, which he recognized as the one in her kitchen. It was the kind that made a perfect square with the skinnier panes on top and bottom but it was still wide enough for a body to slip through if they could reach it.

Just as he had before, he pressed his palms to the glass and, shockingly, it slid with ease as he pushed up by the glass. As much as he wanted to be disappointed, he couldn't help but laugh triumphantly until he realized he hadn't expected to get this far.

When god locks a door, a window opens, or whatever they say.

 

Ten minutes passed without a buzz from Simone's phone signaling Marc's return to her front porch, which worried her. She'd had enough anticipation for the last few days to last her a lifetime. Still, she had a job to do and couldn't let his antics distract her from her life.

Then a different vibration attempted to beckon her. Rather than the three short buzzes from the doorbell app, it was a single, long buzz that told her she had received a text. This was further proven by another that followed two minutes later to remind her. She knew if this was how the rest of her day was going to go, she would be in serious trouble.

After that patient left, Simone all but sprinted to her desk again to see what the text said. It didn't take clairvoyance to know it was from Marc, but she wanted to know if he had gotten into her house or not.

Lo and behold, he had sent her a picture from inside her house. It was a simple mirror selfie, the kind where the face is slightly obscured by the phone and it was taken from the mirror in the entryway. He was still wearing his black hoodie, and his shoulders were so wide they flooded to the outside corners. She couldn’t help but gawk, but then her eyes drifted to the caption.

“And here I was ready to be proud of you. Start latching your windows.”

Jesus H. She thought as she involuntarily bit her bottom lip and fumbled for something to reply with. Knowing she was low on time, she typed quickly.

“So, you made it inside. Now what do you plan to do?”

Just as she hit send she reread what she typed and nearly threw her phone across her office. It wasn't meant to sound nearly as sexually charged as it sounded in her head and she knew it could easily be taken that way. In a panic, she locked her phone and tossed it into her desk drawer.

No more of that until I leave.

 

Though it was tempting, Marc didn't snoop through Moni's belongings or explore past the kitchen and living room after he sent the text. Instead, he pulled the underwear he stole out of his pocket and tossed it onto the couch, right where she had been laid out before.

He thought by taking them, it would come up in conversation but seeing as there wasn't much of that happening, he figured he would return them. Just as he planted himself on the sofa, his phone dinged and he retrieved his device to see Moni's reply.

“So, you made it inside. Now what do you plan to do?”

She made it way too easy. There were plenty of things that crossed Marc's mind upon reading that message that would decidedly be terrible decisions both because she was at work and because he was making an effort to go her speed. As Jake had said, she deserved more than he was giving.

Just a few more hours. I could clean the place. He considered before realizing if he ran a finger over any surface of this house, it would come off spotless. Estie was a stickler for dust control and made sure Moni took Pledge to all shelves, ceiling fans, and door frames every Saturday morning. Just looking at the place, that no doubt carried over.

Marc got up from the couch and sauntered over to the front door and unlocked it, both to save her the trouble when she returned and to see her face when she realized he did it to poke fun at her. Then, he started surveying the framed photos on the walls of the hallway he hadn't noticed before.

A few of them were of Moni's parents, but there was one that was far more interesting. It was a professional photo of a white short hair cat with green eyes and a black bowtie. Seeing that made Marc look around a bit more, suddenly not knowing for certain if that cat was around and just moving in silence. That was when another devious text came to mind and he pulled his phone back out.

"I gotta say, I'm very disappointed that you haven't properly introduced me to your kitty."

 

" Excuse me?" Simone muttered to herself as she read and reread the text from Marc once her day was over. Not only was it jarringly forward, but it made absolutely no sense.

What do you mean properly introduced? You're far more than acquaintances with my vagina, last time I checked.

The only fitting response she could think of was a question mark and nothing else. If he was still at her house, she imagined she would figure out what he meant once she got there. As she realized that, her nerves began to stand on end.

This was the most interaction they'd had with each other in nearly three days. While relatively tame, it had her questioning the purpose of his flying out and performing a B and E just to send her suggestive text messages that he could have done just as well from New York.

It was as she was boarding the L that she got another message. This time, it was just a picture of her framed photo of Uncle Fester and she sighed so loud that another passenger looked up from their laptop at her.

My cat. He was talking about my cat. The animal, not the body part. Son of a bitch.

"Ericka kept him. Long story." Was the reply she jotted.

There was no response during the remainder of her journey home and that made her teeter between relief and concern. The reprieve came from her knowing Marc could say anything he felt like and her preference to not get worked up on the train. The worry was that he could be up to who knows what.

As she approached her front door, she froze as she went to unlock it. The familiar vibration from her purse told her what she already knew: she was at her house, but what would wait for her inside? Marc trying to scare her? Maybe seduce her? Either way, she was on her guard.

Without inserting the key, she tested the knob and found that it unsurprisingly opened freely. It sent a flood of warmth through her as it was such a small detail, but it was considerate all the same. That couldn't distract her, though.

Simone stepped inside, unrushed, refusing to feel like she was intruding on her own home even though her anxiety was through the roof. There was nothing out of the ordinary at first, but then she spotted her missing panties on the couch and stopped dead in her tracks.

The smart move would have been to check her blindspots, look behind her, and see if there was a reflection in any of the pictures in her hallway, but she didn't want to. If he managed to sneak up on her again, she would have deserved it, and the thought made the right side of her mouth twitch.

"Very funny, Spector. Where are you?" She called out to the seemingly empty house and for a split second, she didn't expect a response. Just her normal, quiet home. Then she heard footsteps from inside her kitchen.

"You would tell me if you were uncomfortable with something I did, right?" Marc asked as he appeared beyond the wall that divided the two rooms with a mug in each hand. The question sent her mind reeling, given their situation, but uncomfortable wasn't the word she would have used for any of it.

She still remembered their signal word. Waterloo . The word that a drunken teenage Marc came up with so she could find an easy out in tough spots. It didn't seem to her like he wanted to walk down memory lane, though. This felt like a test and she desperately wanted to pass.

"Of course." She responded shortly, arms crossing over her chest.

There was that adorable expression of indifference. Marc would recognize it anywhere. She was trying to choose her words carefully, working to make sure she didn't give away her elation that he was in her presence too soon.

That, paired with her flared black slacks and coral blouse could have fooled him into believing she meant business. Regardless of how she felt after their phone call or about his being here, her inability to look at him straight-on gave him a pretty good idea of where her mind was. He had to remind himself what he came here for in the first place.

"So you were fine with that ?" He asked as he strode over, gesturing to that particular part of the sectional like it painted a picture. Moni's eyes flicked to the spot, then back to him quickly, then to the floor.

"I was just surprised. Confused." She assured him as he extended one of the mugs to her and she accepted. The smell alone told her it was coffee without looking at the black liquid it contained. He stopped in front of her, close enough to take one measly step forward and be able to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"But you haven’t brought it up. I just don’t want you to feel like you can’t be honest with me." He said as he peered between her pupils. She was happy to welcome a conversation but the idea that she was meant to start it felt absurd. Marc initiated the act and he abruptly left after. She figured she would voice this.

"To be fair, you were the one pretending it didn’t happen. I just followed your example."

While true, he couldn't hold back a snicker at the indirect admission that she was thinking about it. She could have just as easily told him it wasn't a big deal. It would have been a lie, of course. Moni was an overthinker. She asked questions and hated not getting answers. More than that, she was a lover.

"I expected you to be far more curious. You aren’t the type to be okay with being used like that." He called her out. Truthfully, from a morality standpoint, he expected her to back off the moment she realized what he was up to and he would have complied.

"I've had a lot of time to think these last few days. At first, I wasn't sure if I was even the one who was used there, but I think I know what that was about now." She spoke like a woman who had him figured out, and he tilted his head, inviting her to share her theory.

Moni had played that moment and every interaction that led up to it over in her mind a thousand times over. His purposes seemed clear to her. "You wanted to get in my head and you'll be happy to know that you succeeded but I think you also wanted to fulfill some nasty little fantasy of yours."

Smart girl. He nearly said aloud before biting the words back. She wanted to hear that she was correct. She wanted the praise. As he took a seat on the couch cushion nearest to her, he decided that satisfaction couldn't be awarded yet.

"I'll be honest with you; I really don't have a straight answer. I could say I just needed a little taste. I could agree that it was just me satisfying my fixation. The closest answer that I can come up with was that I needed you to know that I’m unpredictable." He explained so nonchalantly that Moni could have glossed over the meaning behind his words entirely. Unfortunately for Marc, she was on a mission.

"So that was a way to try to scare me again." She stated as if that was the end-all-be-all. As if the answers were so simple. A slight chuckle fell from his lips along with a knowing grin.

"No, because you would just get turned on if I tried to scare you." He spoke, insinuating that he knew from experience and her eyes widened like he had just leaked her biggest secret.

No, that can't be true. She thought, mentally shaking her head in disagreement but couldn't pull the sentence from her head. In some sick way, did that make sense? Had there been a strange feeling of desire when he scared her that night he walked into her house?

Yes. Yes, there was. It was suddenly obvious. The spike of adrenaline that came from finding someone directly behind her, scrying, stalking, lurking, awaiting an opportunity to strike and she would have been none the wiser.

What followed was the realization that they hadn't, and as every mechanism of defense rapidly fired through her brain, that was when she saw that it was Marc. He could have jumped her. He could have taken one of her kitchen knives, snuck up behind her, held it to her throat, and told her to be nice and quiet for him.

He could have shown her the true hazards of keeping your doors unlocked in this city. Better yet, he could have conducted a demonstration of why he was unpredictable much earlier than he did and the sad part was, the more she thought about it, she nearly whined because he didn't.

And he thinks he's doing me a favor by not trying to scare me. She thought, but he continued his explanation, making her snap away from the fantasy.

"I wanted you to think it was a dream, forgetting how you ended up there and I wanted to see your face when you realized it wasn’t because you would have woken up as you came." Marc told her, watching her face filled with the understanding that he caught every bit of confusion until it clicked that he was, indeed, eating her pussy and it was real.

"I wanted you on edge every single time we were together, waiting, trying to see through me, searching and assessing my every move for a hint of when it would happen again."

He wanted it to drive her crazy not knowing when he would end up between her legs next. At least, he did at the time before Jake and Steven talked him out of toying with her but looking at her now had him doing it all over it. Old habits and all.

As she considered this information, her eyes followed him as he placed his mug on the coffee table. Out of her own habit, she picked it up and placed it on one of the coasters. Somehow, that minute detail broke the lock on her brain.

"In other words, you want me to beg." She repeated the same cadence as before, feeling she had him pinned.

I'd love to see that.

"No." He responded shortly. Moni wasn't sure if she would have preferred if he said 'yes' or not, but this confused her.

"So you don't want me to return the favor?" She questioned, trying to make it sound like she was relieved and feeling like she failed when she caught his eyes.

"I don't keep score." He said as if that meant anything to her. She had always been a people pleaser, and knowing Moni, she likely spent a lot of time racking her brain over how unfair and one-sided it seemed that she got to have all the fun. Then again, she didn't know just how much Marc had enjoyed himself. "But I did have a nineteen-year promise to fulfill."

"I guess that makes sense."

"I also don't expect much beyond that moment because, truthfully, I don't want to hurt your feelings. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to separate sex and love. It’s admirable, actually. Nick , for example, seemingly wanted to sleep with you right away but you don’t do that. Though, I imagine he was incredibly underwhelming.”

There it was. If Marc hadn't brought up Nick, she might have forgotten about their beef over that entirely. It got under her skin, in both a good and bad way.

He's projecting. He thinks I'm the only one who has it bad?

It made her want to discredit this notion that she was the only one out of the two of them who would get their feelings hurt. She wanted him to admit that he wanted her, maybe even hint at the fact that he loved her. More than that, she wanted the same thing she always did; to impress him.

"You know, it's weird. Not once during these last few days have I considered it in a romantic sense. It certainly didn't feel romantic." She started to speak, meaning it as a slight and trying her hardest not to slip or let her voice crack.

Marc wasn't sure if he should have felt insulted or relieved by what she said. The part of him that wanted her so much it hurt studied her body language and face for a lie, but it was sound. The other part, the rational part that just wanted to keep her at a distance, put him in a headspace that was set to believe her regardless.

Together, they could agree on one thing; if she could handle the heat, there wouldn't be any problems.

"Now, I know you did it because you wanted to push my buttons, but please don't insult my intelligence by trying to make me believe that you weren't offended by Nick or Quentin's mild interest in me. I know that you didn't just come here to see how I was doing or return my panties in some bizarre peace offering. You climbed through my window, sent me all those cryptic pseudo-sexual texts, and made coffee in my kitchen for fuck's sake!"

In her admission to seeing through him, she gave herself away. The passion in every word that involuntarily slipped through the filter between her mind and mouth, the way she spoke with her hands, the louder her voice grew the more she spoke.

It was so painfully obvious that she was bothered by his restraint, but was it because she welcomed his possessive nature of her or was she confused by it? Either way, Marc knew she would crack with just one small tap and she was positively foxy when worked up.

Don't start something you don't care to finish, Marc. Steven spoke up from the back of his mind.

Yeah, the gal's clearly lookin' for reassurance. Either tell her she's right or tell her she's wrong. Knock it off with the games. Jake agreed.

As Moni started at him, waiting for him to say something or get up and walk out, her arm was still extended to her kitchen entryway. Then, her arm fell back to her side with a loud thud. Her other hand was balled up to control the tension in her body. He could listen to the other guys, but now that he knew she just needed that nudge, he couldn't stop himself.

"Semantics." He said with a shrug, sinking back a bit more into the sofa and opening himself up, appearing relaxed and unphased.

She stared at him for about a minute, her brain feeling like it was melting. His poker face was impenetrable. Beaming at him didn't seem to help as she felt her left eye twitch. If this was a cartoon, a question mark would appear over her head, or more fitting, ellipses. She knew she needed to think, and she couldn't do that right there with Marc staring at her.

Without another word, Moni walked past him, and before he could look back, a door closed. He questioned if this backfired but she didn't tell him to leave, so he wasn't sure. Curiously, he heard what sounded like a faucet running after.

Simone gathered cold water from the tap into her palms and spread it over the hot skin of her face. She felt like an idiot. A lovesick, high-strung, thoughtless fool. If he couldn't tell her what he wanted from her, what chance did she stand in keeping her head on straight?

You don't wanna keep your head on straight. You know you would much rather have it knocked around a bit.

"You aren't seriously considering this, are you?" She asked herself, staring back at her dripping face in the mirror. It wasn't like her at all, but then again, she didn't want to be herself. She wanted to be spontaneous, sexy, and fearless, and more than that; she wanted to play his game better than him.

Well, yeah, he's right in there and he was undressing you with his eyes.

"You're just gonna get yourself hurt again, stupid. This won't lead anywhere good." She attempted to talk herself out of it.

You're a grown woman. You'll live.

"I'm gonna be sick."

No, you're not. This is that feeling you got the first time. Relax.

"When have I ever been capable of relaxing?"

Could be fun.

"Could be a disaster."

I guess we'll never know then, hm?

"Are you really about to go in there and kiss him?"

Fucking right.

Like a woman with her mind made up, she turned off the tap and dried her face with a handtowel before she exited the bathroom. Her legs felt like stumbling, but she kept her chin high and her back straight as she made it back to the couch where Marc sat with the TV remote in his hand. Leaving a bit of space, she sat down next to him.

"You cool?" He asked in reference to her walking off. Her face stayed forward and unchanged.

"I'm cool. You?"

"Solid." He responded smugly.

God, I wanna strangle him sometimes. She thought as she watched him aimlessly flip through what Hulu had to offer, the bands on his forearm flexing with every push of the button. She wished she could read his mind as there was no telling what was going through his head.

If there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that she needed him in her veins. She felt like the only thing that would keep her away would be if she was physically restrained. Or maybe a salt circle.

It was as if her body wasn't her own, one moment planted on her cushion and the next she was straddling his lap with mindless intentions. Just as Marc had decided to go down on her with no regard for whether she wanted it or not, she kissed him hungrily, leading with her tongue and firmly pressing her entire middle into him like getting him closer would be the cure for her every ailment.

He was conflicted over whether Moni was heaven-sent or a hellspawn the way she turned this around. Her tongue tickled the roof of his mouth and her clothed cunt ground into him like she wanted to create fire. A mixture of alarm bells and angel's bugles chimed between his ears.

It was one thing to kiss between her legs but he had somehow forgotten what it was like to have his mouth against hers. He was struggling to grasp reality the way he gripped her ass, sinking deeper into her spell. Her siren song of heavy breaths and needy moans.

The connection needed to be severed to regain what was left of himself and as it turned, he didn't have it in him to stop her until she pulled back to rip away her shirt. That brief reprieve was enough to flip the switch back in his favor and he was able to stand, carrying her with him by the hold he kept on her thighs.

She tried to get his lips back, but he turned his head as he walked. That left her with nothing to latch onto but the skin of his neck, nipping and lapping at the area with the kind of desperation she didn't think she had. The salt of his skin was like a drug, the smell of his hair an intoxicant.

Without eyes on the back of her head, she couldn't see what he was doing, but from the sound alone she could tell he was trying to navigate the hallway. One door would open but it wasn't where he needed to be, so he would turn and try another. There were only four; one being the bathroom, one a linen closet, the spare bedroom next to that, and at the very end of the hall resided her room.

Marc opened every single door, each leaving him more disappointed than the last and kicking himself for not knowing where anything was around here before he struck gold.

The very last door took him to a decent-sized bedroom with a wooden queen bed covered with minty green sheets and a gray quilt and shams. It was a cute space but he didn't need to investigate any further once he dropped Moni onto her mattress.

"Take it all off." Marc commanded, and she did exactly that. It was ungraceful, scrambling and fumbling around the simple button of her slacks. She certainly wouldn't be getting a gold star for how awkward she was about the bra either, fingers forgetting how to unclasp the damn thing as if she didn't have twenty-something years of practice.

She was gloriously naked except for her blue and white ankle socks, and as Marc eyed them with a tilted head, she realized that was part of the 'all' he spoke of. Nearly muttering a complaint because she hated her bare feet, she hooked her thumbs into them and yanked them off.

There wasn't a square inch of Moni that wasn't easy on the eyes. He wanted to take his time and make her squirm, but there was a bit of housekeeping that needed to be done before he could get started, beginning with his own clothes.

Like many things, Marc did stripping better than she did. His shirt hit the floor first and she was intimidated by what lay underneath that enough before his pants dropped.

Dear lord. She thought, her breath catching in her lungs as she found the most inopportune time to remember how out of practice she was in this department. She hardly had practice, to begin with, and either she thought she was invincible when she was eighteen or his dick was much bigger.

"So, just to get it out of the way, do you still want me to pull out or anything?" He asked, dropping out of the dominant headspace as he noticed Moni nearly wince as she stared at what he was working with below the belt. It was a mixture of fear and desire, and though he loved seeing both, he wasn't about to genuinely harm her.

This was a conundrum she never pictured herself in. Normally when she imagined Marc fucking her, she didn't account for the small details and had never experienced either option. She believed he was clean, so she wasn't worried about him going in bareback, and as far as surprises were concerned, she was barren.

Her answer was a wordless shrug, to which he squinted and her and put his hands on his bare hips. "Not even a preference?"

"I don't care. Do what you please."

Saying things like that will get you into trouble. He thought, knowing what he truly wanted to do was a far shout from what she was ready for, especially with how perplexed she looked at the sight of his dick. You would have to become cool with a lot of things very fast before letting me have free reign like that.

Without another word, Marc began crawling his way up her body, eyes planted into hers, inching closer to her lips once more. Impatiently, she brought her head forward to meet him in the middle, jonesing for another taste of his mouth. Their lips barely brushed together before he pulled back yet again.

"I just remembered something." He announced, causing an involuntary whine to resonate from her throat. That sound nearly pushed him to forget again before he smirked. "Don't sound so disappointed."

"You're killing me here, Spe-" She began to speak before his middle finger met her nub and started rolling it slowly. What was meant to come out as his surname turned into a drawn-out, shakey groan.

"What a needy mess you are. You might not need much help, after all." He cooed, keeping his motion at a steady pace. All she could do in response was nod wordlessly. The more he manipulated her clit, the stronger the urge grew to turn away from his dark piercing eyes. There was too much light, and she felt embarrassed by the contortions of her face.

Marc clocked this reluctance just as it began and if he hadn't been propped up on his opposite arm, he would have pulled her face back. Instead, he would have to use his vocal inflections. It was a teachable moment. "Bring those pretty eyes back over here."

Hesitantly, she did as he told her to. Maybe it was his voice, maybe it was his comment or the way he watched her, but her whole body felt like it was buzzing. She wished he was close enough to kiss, but she was afraid to move and put this delicious moment to a stop.

She found a moment of reprieve when his face dropped down to her chest and his lips wrapped out her nipple, kissing and swirling his tongue around it like he had with her clit before. Each sensation felt new and overwhelming, and if he hadn't looked at her again, she would have dipped her head back.

As he worked faster, he focused on her tells. How her eyes fluttered, her legs wiggled, her breath caught. It was just like on the couch but before he could imbue her with another lesson, she fell apart at his fingertips with a quaking moan. Marc made a mental note that they would have some things to work on.

Control of orgasms. Eye contact. Announcements. Beginner stuff.

Instead of pushing it any further, he crawled over her body slowly, eye contact unbreaking. She was so beautiful. The way her cheeks reddened and her chest heaved from the intensity of the orgasm lingering even now. He needed to be inside of her, and with how her eyes kept flicking between him and the dick that hung between their bodies, the feeling was mutual.

That thing looks like it’s aimed to destroy me. She thought. He was hovering over her fully now, reaching his hand between their hips to line himself up. “Wait.”

The way she said it spoke of apprehension. If she was having second thoughts about this escapade, he must have really forgotten how to read her expressions. Still, he froze in place and waited for her to speak her mind. “Can I…”

“Can you what?” He asked with a ticked eyebrow as she trailed off. She didn’t answer with words right away, as if the question was embarrassing. Instead, she scooted her butt up into a sitting position and attempted to guide his wide shoulders with her hands. Curiosity alone allowed him to be moved from his elbows, to his side, and with another gentle nudge, onto his back. It became obvious what her intentions were as she swung her leg over his hip, bracing her palms on his sternum. “You wanna ride me?”

“I think so.” She answered. This was not a turn he was expecting. It wasn’t unwelcome; though, as her full upright body proved to be a feast for his eyes.

How hard can it be? She thought to herself comfortingly as she remembered she hadn’t done this in two decades. She wanted to impress him, just like she did back then.

She lifted her hips on her knees, stabilizing herself with her left hand to his abdomen as her right reached down to find his cock. As her fingers wrapped around it, she was surprised by how big it felt and realized she would have to figure out how to position herself higher.

“Here. Lean forward.” He instructed, smoothing his rough hands up her sides in an effort to pull her chest to his. “You’ll have more control that way. No acrobatics.”

She followed suit with a nod and rested her breasts on his rib cage as she scooted her hips up to meet the thick tip of his cock. By feel alone as it pressed against her entrance, she almost wined with full awareness that this was going to overextend her. Still, she pressed on, gathering the courage to push the head into her and on instinct, tense up.

“Don’t hurt yourself.” Marc cooed, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she winced. Though she was fully drenched, this would prove to be a struggle.

“It’s a lot.” She spoke through an exhale, lowering herself a bit more and studying his expression through lidded eyes. He looked proud of himself but judging from his soft demeanor in helping her, he wasn't judging her. He just watched her with parted lips and sparkling eyes like she was the most interesting person on the planet. That or the face a concussed individual holds after a nasty blow to the skull.

She certainly didn't feel interesting. This was much more difficult than she predicted it would be, hoping if she could control the pace, it would be less terrifying. She felt widened to the brink and she hadn't even made it to the middle.

“You aren’t exactly used to this, are you?” He said with a bit of understanding, resting his hands on her hips. It was getting a bit difficult for him to form his own sentences as the tip of his cock was enveloped in her warmth. “Just take it slow. Let yourself adjust. You know how this works.”

“I really don’t.” She admitted, sliding herself a hair further. He took this a different way, feeling slightly cockier now.

"Do they not make toys this thick?"

"I never use toys. I'd rather not talk about why right now."

He assessed her face to search for a fib. Even in seemingly deep concentration, she was telling him the truth. This might as well be a totally new experience for her.

"Lay back down, Moni."

"I got it. I've done it before." She insisted, trying to take him deeper but still struggling. He shook his head at this.

"This'll be a lot easier and you'll thank yourself later if you just fall back and relax."

The idea of how she would feel after hadn't crossed her mind. How sore she had been all that time ago was a faint memory. Before she would proceed or protest further, he lifted her up by her hips and rolled her to the other side of the bed where she had been previously. A bit of embarrassment came with this but was swiftly awash by desire when he pressed his lips to hers, almost like he couldn't help himself.

It felt far riskier kissing her than it did fucking her, for some reason. Back in the driver's seat, Marc understood what was expected of him now. Pulling it off would prove the real challenge. He would have to put his fantasy of battering into her in the back of his mind for the time being. This was a unique territory.

Sitting on his knees, he tucked his thighs under hers, lifting her hips from the bed to assist in maintaining a controlled motion and introducing an angle that would hit all the right spots. Judging by how long it had been since she came the first time, he assumed he was in the clear and pressed his thumb to her clit. "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." She wheezed as a new wave of pleasure overtook her. This was another position they discovered on their second round all that time ago. It made it easier for him to achieve his goal: make her orgasm. A fuzzy feeling filled her stomach at the memory and how confident he was now versus back then.

With that confirmation, he realigned his cock with her entrance and began to ease it in. It felt spectacular and if it wasn't for how her face contorted, he wouldn't have had it in him to allow for adjustment before fully sinking in.

The motion was entirely controlled, introducing a little more at a time before retracting and repeating the motion to coat more of his length in her slick. He was in depths of her that felt unexplored. Her strained hisses were becoming needy hums and even if it was music to his ears, he knew she was holding back.

"Don't be afraid to tell me how it feels. I wanna hear it." He assured her, keeping the same steady rhythm. The sounds she made got a bit louder in response and as if he hadn't thought it through, he nearly lost his composure, going a bit deeper than he originally intended. A groan resonated from her throat just as a sharp breath came from his, a reaction to how good it felt and realizing his mistake.

That one hurt, but the pain was quickly quelled by the manipulation of her nub. The combination of the two proved to spike the arousal already growing in her core. She released a shakey breath that had caught in her lungs at the feeling and gained a new sense of confidence as she examined his face. He was struggling to hold back.

"God, that feels good." She told him softly as if it were a secret to remain between them. The fingertips that rested on her hipbone curled, clinging deeper into her skin, and as if testing her, he pulled back and repeated the previous shunt. He pistoned over that special spot and nestled into the area he accidentally barged into before with a guttural grunt.

"You take me so well, baby." He growled, the pet name slipping through his teeth before he could bite it back. They both pretended to ignore it, but her body gave her away as her walls squeezed his cock in response. Keeping himself at bay was proving more difficult by the second. Her flushed face, her perky tits, her dark strands spread around her head, her tight cunt, and the sly grin that tweaked up the corners of her lips.

Moni knew what she was doing to him. They've been here before. The difference was they were much older now and he was far more experienced. Longevity typically wasn't an issue for him anymore but this very situation was trying him. He had to think of the song 'Hotel California' by Eagles to center himself.

" Please ." The single-worded plea swam in his ears, putting the song to a halt and his paced movements along with it. He assessed her watery eyes, hoping to find the context in them but coming up empty.

"Please what ?" He asked her to spell it out for him, convinced he would lose his mind if she said that word again. He felt her hands trace down his thigh muscles and that evil grin only grew wider.

"Please don't hold back."

"Don't do that to me." He warned her, doubting she truly meant it. She was too delicate for him to not be careful. Too precious. How she squirmed at his ceasing motion in both his hips and thumb only further proved just how little she understood.

But fuck, would she make the perfect little plaything. He thought, balls tightening a bit at the idea. He had to push what he wanted to do to her out of his mind. This , though. Everything about this was satisfactory, still.

"I can take it." She said, sounding sure of herself. Marc chuckled huskily in response.

"You can't. Not yet. Just chill out and enjoy this."

Only moments before was she straining to take his dick. On the plus side, this brief intermission allowed for better adjustment. As he proceeded to rock in and out and roll her clit under the pad of his thumb, she melted back into the mattress, doing as she was told and relaxing. The only thing she couldn't help was how close she was to coming undone once more.

Noting her comfort, Marc picked up his pace, now able to move easier through her thoroughly drenched walls. The fight truly began as she started to squeeze him as if her pussy had its own ulterior motive to milk him dry. He just needed her to come first before his strain could come to an end.

"I'm gonna-" Her announcement was promptly cut off with a swallow through a dry throat. He wanted to hear it.

"What're you gonna do, baby? Tell me all about it." He demanded, that word flying past his lips once more.

"I'm gonna come."

It was right on the horizon again, taunting her and forcing her to see past the mild discomfort of taking his wide shaft. He quickened a bit at her words, determined to take her to that peak. All she needed was that extra motivation.

"Do it. Show me how good my cock makes you feel."

She did not disappoint. Her back arched further from the mattress, her legs began to tremble, and her cunt gripped his dick in what felt like ownership. He didn't let up as she quaked, making her feel every bit of intensity. "Such a good fucking girl, Moni." He praised through gritted teeth.

Moni stared at him with blank, glassy eyes and the corners of her mouth shakily twitched again at his words until she realized he was still thumbing her now overworked clit, wrapping her hand around his wrist to pry his hand away.

"Cut that out." She requested, giggling and jerking her hips as his hand wouldn't budge. He was testing her, seeing just how long she could go, and the more she fought against him, the more sure he was that he was correct. She would require a lot of training. " Stop! " She shouted this time, more serious now, and he relaxed his hand to allow her to pull it away.

Oh, you're so fucking lucky I'm being nice or I would tie you down for that tone alone. He thought as the image of using Steven’s ties to force her to spread her limbs came to mind. Those sorts of activities weren’t for an ordeal like this, even if it made his cock twitch just thinking about it.

Without unsheathing, he readjusted his position from sitting upright to hovering over her. Having climaxed, her cunt was a bit easier to work with now, and his control over the animalistic part of his brain was slipping the longer he felt her walls thrum around him.

She looked up at Marc with tired eyes and a slack jaw, fucked out and unsuspecting of what he was about to do to reach his own conclusion. He was close enough and could have gotten there from the previous angle but he wanted her to get a taste of what he had warned her against before.

He rested her calve in the crook of his elbow and thrust fully into her, bottoming out and allowing his tip to meet her cervix. There wasn't a moment for them to get acquainted; however, as the yelp she let out surprised both of them. What it didn't do was slow him down.

"How the fuck -" She croaked before he repeated the action and another pang deep within her cut her off. She thought he was deep before, but this was something she hadn't prepared for. His pounding was relentless, and her crying out didn't bother him in the slightest as his gaze stayed fixed on her face. The only word she could bring herself to utter was something that sort of sounded like his name if he had the mental capacity to notice it at all.

He noticed. Each scattered syllable sounded worshipful in his mind. The vibrations of her chest against his own as she cried it out filled him with purpose. If his name was the only one on her tongue, it seemed fitting to write it along her walls. Terrible things flooded his brain matter, only inching him closer with each rough plunge.

Nobody else is ever doing to satisfy her after this. She will be begging me to cram my cock in her cunt again. She won't be able to think about anything else.

He found himself white-knuckling the headboard to keep his hand from wrapping around her throat, needing to find fulfillment in the image alone. His skin collided with hers, again and again, each coaxing out a groan from both of them. He couldn't let his more malicious tastes hijack this moment.

The vicious onslaught put her in a startling position where she thought he might send her straight through the mattress. The pain was blurred with pleasure, the fear of snapping in two molding into delight that this was the effect she had on him. If this went on for much longer, she might get close again. Another intense orgasm would surely make her pass out right there.

All it took was another hard, impatient thrust before his teeth latched onto her shoulder, muffling the excruciatingly deep groan that ejected from his vocal cords as he unloaded inside of her, as deep as he could get. He bit down so hard, she thought he must have drawn blood but the sound that reverberated in her right ear had her ignoring that entirely.

If it hadn't been stayed by her skin filling his mouth, she would have bet her house that it was the raunchiest string of expletives his climax-crippled brain would come up with at that moment. Likely something sacrilegious in nature. She figured she would fill in the blanks for him. "Jesus fucking Christ, Marc."

Marc's body went entirely limp on top of her. He had been around and had his fair share of orgasms from other women and his own hand, but this one truly knocked the wind out of him, literally and figuratively. Even if what she said wasn't exactly sweet, there was comfort in hearing her voice. If there wasn't so much on the line, he would stay right there, face buried in her neck and now flaccid member wrapped in her soak walls.

He couldn't bring himself to stay too intimate for too long and had to force himself to roll off of her. His eyes went to her shoulder as soon as he was on his side, assessing the damage and concluding that it would be a pretty nasty bruise and nothing more. Then his glance fixed on her face. He wanted to scoop her up and kiss her, but they had an unspoken agreement now. It seemed she was respecting that as well. What wasn't agreed upon was pillow talk, and he had a question about her earlier statement.

"You really don't use toys?" He asked out of the blue between heavy breaths. She giggled in the shy way only she did and shook her head.

“Ericka didn’t believe in straps and my fingers work fine when solo.”

That explains a lot. Marc thought, trying not to let his face say that for him and failing as she realized she could proceed to explain.

“She was afraid they’d make me miss dick. Her words, not mine. And it wasn’t even because I asked! I would never have the nerve to say ‘Hey can you rail me with a dildo?’ But she just assumed I needed to be told that. That's neither here nor there, though."

She couldn't say that to the woman she was with for years, but she tried to convince me to go full-throttle on round one? He thought confidently.

" Did you miss dick?" He questioned, keeping her expression in his sight. Surprisingly, her eyes went soft.

"I missed you , but that certainly extended beyond your third leg." She said, trying to make it sound as playful as she could. It was truthful, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized he probably didn't want to hear that.

He did want to hear it. He wanted to hear everything she had to say. Everything sounded so much prettier in her voice. He found himself fighting the urge to kiss her again and had to physically brace his body from moving and drop his eyes to the sheet between them. A change in topic was in order.

“Is your curiosity satiated?”

“Among other things.” She replied, putting on a show of exhaustion by letting her head fall back to remind him that he thoroughly wore her out. Still, even then, she knew she would take him up on it if he wanted more. Warmth built in her gut just considering it. It made her want to egg him on. “You certainly are a talker, huh?”

You didn’t seem to mind. He nearly said, thinking about how responsive she had been to his voice. It was something truly special, just like her. Like how she fit around his cock so well. They had just concluded their business and he was already thinking about taking a second dive. That just wouldn't do.

“Is it okay if I…” He trailed off, motioning to the exit, not wanting to barge off without warning. Her eyes flicked to the door, then back to him, and there was the faintest hint of disappointment that he had to make the choice to not acknowledge.

“ Oh! Yeah, no worries.” She said with a nod and a tone that pretended she was still upbeat.

Until next time. She thought, doubtfully.

Chapter 14: Knuckle Velvet

" Nothing hurts like you do, like the way you say I love you
Leave the room half undressed, I'm saying prayers through a throttled neck
Come into the room and make me cry all over again "
-"Knuckle Velvet" by Ethel Cain

 

Something Simone found out about college was that everyone seemed to be having fun but her, which was comforting. Trying to have a good time never did anything for her but got her into situations that she didn't like. Now that she wasn't talking to Ericka, her only move was to stay on track with her studies.

Then Trina decided it was too sad watching Simone never go to the campus parties and insisted she go with her to the sorority get-down. On arrival, it was exactly as she expected any college party to be: just like a high school party. Nothing special.

It was hard to get out of the mindset she kept with Marc at things like this. She didn't have to stay stone sober and designate herself as the one who would get them home because their building was less than a mile away. On top of that, Trina never left her side, so she reconsidered.

What started as one drink turned into four and two shallow drags from a joint offered to her by Trina and her girlfriend Courtney. Needless to say, it didn't take long for her to let loose. She danced, chatted with some people, and was even told to take it slow by the very couple who encouraged her, so she did.

Simone decided to get some fresh air with the contradiction of bumming a smoke off of one of the sorority girls. Did she smoke? No. Had she before? Only a handful of times out of curiosity or to look cool.

Upon stepping on the large back porch of the Greek house, she lit up and stared off into the dark field, illuminated only by the light from the houses around and the moon above. She let out a small cough and tried to hide it as if there were still people around, but there was nobody but a lone shadow in the distance.

She focused on the figure for a long while, unable to make out if she knew them by shape alone. In her inebriated state, she figured she would start walking in that direction. Her feet crunched along the dry grass and with every step, the form never moved. It just continued to stare at her.

They could be a murderer or a kidnapper or a rapist and yet, I'm still going. She questioned her own intentions in her mind. She was somehow convinced she could fight them if they tried to harm her but if they seemed cool, she intended to invite them back to the party.

The closer she got, the more their features manifested. It sent a shiver down her spine, the uncanny valley of seeing someone who may as well be a ghost. She questioned if she was truly seeing what she thought she was or if she had hit the bottle too hard. Regardless, in that moment, she would have bet her life that the person seemingly waiting for her was Marc Spector.

She called out to him by name, still a ways away but close enough to where they would hear her mutter. They didn't seem confused, and she took that as a sign to move quickly. It played out in her head; rushing through this field and into his arms, undoing the last few years without him.

"Marc!" She called out one last time before the toe of her shoe caught a hole in the ground likely dug by a dog or a mole. She tripped and fell forward, catching herself by her hands a little too late and letting out a small 'ouch' as her ribs collided with the earth.

There was a bit of hope that he would close the distance, run over, and help her up or see if she was alright. She expected her falling and eating shit would be some movie-worthy moment of resolve that would force him to reveal himself. That wasn't the case when she began to get up, only to find the figure had disappeared.

No . She thought before the word began streaming through her lips like it would undo anything. There was no sign of anyone here now and as the tears began to flow, she was interrupted by the sound of more movement in the grass behind her.

"You okay?" Trina asked on the approach after seeing her trip. Simone continued to scan the field but kept coming up empty.

“I just...” She began to speak but trailed off, her voice cracking as she felt like she was breaking down. “I saw him. He was right here! ”

Trina didn't bother to ask who she was referring to, recognizing that Simone was bent out of shape over it. She had watched her stomp through the final foot or so she covered in the field and never once saw anyone out there.

“Alright, you might be a little too buzzed. Let’s get you some chips.”

Trina and Courtney weren't ready to leave the party, so neither was Simone. Instead, she sat on the sofa holding a thousand-yard stare at nothing in particular . She wasn't sure if her mind had just played a trick on her or if she truly saw Marc, but if he was out there, unmoving and unspeaking even though she called for him, he was cruel.

 

Trina proposed that Simone go with her to group therapy the next morning over coffee and even though she wasn't sure why, she accepted. It became clear to her quickly that the invite was extended in kind, but unnecessary. The stories these individuals told were enough to lead her to believe that this group was for sexual assault survivors and people along that line. She wasn't a part of that group.

“It’s not catered to one type of person or trauma. It’s people supporting people.” Trina explained when Simone admitted that she shouldn't go back.

“But they all have some really serious shit they go there for. My thing isn't that bad."

“What’s your story then? Tell it at group next week. Nobody will judge you.”

Against her better judgment, she did just that. It was difficult to talk about but the sympathetic nods from the others in the circle reassured her to speak her mind. She didn't share every detail, but it seemed to strike a chord with one woman in particular.

“Like you, I grew up with a boy. We went to the same church, and schools, lived in the same neighborhood, everything. One day, we had sex. What differs is we did consider each other boyfriend and girlfriend and after a few weeks I started to feel off. I realized I was pregnant and when I told him, he seemed happy. Then he jumped off the bridge. No note, no goodbye, just gone. I did get Victor out of it, but he didn’t get his daddy or a second set of grandparents because they blamed me for it.”

As Lori told her story, Simone felt like her chest might cave in. She didn't mention getting pregnant, but couldn't let that similarity pass. She questioned what her life would be like now if she hadn't made the decision she did, but knew she made the right one. At least Lori was able to see it as a silver lining. Simone wasn't sure if she had one.

 

Then came the razor's edge. Simone's mother called her to come by one morning, and she did so thinking she just wanted to see her daughter. She discovered that wasn't the case when she saw Elias' car in the driveway.

It was good to see Marc's parents again, having not seen them since she graduated high school. They showed up for her, which always brought on a heavy sense of guilt that they didn't get to see their son walk the stage with her.

She felt bad for not keeping in touch, but it seemed so false now. The one thing that tethered her to the Spector family had been Marc and in his absence, nothing ever felt the same. The occasional text from Rand on her birthday was sweet, though.

Elias looked proper and stone-faced as always , sitting next to a teary-eyed Wendy on Estie's couch. Simone wasn't sure what to expect from them, especially with the somber atmosphere that felt so thick she had to shove through it to get to the adjacent recliner. She quickly realized this was why her mom called her.

“We wanted to make sure you heard from us first.” Elias started, clutching a tissue in his left hand, though it looked like he hadn't shed a single tear. Before Simone could question what he meant, he came right out with it. “Marc is gone, honey. I’m so sorry.”

Gone? Simone thought to herself as she narrowed her eyes at the space between Mr. Spector's eyes and opened her mouth to construct a sentence. He's been gone. Is this a trick?

“W-what do you mean?” She stuttered, feeling regretful the second the question left her mouth. She wasn't sure if she really wanted to know. It brought on a thought of the figure she spotted at the party, how real it was, how it seemed to call her forth, and then it was gone before she could get close enough to feel if it was real.

“He died, Moni.” Elias clarified through a quiver in his throat and the word alone was enough to garner a sob from his wife. Her face disappeared into her palms as it felt like Simone's eyes were pulsating. “I was hoping he had reached out to you at some point.”

Obviously, he hadn't. Marc had made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in keeping in touch with the girl he deflowered and left with nothing but memories and the Durango that Estie bought from Elias as a graduation gift. She wanted to be bitter, but she found herself stuck on the previous point.

“Had he contacted you ?” Simone asked as if she hadn't just received word that the 'he' in question had died. She wasn't ready to believe it yet, not after the apparition in the field. Elias sighed heavily and looked at Wendy, who still hadn't said a word .

“About a year after he disappeared. He called us to tell us he was doing okay. Got his GED and joined up. Marines. That’s how he died. He made us promise we wouldn’t say anything to you. Never told us why.”

The vision around Elias' face began to fog and her ears felt like they had been filled with water. Simone's rationale was aching to leave her body and pick apart the explanation like they would have better answers than they themselves were given.

How does a missing mentally ill person get their GED and enlist without someone getting tipped off? That doesn’t make any sense! She thought to herself, choking back the urge to scream and question the grieving parents in front of her as Estie stood staring from the kitchen with her own tissue in hand.

Whether it made sense or not, it didn't change anything. If Marc really was dead, that was it. There was nothing else that could be done. No more looking up his name on the library computers to see if something came up, no more waking up in a cold sweat from a dream where he was knocking at her window like he used to, nothing. The wait was finally over, but this wasn't how she imagined it going.

“His service is tomorrow morning. We would love it if you came.” Elias spoke again, his tone trying to be gentle with the girl that looked like if he poked her she would crack. Simone was jumping through mental hoops, trying to find an explanation that worked for her as to how any of this was possible but it was just as simple as it seemed: sometimes people die.

As Wendy finally looked at Simone with red, watery eyes, she thought back to that conversation in Marc's bedroom the day he left. She thought they had an agreement. If anything happened, they would tell each other.

"We’re in this together. " Wendy told her, and though Simone would never pretend to imagine how it felt to be in her shoes; a mother who lost her firstborn, the betrayal alone felt like a cleaver had been plunged deep into her chest.

Simone managed to keep herself together through the rest of the day, then at the service the following day, all through her shiva call, and even in the moments when she was completely alone. The times she would normally break down and let those tears fall. They didn't come until she went to the group that week.

"So, Marc died.” She said simply as the twelve sets of eyes locked onto her, waiting for her to share after the rollercoaster she had spoken of before. Trina had the seat next to her and was aware already , but didn't push her to speak about it. The head of the group, Ingred, nodded softly.

“I’m so sorry to hear that. How are you handling it?”

“Like crap. Of course , after avoiding me for 3 years he would show back up in a box.” She explained as the feelings she had kept bottled up rose to the surface. It felt wrong to speak ill of the dead, but by god, with how careful she had been with her words since he abandoned her, she thought she deserved to be angry for once. Sadly, her anger wasn't just at Marc. “I should have made sure he took those pills.”

“Even one missed dose can affect someone. You shouldn’t blame yourself.” Ingred attempted to talk her down, but with everything Simone had learned in the last few years, she was beyond ready to blow.

“Well, maybe if I hadn’t distracted him he would have remembered to take it. I wonder if he would have even slept with me if he had taken his meds on time. You know he was diagnosed with a whole laundry list of disorders? He pocketed three pills that night. How do you miss someone not taking three pills?”

“You never mentioned that.” Ingred piped up quietly, but Simone couldn't stop herself from talking once she got past the admission of her fault in this. Her hands trembled, her nose burned, and her voice grew louder without her consent.

“Because he only ever told me about the PTSD, and he told me he was on an anti-depressant for it. The man had a bunch of other things and a combo of mood stabilizers he never mentioned. God , who knows what else was going on I didn’t know about!”

“What we shouldn’t do is regret good memories.”

“ My good memory was tainted by the fact that I was abandoned right after and had to abort a pregnancy that had a hand in, then I find out he didn't want to let me fucking know that he was doing okay? No letters, no phone calls, the closest I ever got to him was a delusion! What a fucking joke .”

“You’re spiraling. Take a few deep breaths. Control your panic before it controls you.” Trina finally piped up, kneeling at her side with a caring hand on her back. Simone hadn't realized she was hyperventilating and shaking like a scared dog. Every thought and feeling had spewed out after all this time but relief didn't follow.

The group stared at her, some encouraging her to let it out, others whispered for her to breathe. Once she fully grounded herself, she only broke down. The tears she held back for days pushed their way through just as her remarks had.

Chapter 15: Bruise

" I've been running in circles
You're bruising up my heart
And I wanna show you
I'll say it like, 'Please stay, 'cause I really want you to want me'
You say, 'Okay, I really want you to want me' (Yeah, kinda) "
-"Bruise" by Between Friends

 

It started as a Facetime call from an unknown number, and at the most inconvenient time. Simone was in bed, delaying her morning rituals an extra thirty minutes or so because she woke up from a frustrating dream with an achy core.

"I don't know you." She said as she looked at the screen for a moment and declined the call to continue with her business. Her hand was in her pajama bottoms and her mind was on Marc, who it never seemed to leave these days.

Then the number tried her again and she groaned loudly. "Never in the history of Facetime has anyone called a number they don't know through Facetime."

Sitting up, disappointed and unsatisfied, she answered and prepared to tell the perpetrator to buzz off before the face of her pornographic head movie filled her screen. Only, it wasn't Marc.

“Hey, Simone! How've you been?” Steven greeted her with a smile as he leaned back in what appeared to be a barber's chair, judging by the tarp he wore and the person with an apron behind him. She nearly questioned what number he was calling her from but dropped it, assuming Steven had his own personal phone for his own personal contacts. What she didn't let drop was the fact that he didn't have to ask.

“You know how I've been, Steven." She said back with a knowing glance. Technically, it wasn't true. After Simone and Marc slept together, the communication had gone almost entirely back to normal. The daily calls, the small talk, the longing pauses, and that was all.

It was driving her crazier than before. It felt like her brain chemistry had been altered after that experience as they say happens in those 'Meth: not even once' ads. She hoped nothing ever gave away the fact that she wasn't normal about it with how hard she worked to maintain the image that she was as cool about this as Marc was.

“When do you intend to come back and see me?” Steven brushed off the previous remark, the sound of scissors cutting through thick hair in the background. It was an odd way of saying it in her mind, but she rolled with it.

“Why? Miss me?”

Jesus, why would Steven miss you? She thought to herself, regretting the tease immediately as she eyed the small square containing her face. She was a mess of a person. Steven let out a chuckle that could have been taken for discomfort before he continued.

“I was actually going to ask a favor of you. There’s this charity auction I’m attending and I’d hate to go alone.”

For a moment, she was confused. The fact that he called her, mentioned he needed a favor, and proceeded to tell her he didn't want to attend an event by himself sent her mind into overdrive. It wouldn't connect in her brain for what felt like a full minute.

Is he asking me to go to this with him?

“I know you probably have plenty of options in the area on speed dial, Mr. Grant.” Simone said, unsure where he was going with it and not wanting to be presumptive. It didn't seem to make sense why he would ask her to go.

“But you would have a great time. I’ll fly you in, first class of course. The dress code is black tie formal, but don’t worry about shopping because I’ll have options for you.” He explained, but this did nothing to soothe her unease.

“What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just company.” He clarified with a million-dollar smile. “I’ll send you the details so you can schedule time off. Text me your measurements.”

“I haven’t even said yes yet.” She pointed out, realizing this was similar to what happened the last time she spoke with Steven.

“ Yet. Have a good day, Simone.”

Before she could respond, the call dropped.

I have half a mind to text him and tell him to consider his invitation declined! She wondered if such an act of defiance would help or hurt her situation. The more she considered it, the more she realized that by accepting, she would be buying time with Marc.

"A favor , huh?" She said to herself but was just as soon distracted by two messages on the home screen of her phone she hadn't seen before that morning. At some point in the night, Nick had texted her again.

Nick: You know you could have just said that you had a boyfriend. That would have been cool instead of whatever this is.

Nick: Does he know we made out or are you just a habitual liar?

Oh, look, if it isn't the consequences of my actions. She thought as a deep pit opened in her stomach. This looked bad, just as she predicted it would.

"I could always tell him he wasn't my boyfriend at the time."

No, because then he would just call you out for leading him on.

"Then what if I say it's an open relationship?"

Is your response to being called a habitual liar really lying?

She sighed loudly as she eyeballed the texts again. No matter what she said, she would be fibbing because the truth was far more convoluted than the falsehood, itself.

"No, I don't have a boyfriend. The guy who said that was just Marc's alter named Jake. Oh, yeah, Marc is still alive and he left me walking funny a few days ago. It's also his fault I'm not into you like that and why I continuously forget to message you. Sorry."

God, you sound even more delusional than you really are. Just tell him Jake lied to Quinten. Fuck.

"Hey. So, I take it that Quinten spoke to you. He ran into me at Giordano's and I was there with my friend Jake, the guy you saw on my phone that night at the bar. He isn't my boyfriend but he said that to Quinten because he thought I was uncomfortable in the conversation. He's a good friend."

As she reread what she had typed, her finger hovered over the blue arrow to send the message, but something held it in place. She questioned the logic of explaining all of this on the off chance that it made her look any better in Nick's eyes. Did it truly matter?

I know why he said it. I figured that out already but it doesn't make it any less true. Marc, or in this case, Jake, isn't my boyfriend. Why do I want him to believe it either way, though?

"Because you want it to be true." She answered her own question aloud, hitting the backspace on her keyboard until the message was completely gone, and in its place, she typed two words and hit send.

"You're right."

 

The part that hurt the most about admitting that she messed with Nick's head was the fact that it only made Simone realize how little she cared about his feelings. Just like Marc didn't. It was worse than she originally thought.

Simone used Nick and she was coming to terms with that. She wanted proof that Marc didn't want her to move on, and once she got it, what good did it do? It put her right back at square one. Pining, alone, and planning another trip to New York. Now she just needed Phoebe.

“Why do I need to take your measurements?” She asked Simone when she stopped by her house after work. Phoebe's mom owned a wedding dress shop for as long as they knew each other, so she knew her way around the tape and a sewing needle. "Arm's up."

“I was invited to a gala in New York.” Simone explained, doing as she was asked and holding her hands out for Phoebe to measure around her bust. She mumbled a number to herself before removing the tape and picking up her pen to write it down, then seemed to fully comprehend the information she was given with wide eyes.

“A gala ? Do you have some sugar daddy I don’t know about?”

"He's not a sugar daddy. He's a friend." Simone corrected before she realized she said the same thing about Jake, minus the sugar daddy part.

I'm gonna have to index all of these new friends I suddenly have before I stumble.

"Look at you, playing the field! A rich boy, Jake the snake, and Skinny Nicky." She said with a hint of praise before kneeling down and wrapping the taylor's tape around her hips and muttering to herself again. "Forty-point-two. Woof , you must be working these muscles."

"Mark Nick off that list. That's not a thing."

"Really? Well, what does Jakey-boy think of you going to New York, then?"

About that. Simone thought, chewing her cheek as a wave of nerves hit her. To Phoebe, she made Jake and Marc the same person. She didn't know how either of them felt about this. Just one white lie that technically isn't a lie.

"He's aware but I don't think he's bent out of shape about it." Simone uttered, watching Phoebe tear the piece of paper she was writing on away from her notebook.

"By that, you mean you haven't asked how he feels about it or you don't care ?"

"I think he's fine with it. After the whole-" Simone stopped speaking to look around Phoebe's house for her kids. There were no signs of tiny humans with big ears, so she proceeded. "After the downstairs situation, we bumped uglies but there hasn't been a lot of serious communication that would lead me to believe he feels strongly one way or the other about me."

"Is richy-rich any cuter than Jake?"

"They couldn't be on further ends of the hot man spectrum. Jake is almost like a hot dad. He's on the blue-collar side, has a mustache, and probably sleeps in his birthday suit. The other guy looks like he's on a red carpet everywhere he goes. Totally not my type."

"Then why go to this shindig?"

"Could be fun. Could also get Jake's attention."

 

As if Steven had been counting on it, once Simone sent her measurements, he shot back the address of the hotel she would be staying at as well as the flight confirmation and itinerary. It was obvious he made the plans well before she sent that slew of numbers as her official acceptance of his invitation. Once Joan gave the 'okay' to pass along her patients for two days, she was set.

She wasn't sure if she would ever get used to flying, consistently forgetting the motions even though she had done it twice at this point. This time around; however, she got to sit pretty in first class. It was cushy and all, but the bells and whistles felt unnecessary.

Once she landed, she shot Steven a text to let him know but didn't receive anything back and took a cab to the address he gave her. She expected extravagance, like everything else, but the hotel looked like the kind of place they'd house the president.

“This can’t be the place.” She said to herself as she tried to pull her location up on Google to be sure. She feared even stepping foot into an establishment like this, let alone sleeping in it.

“It is.” A familiar baritone spoke up from behind her and startled her slightly. Not enough to get a yelp like before, but enough to make her body shift. Marc had popped up next to her on the sidewalk, wearing a pair of sunglasses and the familiar black hoodie with a devious grin. “Jumpy?”

No, just don't usually get a response when I talk to myself. She replied in her head, deciding this man was the last person she needed to say that to, and found herself unable to conjure words. The last time she was by his side, he literally came and went.

It was getting easier to read her now. The spark of arousal in her eyes and the flush that rose on her cheeks when she realized it was him, just like before. Originally he was unhappy with Steven's decision to fly her out, but he realized this put him in a favorable position.

If he hadn't known her so well, he would have assumed she was just taking the offer to prove she could hang. Maybe she even told herself that. Marc didn't think that was the case, though. If the days between then and the day they had sex gave him any hints about her mindset, it was that she was proceeding with weariness. In other words, she was too awkward about it.

Even as they stepped into the elevator together, Moni's eyes stayed on anything but Marc. She was quiet and kept her hands clasped to the handle of her suitcase, white-knuckling it like she feared he would steal it. The door closed and she tensed up further but noticed he pressed the button to the top floor.

“You have the penthouse?” She questioned with a trace of awe but still didn't directly look at him when he responded.

“It’s Steven’s.”

"You do know the whole purpose of getting the place cleaned up was so you could tell her you live there, right? Can’t have her knowing you sleep at the mission in a sarcophagus." Steven spoke up from the back of Marc's mind, and he would have replied if he wasn't in the elevator with Moni.

He feared her picking apart his condition and was consistently surprised by her lack of questions and disinterest in how he seemed to differ from other cases. His answer would be, of course, the same as most other things: he was put together incorrectly.

The only logical conclusion he could come to as an answer for Moni's tiptoeing around the subject was that she wasn't bothered or didn't care to trouble him with any inquiries she might have.

Marc was grateful that she didn't see him as a patient or a pet project but it also made him uneasy to know they had gotten as far as they had, against either of their best interests, without her knowing such crucial details about him.

It was oddly comforting, still. She was willing to set aside her curiosities for the sake of convenience, not making any efforts to pry open the floodgates and be forced to halt these tedious games once she knew everything. It showed him that she understood the grounds of their relationship.

Simone's lack of knowledge about Marc certainly wasn't favorable for her. She could tell he held back a lot, holding thoughtful glances when she would ask questions or make assumptions about him.

The longer she mulled it over, the more she realized she had no idea if he had shared anything real about himself aside from his daughter. Everything else she had to find out on her own. Moon Knight, the existence of Steven and Jake, and the fact that he had some semblance of sexual attraction toward her.

All she could tell herself to get past that was that they were grown people and allowed to have their secrets. They weren't kids anymore, they were hardly best friends, and she doubted they ever could be again. It made her heart ache, but the lousy truth was, it was easy to ignore when the impossible had become real and he was by her side once again.

The penthouse was nothing to bat an eyelash at. It was grandiose, as everything with Steven seemed to be. There was a giant television with a pristine leather sectional in front of it and plenty of decorative art along the walls and on display on each surface.

The kitchen area was nearly the size of her own with marble countertops and stainless steel appliances, and a single bedroom separated off from the rest of the place by a sliding frosted glass door. Inside was a king-sized bed dressed in silk black sheets and an ensuite bathroom that was far too rich for her blood.

It was as if a switch had flipped as Simone explored the space and Marc was no longer with her. There was no telling if he just wanted to leave this to Steven or if she had done something to make him take a back seat. Either way, mild disappointment followed his retreat.

Having landed early in the afternoon, Simone found herself getting ready for the event early, as always. She showered away the flight funk that she feared lingered on her skin but spent far too much time before that trying to figure out how the shower worked.

The only good reason to have a rainfall shower is to brood or film an R&B music video in your head. She thought to herself as she turned the three levers separately in search of a way to centralize the water to the normal showerhead. It wasn't her hair-washing day, so being entirely drenched wasn't on the agenda.

Feeling defeated and outsmarted by plumbing technology she didn't understand, she realized she would have to ask for help from the one available person who knew how it worked. This meant re-dressing herself and stepping back out into the bedroom.

"Steven?" She called out, treading slowly and keeping her eyes peeled in case she stumbled upon something she wasn't supposed to. It felt needless; though, as the man wasn't some mob boss likely getting secretive business settled in her absence.

"I'm out here." He answered, prompting her to peer out of the gap the sliding door left. He was standing by the couch, buttoning up a sleek white dress shirt and making it about halfway up before she caught him. Though he wore a wife beater underneath, it was still a sight to see.

She hadn't noticed it before, the difference in how the alter held himself versus how Marc did. It was still confidence but rebranded from rugged badassery to sophistication. It certainly looked good on him.

There was a decently long beat of quiet as Steven awaited Simone's reason for needing his attention. She had put her hair up in a loose, messy bun, hints of the premature graying winding through her touseled locks. It was also clear that she threw her clothes on willy-nilly before exiting the bathroom, the t-shirt now inside out.

She's cute. Steven thought to himself, never really using the adjective in reference to a woman's appearance but feeling it fit this situation. Though he was unperturbed by her, it seemed she was fumbling over herself at what she was seeing. "Take a picture, sweetheart." He teased, hoping to free her mind of whatever hold it was under.

Had I really been ogling for that long? She thought to herself, internally wincing at how uncool that must have seemed. Thankfully, Steven appeared to be a good sport about it as he thumbed over the final button of his shirt. Now back to reality, she voiced her reason for needing him.

"Uh, the shower has me confuzzled." She admitted, followed by an external wince at the childish word she used. Without further questions or judgment in regard to her immaturity, Steven brushed by her and into the bathroom. She followed closer than she realized but was far too in her own head to actually see what he did to turn the rainfall head off.

When he turned, she was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, not comprehending that she was in the way of his one exit. Just like they had out in the living room, they stood staring at each other for a decent bit, only Simone broke the silence this time with a nervous laugh. "My hero! My hair thanks you!"

Why are you like this? She questioned in her head, fighting the urge to hurl herself out of the window mere feet away out of embarrassment. She was acting like she was in the presence of a stranger. A devastatingly handsome, charming stranger who made her feel like she was taking up far too much space as he eyed her.

Then she realized she really was taking up the space to remove himself from the bathroom for her to shower. She took a big step back and let out another tense chuckle. "Shit, sorry about that. Next time, don't be afraid to give me a good shove. I apparently need some sense knocked into me."

"I understand that this is probably a lot, so you'll find that I'm pretty forgiving. After all, you don't know me as well as you know Marc." Steven replied, taking his leave from the bathroom and brushing her shoulder.

Jesus, he smells good. She thought to herself before fully comprehending what he had said. If we're to get down to specifics, I probably know more about you than I do Marc , actually .

"I'm looking forward to it, though." Steven said, snapping her back to reality to find he was standing by with a folded towel in hand for her to take. If he had been speaking while she was lost in her mind, she wouldn't know what to respond with. It seemed she didn't need to as he finished his thought. "Us getting to know each other, I mean."

"Likewise." She replied with a smile, taking the towel but forcing her gaze away. Something about whatever this was felt like a solid 'nope' , like she was breaking a rule or being unfaithful, but to whom?

 

It was like a scene from a trashy romance novel, the way Simone sifted through a rack of dresses of all manner of styles and colors. Steven wasn't kidding about having options ready for her, but the abundance was overwhelming. The one thing he hadn't done was bring someone in to do her hair and makeup but imagined he would have if she didn't insist she could do it herself.

Dawning only a light blue robe, she would pick out a dress and hold it in front of herself in the standing mirror but put it away just as soon. The emerald green, almost satiny gown was gorgeous but she felt like it was too much. The navy blue high-neck halter was stunning, but again, not her speed.

Then she saw the tags on them, each price point making her suddenly wish she hadn't agreed to this. It was as she looked at them with wide eyes that Steven's lightly knocked on the sliding door. She looked down at herself, remembering how very naked she was under the robe but supposed she was decent enough.

"You can come in." She told him, involuntarily gripping the front of the robe as if it could close any more than it already was and keeping her back in the direction of the opening until she heard his feet hit the hardwood floor of the bedroom.

Looking behind her, she could have sworn Steven was capturing James Bond with his black bowtie and adjusting his fancy watch. There was no doubt that this was the life he knew and it became apparent to her that he was about to be very disappointed in his choice of company.

"Do you not like any of them?" He asked when he noticed her nitpicking the selection. The dresses were worth more than her monthly rent and she found herself trying to pick the one that she could stand the most at a lower price as if she were purchasing it for herself.

"I'm not sure I'm worthy. I mean, what if I get something on it?" Simone replied, being the type that would make a mess of herself at her own wedding if she wasn't too careful.

"I can assure you, a stain is not a big deal." He replied with a hardy laugh. He gave her a once-over, noting her shyness over wearing his robe and finding that there was a dress in the collection that would surely break her of her apprehension. "You should pick the red one."

The red one was the one that intimidated her the most. It was low-cut, backless, and had a slit all the way up to the middle of her right thigh. The only portion of the gown that gave her solace was the fact that it had long sleeves.

She was sure she would look ridiculous, sure that the only thing that would cause her more discomfort was if she showed up wearing this bathrobe. Still, she rolled with it as she had no better ideas.

Steven waited outside of the door, not in any hurry yet as they were making great time. Once the door slid open; however, he was nearly knocked on his ass. He couldn't have been more right about the dress being the perfect choice, hugging her in all the right places.

The heels seemed to fit, as well, giving her a bit of height to counter the long hem of the dress and accentuating her strong calves from what he could tell from the slit. He doubted there was a word in the English language that could accurately describe what he saw, but he would be damned if he didn't try a few on for size.

"Striking. Captivating. You truly are a marvel, Dr. Fredrick." He complimented her, pulling a flattering rouge to her cheeks.

"Holy shit, what a smoke show!" Jake made sure to make his opinion known from the recesses of their shared brain. What surprised him was the lack of commentary from Marc. Steven knew the thoughts that went through his mind that night with Quinten.

More than that, he knew how Marc felt about the woman he was getting ready to take out. His quietness at this time equated to stubbornness. Steven cared little about what his host felt, though. As they say, if you snooze, you lose.

 

They rode in a limousine, pictures were taken, and to everyone Steven knew, she was introduced as Dr. Simone Fredrick and referred to in a platonic manner. He was a gentleman and incredibly respectful, ensuring he stayed close to her side and noted her comfort. It was clear she felt out of place, even though at face value she looked like she belonged.

"Respectfully, I think you're in the wrong line of work, Simone." Steven commented somewhere toward the end of the night. She was holding his crooked elbow and seemed to be struggling far less in his presence than she was before.

"What exactly should I be doing?" She asked, both curious and unable to shake the feeling that there was a compliment coming.

"You could be a movie star."

"While I appreciate that, I couldn't imagine doing this all the time."

"Don't think too much about it. You're doing great." He said before there was a moment where he seemed to fade. His face went blank and his attention was pulled elsewhere. " Yes , Marc, just as you requested."

Oh, that's interesting. She thought to herself, noting how it seemed like they were communicating as if they were speaking on the phone. It was her first time witnessing them do this.

Simone suddenly felt embarrassed, remembering how Marc was able to glimpse the conversation at the pizza place, even with Jake in the driver's seat. It hadn't occurred to her before, and now that she had been reminded via their method of contact, she realized it was a high possibility that they had all eavesdropped on the dialogues she shared. More unfortunately than that, they likely saw her naked.

God, why didn't I think to ask about this before? Simone wondered, feeling the blood leave her face as flashes of everything said and done between her and Marc played through her head. To make matters worse, the explicit images only served to turn her on. It wouldn't have made a difference knowing they were watching.

"What'd he request?" She questioned, wondering if Steven would let her in the loop while also letting him and the others know that she caught that.

"He has some business of his own when we wrap up. Nothing to worry about, dear."

Dear? Simone thought to herself, knowing it wasn't meant as a term of endearment but liking the sound of it anyway. It was far more tame in tone and circumstance than Marc letting the word 'baby' slip twice while they were in bed, but it hit somewhere deep within her all the same.

The ride back to the hotel was surprisingly quiet and not due to any awkwardness. As it turned out, Simone had bigger problems than she realized that went far beyond just finding Steven's sophistication attractive and fascinating. She wanted him in the worst way but wouldn't dare make that move. When they arrived, she prepared to step out and noticed Steven staying behind.

"You're not coming up?" She questioned, causing Steven to snap his fingers and reach into his pocket for a key to the penthouse.

“We have to go to the Mission. The bed is yours and if you need anything just give Marc a call.”

She was suddenly awash with disappointment but knew there was likely little she could do to change his mind. It didn't seem like Steven's idea, after all, and if she held the ability to sway Marc to do anything outside of making him think with his dick, she had yet to find it. With a nod, she took the key and exited the vehicle.

Simone was less than hyped about having the place to herself for the time being but found it remarkably easy to get over it once she located a fancy bottle of scotch. She didn't prefer brown liquor, but after getting a decent buzz from the champagne at the gala, it only felt right to keep the party going. Her idea of a party ended up being drinking on the couch while watching 'American Psycho' until she eventually dozed off.

 

Marc managed to get through the night relatively unscathed physically. Mentally; however, he was all over the place. After letting Steven take the reigns and make an appearance in the public eye, he was normally able to get back to business as usual.

His mistake was letting Moni get involved this time. The awareness that she was at the penthouse by herself was enough to throw him off his game. It took a lot of willpower to sit on the sidelines while she interacted with Steven; smiling at him, giggling, stumbling over herself, the spark of disapproval when he handed off the key and sent her on her way.

For the same reason Marc took the limo to the Mission, he changed out of his suit before he left to go back to the hotel in the early morning hours. He didn't want the wrong people seeing Moon Knight going anywhere near the place. It might have seemed convoluted, but any steps were necessary ones.

Upon entering, Marc was met by a room blanketed in darkness except for the light from the TV illuminating Moni asleep on the couch. She hadn't even taken off her heels before conking out, and judging by the glass and broken-in bottle of scotch on the coffee table, he supposed she was comfortable. Still, there was a nice big bed she could have been sleeping in.

“Hey." He whispered, giving her shoulder a light shake. Moni responded with a groggy hum but didn't open her eyes. "Go get in bed.”

“Oh, you can have the bed. This couch rocks.” She replied, curling up further into the cushions. Marc wanted to argue that he wasn't planning to sleep yet but realized his words would fall on ears that had no interest in listening to him. Without much deliberation, he scooped her up and carried her there.

Marc gently placed her on top of the covers, unable to help himself from admiring her sweet, sleepy face. It occurred to him that he hadn't said much to her since her arrival and figured he would try.

“Did you have fun?” He asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. His hand twitched slightly, seemingly fighting against itself to caress her leg. He figured he could be helpful instead and pulled the shoe off of her right foot.

“It was fun, just out of place.” She mumbled, still not opening her eyes. Her toes wiggled once they were free of the high heel, stretching and flexing with relief.

“Not really your scene?” He asked as he pulled off the opposite shoe and received another hum in response that could have been from comfort or agreement. Either way, he knew the answer. Moni never really was big on get-togethers but that night, he saw her flourish in a way he hadn't before.

She looked drop-dead gorgeous and he hated that he couldn't bring himself to say something when they first saw it. Even then, getting an eyeful, he wondered why a simple comment about her dress refused to leave his lips.

Because Steven did that enough . He thought, each comment made to her feeling like a distinctively heavier strike to the gut.

"Striking. Captivating. You truly are a marvel. You could be a movie star." Steven had told her. It felt calculated, every bit of it carefully orchestrated to torture him. The dress, the compliments, even there as she lazily rolled onto her stomach to get comfortable.

The slice in the garment rode up her thigh, fabric caught under her and exposing her full bare leg along with a considerable amount of her hip and the side of her buttock. The patch of skin looked warm to the touch, his thumb twitching again, itching to smooth over it.

“Marc?” Moni uttered his name, breaking his unintentional focus, causing him to be the one to answer with a broken 'hm?' this time around. "Thank you for taking care of me all the time.”

This gave him pause. How long had it been since someone thanked him for something so small? It wasn't like helping her take off her shoes was a big deal, but 'all the time' referred to his concern for her and likely went all the way back to when they were kids. Hell, if he didn't know any better, he might even assume it tied in with his watching her from afar.

“It’s what we do.” He responded, giving her credit because he knew she would do more for him if he allowed it. There was another silence that nearly tricked him into believing she had fallen back to sleep, and rather than get up to leave right away, he lingered. As much as he wanted to be the man who could take her to beautiful places and then hold her as she slept, he couldn't. That broke his heart more than it did hers, he was sure of that.

“Are you looking at my butt?” She spoke up from her half-sleep again. Strangely enough, he hadn't been this time.

“No.”

“I’m drunk and sleepy but that doesn’t make me any less able to catch you lying, dear.”

Dear. That was the word Steven had used earlier. It was casual enough to seem less than affectionate but it was enough to prompt her to use it to poke him, even then. It was also enough to bother him, and he wouldn't put it past Steven to do that on purpose.

“It wasn’t a lie. Just choosing my words carefully.” Marc explained as he stood up, deciding then was a good time to take his leave. Moni seemed to be dissatisfied with that answer, though.

“We shouldn't do that.”

She was right. It didn't make a whole lot of sense for him to claim taking care of each other was 'what they do' when they couldn't be straight with each other. Unfortunately, it was a big part of why he had to hide behind half-truths and dead eyes. If she got what she wanted, who was to say the world wouldn't punish them for it?

“We have to, sometimes.” He stated simply, continuing his walk out of the room, waiting for her to fire back at him with something, anything that might make him take it back. If she asked, he would. If she held out her arms, he would join her there.

It was cruel and unfair, and he knew that. He couldn't expect her to take every step toward making him change his mind. Where she lacked in ability to just come out and tell him to be with her, she made up for in spades by simply existing. That had to be enough.

He made it to the doorway and turned to see if she had moved at all, but she was still on her stomach, wrinkling the dress that Steven had spent far too much money on but her eyes were open now. The longing stare burned into his soul but her mouth didn't move. “Go back to sleep.” He told her, followed by his pivoting around.

Chapter 16: Water

" God damn, I wanna undress you
I wanna impress you, but I ain't gon ' stress you
I wanna undo the things I said before
Damn, I ain't been this wet in year s "
-"Water" by Kehlani

 

It was a hot night, which was unusual for early December in New York. In fact, it was completely unheard of. What was also unheard of was Marc being in bed, in the penthouse, during the dark hours but somehow, this didn't feel strange.

Marc attempted to shed the covers that cloaked his body to allow his skin to cool but it didn't help much. It felt like someone had cranked the furnace up to 85 degrees or turned the oven on to let him slow cook. If it were any warmer, he would surely be in Hell.

"Hey, sugar." A familiar voice spoke sultrily to him from the doorway of the bedroom. There Moni stood wearing that same red dress from the gala. 'Sugar' was a new nickname he wasn't quite prepared for but he didn't protest it. He found that he physically couldn't if he wanted to. It was like being gagged, only not.

Moni began approaching at a slow pace, letting the dress fall from her shoulders, sliding it down her hips, and stepping out of it. As much as he loved that dress on her, it looked much better on the floor.

There was something else that wasn't quite right about her, though. She eyed him like a big cat stalking its prey. Her confidence was nearly unsettling. That shy woman who couldn't bring herself to look at him as she came wasn't in this room with them and in her place was a goddess.

Moni crawled up the length of his body, irises unmoving. Her head dipped down near his boxer-clad erection and her lips grazed the area so lightly that he could have been fooled into believing it was just her breath. Teasingly, she pulled her face back up and continued her trek.

Marc attempted to move his arms but found they lay still at his sides now and not doing what he wanted them to do once she planted herself on top of him. Willing his hands to travel to her hips felt like an absurd trick of the mind. She was right there, but all he could do was see her. No feeling, no scent, no control over his faculties.

"I take it you read my signals, Dr. Fredrick." He said, but it wasn't him at all. That wasn't what he wanted to say. His hands moved now, but not how he tried to get them to, reaching up and squeezing her breasts.

"How could I not?" She responded, humming beautifully at the feel of being touched. "Are you gonna be good for me?"

His head nodded up and down in confirmation but Marc knew that was far from how he would let this happen. He knew this sensation, though. Or at least, something similar. This was what it was like to be in the backseat, letting one of the other guys take over, but he didn't remember letting anyone else have control.

This was a nightmare. The woman he craved was rutting on his cock but he couldn't feel it, couldn't stop it, couldn't respond the way he so desperately needed to. He was sure whatever this was, it was aimed to be his undoing. Surely he would scream if she came and he wasn't present to feel it.

"Oh, Steven." She moaned the name that wasn't his own and it became clear what was happening. This was worse than he could have ever imagined and he couldn't even opt out of viewing it. He couldn't take over. He couldn't even speak to the man who took over his body to try and convince him to stop this. He forgot how to.

Then suddenly, his mind was his own. His body was his once again. He could move his hands, sit up, blink but Moni was no longer there. He wasn't in the bed but on the couch alone. It was a dream. An awful, terrible, heinous dream.

Marc peered into the bedroom behind him to find Moni was still sprawled in the bed, fast asleep. As far as he was concerned, that was a win, but the thumping of his heart in his chest and the pain in his overinflated cock told him he fucked up somewhere, and the interactions he witnessed between Moni and Steven affected him more than he realized.

I could change that outcome before it even gets a chance to come to fruition . He thought to himself, imagining going into that room and slipping into the sheet next to her. If she woke up, he could just tell her he loves her. Neither of them would have to worry about anyone else after that.

It would be nice. Better than that, it would be perfect. Would it be right, though? Should he put her in such a position just because he had a nightmare about having to sit back and watch her fuck Steven, based on a bit of harmless flirting? No. He couldn't do that.

"Fuck you, Steven." He muttered to himself as he stood up to go shower and relieve himself of the bothersome morning wood he had developed.

"Excuse me?" The man in question answered back, clearly offended by the seemingly random sentence directed at him. Marc didn't elaborate or apologize. It was like getting mad at your significant other for cheating on you in a dream when they never did such a thing in real life. There was no reason to start anything and hopefully, there never would be.

 

Simone woke up with the harsh reminder that she drank scotch before bed lingering on her breath. Her face was so deep in the pillow that her neck felt stiff, and her eyelashes were stuck together.

How long has it been since you fell asleep with makeup on ? She thought as she sat up . The sound of running water in the bathroom caused her to remember the ramblings of the early morning . Marc carried her to bed, took her heels off of her sore feet, and she did him the courtesy of asking him if he was looking at her back end . Real smooth, Fredrick.

She couldn't remember if the door locked on the bathroom door or not, no matter how hard she tried to picture the knob in her head. She figured she would have locked it when she showered the day before and that would be enough to tell her. Then again, that same logic made her believe she hadn't locked it, and for no other reason than to subtly invite Steven in if he felt bold enough to try.

Am I bold enough ? She thought as she stood on her pained feet and approached the door . With how many times Marc intruded on her space, it only felt fair to do the same to him at least once . It came with some serious hyping herself up .

Come on. Just twist the knob. Be a menace one time. Run in and hop on. How bad could the repercussions of that be?

Thinking about it took a lot more time than she had before the water stopped. That made a different image come to mind.

Walk in, maybe give him the old ' oops, sorry! ' and accidentally bump the door shut with your ass on purpose.

Once again, her overthinking made her completely miss her window and before she knew it, the knob turned, and she saw skin before she fully registered she had been caught lurking outside of the bathroom like a creep. The odd thing; however, was she wasn't the one who jumped.

Marc nearly flew out of his own skin, not expecting Moni to be there. Face to glistening chest, she couldn't help but laugh at how the tables had turned. For once, he was the one getting spooked, and she hadn't even intended to do that.

“For a superhero, you startle easy.” She teased, pointing her index finger in his direction but trailing off slightly as she became far more aware of the fact that he was standing in front of her in a towel hung low on his hips.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be there.” Marc defended with a heavy eye roll. He had hoped she was still in bed so he could continue to debate with himself about passing her by and letting her sleep for however long she wanted, flight plans be damned.

The more she laughed at him; though, the harder it became to contain himself from putting her right back on that bed and making sure she couldn't get up. That feeling seemed to have been subsided by his beating off in the shower providing him with a bit of leeway. For now.

“I’m literally the least scary thing you’ve ever seen.” She said as she caught her breath.

You're the most terrifying, actually . Marc thought as he shrugged off the comment, neither confirming nor denying her claim before her eyes shifted to the bathroom behind him.

“Shower?”

"I already took one." He responded, gesturing to his current state and earning another chuckle from her. From that, he was able to gather that it wasn't an invitation and sighed with understanding. “Go ahead.”

The water started back up as Marc threw on his clothes. Normally, he would be sleeping right now, but he had to be a decent host until Moni had to leave. It was either that or she would have to entertain herself for the next few hours.

He wanted to get through this visit without incident. The main goal was to have a good time, maybe order lunch and watch a few movies for real this time. That didn't seem like a difficult task until, from where he was standing, he could hear the sound of something vibrating and nearly stumbled.

No way . He thought, the image manifesting in his mind of her on her back under the rainfall head with a vibrator she somehow snuck past him. His stomach sank like it had been filled with stones, his brain urging his feet to get moving.

A second shower wouldn't be the end of the world. Then he remembered he saw her electric toothbrush on the vanity and had to still himself and shoo away the filthy image of taking away her alone time. She still brushes her teeth in the shower, just like she used to.

Now that the truth hit, he was stuck with a feeling of contentment. It was comforting to know that was a habit she kept, even if he used to give her shit for it. He suddenly couldn't stop himself from getting a little payback for laughing in his face.

"You still brush your teeth when you shower?" He asked through the door, leaning on it smugly. What followed was the sound coming to a halt and a spitting noise to further confirm his suspicions.

"You still think about me when you shower?" She retorted, no doubt smiling and feeling proud of herself. It was low-hanging fruit but seeing as he had done just that moments before, he had no room to speak on it. Still, that was something he never outwardly admitted to and completely speculative. At least he had concrete proof.

"That's a lot of shit talk from the one who I just found standing outside of the bathroom."

"Well, my ears were burning." She stuck to her guns about him thinking about her, giggling. He still took the road of ambiguity but laughed with her. Her sunny disposition seemed to float into her next thought. "Do you plan on standing there talking to me through the door the whole time?"

He froze, gaze drifting to the doorknob as he wondered if that was an invitation to enter or a request for him to leave her alone for the rest of her shower. He thought to ask, wishing she would be more clear or spell it out for him.

Simone waited, head leaning out of the way of the water to avoid wetting her strands. She wanted him to come in but didn't want to outright tell him to get his ass in the shower and show her what he had been picturing. A rush of anxiety fell over her as she listened closely for the door to open but what followed was silence of the most eerie degree.

Maybe he's waiting for me to keep egging him on ? Perhaps I need to keep poking the bear . She considered but as far as her teasing, she was suddenly drawing blanks . Or I pushed him too far?

It occurred to her that it was never explicitly discussed if they would be having sex again. Obviously, like the other two times, she assumed it would just transpire without much thought behind it.

For there to be a discussion about sleeping together there has to be a discussion about what that means, idiot . As if you've put that conversation together somewhere other than in your head the last week and a half.

Frustrated, Simone turned off the water and just as she did so, the sound of the sliding door could be heard outside. She let out a sigh and toweled off as she wondered what she could have possibly said to cause that interaction to go south.

I wish I could tell what the fuck he wants from me . Are we friends ? Am I just a couple of holes to use and nothing more?

"No." She whispered back to herself. "You don't carry someone you don't want to care for to bed and help them out of their shoes. You don't hound them about being careful and installing security systems and locking their doors. None of this makes any goddamn sense to me."

She opened the door to the bathroom and found the bedroom closed off and devoid of Marc. There was still a lot of time left in the day before she had to catch her flight back to Chicago, and the idea of sitting in this room questioning the nature of their relationship just like she did alone at her house made her feel like packing up and sitting at the airport instead.

It wasn't in her nature to be overly vocal. She had a thousand different inquiries reeling through her head at all times and was lucky to even get one out in the open. That same thing went for opinions and feelings. It was easier to deal with the problems of children than it was to face her own.

Knowing it could cause discourse and understanding that it might lead to things she wasn't sure if she was ready to hear, she decided it was time to be brave. She wanted to be on board with whatever Marc wanted to be. She wanted there to be no confusion over her feelings going forward.

Only this time, she wouldn't go full monsoon with her words and wear herself into a panic like she did before. If he was truly about her, he was about to prove it.

Marc was sitting on the couch, facing away from the entrance to the bedroom. He left because he needed to get ahold of himself. This wasn't like before; there was no ambush, no going in blind, or plain and obvious signs that something would happen.

There was only the faintest hint that trouble was on the horizon. Normally he would truck forth, but the kind of peril that waited for him beyond that bathroom door was something he wasn't prepared for. Every step he took inched him closer to tripping and falling into the delicate grasp of a relationship he wanted but did not need.

They could laugh together just like they did, have copious amounts of mind-blowing sex, and talk on the phone about their days, but where was the line? If he didn't draw it, there wouldn't be one at all. Moni didn't know the ugly part of his life and keeping it that way felt crucial. If she knew, he would go right back to watching her with binoculars with only the memory of how her skin tasted to tell him how terribly he messed up.

The sound of the door sliding open behind him pulled him away from his pondering and he looked back out of instinct, expecting Moni to emerge fully showered and clothed and maybe ready to eat lunch. All he could hope for was that she was on the same page.

The only thing he saw pop out of the doorway was her hand holding a white towel before it let the towel fall to the floor. For a moment, he questioned if this was a trick, maybe she wasn't sure what to do with the used cloth, but simply tossing it out of the room wasn't her style. The warm almond color of the silhouette on the other side of the frosted glass answered that for him.

So much for that line. He thought to himself as the form shifted and moved, the texture doing little to conceal the curves of her body. What followed was the sound of her suitcase zipping slowly. She was goading him, but for what, he wasn't sure. Bringing his head back forward, he decided to ask.

"Moni. Why would you kick me out just to open the door?"

This was a dangerous game. It was either risk toeing the line and walking into the room stark nude or staying in here without pushing it beyond the open invitation.

Simone tried to appeal to the side of him that seemed to love taking her by surprise, taking her time, shedding the towel in hopes he was eyeing the door and waiting for that moment to swing it open. When he didn't, she made a strategic move.

No expectations, no pressure, just two people in each other's company. If Marc looked, he looked. If he came in, he came in. If he left her alone, he left her alone.

Or if he stormed in here and bent me over this mattress, I guarantee we'd both have a lot more fun.

"I never said you had to leave. I asked if you were going to talk to me through the door." She answered, halting for a moment in hopes of hearing his footsteps, but nothing followed. "I prefer to see your face when you talk to me."

Take the damn bait. She thought.

Marc could have kicked himself for not walking into that bathroom right then and there. He nearly stumbled over his own feet upon hearing what he assumed was her pleasuring herself and yet he had second thoughts about simply stepping in to chat.

Am I really that weak-willed when it comes to her?

The answer to that was yes.

"Come here." He demanded, knowing she hadn't even begun to get dressed and not caring. She opened the door, she would be the one walking through it. His eyes strained to stay forward as he heard bare feet pad against the floor, growing closer until she reached his peripheral vision, then stopped directly in his line of sight.

All he had to do was say the word and she would do it. She couldn't think of a single boundary or hard limit she wouldn't drop if he said so. What was strange to her was how unreactive he was being, like he was waiting for her to make a move like before. His mouth opened and she hoped it would be something as punchy as his previous command, but it wasn't that at all. "What do you want?"

You almost had me fooled. She thought to herself as she stood before him, locked into his stare, completely uncovered. That menacing regard, the way his eyes scanned her from head to toe, the stiffness of his body, it was far too apparent that he was playing a role. A wolf in sheep's clothing. He was holding back on her.

As a test, she didn't respond with words, only stepping forward until her legs brushed the denim that covered his knees. He looked up at her, head slightly cocked like he was waiting for the answer to leave her lips. Just as she did on her couch, she climbed into his lap instead. He didn't protest but his hands stayed splayed to either side.

"Can I kiss you?" She wondered. Before, she didn't ask before she did it to mock him. Now, she wanted to see if he would permit such a feat. Marc did far more than that; however, as his mouth met hers so hard and hungrily she nearly fell backward.

Almost like a trust exercise, his hands finally found her back and pulled her chest so close she could feel his heartbeat dance with her own. His rough palms glided along her skin and sent goosebumps through places she didn't know they could form.

Marc knew he had an issue when it came to her lips being in the vicinity. He likely would have done it even if she hadn't asked. His body had a way of responding to her unlike anyone else. The minty freshness of her tongue and the warmth of her core spread along his lap were merely winds that stoked this wildfire. Though he could keep this up for as long as time would allow, he had to know one thing when he pulled back.

"Is that what you wanted?" He asked her breathlessly, fighting against the urge to go back for seconds and thirds until their lips bruised and his cock cried. Twice now she had been handed what she wanted on a silver platter and as much as Marc enjoyed it, he couldn't help but wonder when he would get his turn.

Moni knew what Marc had said before about not keeping score and was able to gather how much he prided himself in making her come but she knew she stood no chance at bringing out the wild side if she couldn't prove herself able to take a leap. That begged one question in her mind:

How hard could it be to give a blowjob?

It didn't seem like a new task. She read enough smut in her time to have a basic idea and had the odd run-in with testing her gag reflex of ice pops. Then there was the fact that she was exceptional with her tongue. That only left personalization.

"How about you tell me what you want, instead?" She whispered, putting in maximum effort not to choke on her words before the dick even made it to her mouth. Her courage was already wavering enough as she attempted to move smoothly back to the floor.

Marc couldn't help but tick an eyebrow up as he witnessed her sink between his thighs. This was a welcome surprise, indeed. He didn't doubt her ability to follow instructions so that was covered, and even if he had to refrain from fucking that pretty mouth, it was like his birthday came early.

Being so close to his cock was baffling enough to have her attempting mental math to find out if her jaw could open adequately to even fit the base of the thing past her teeth. Though she was intimidated, she wouldn't be defeated. After a deep breath to gather her nerves, she ran her tongue along the underside of his length, probing him with her eyes.

Once she reached the tip, she swirled her tongue around it and watched as his head fell back onto his shoulders with a shaky sigh. It was interesting to have him at her mercy, holding so much power in her hands. It almost felt wrong.

She was going so painfully slow with her lips wrapped around his shaft, inching more of it into her mouth little by little. Her rough tastebuds and warm saliva had his ego taking a backseat for a moment. It felt fantastic and it became clear that she was eager to please him.

"You've never done this before?" He asked through a sharp breath when the head of his cock reached the back of her throat. She couldn't answer with words, only a hum that sounded like a 'nuh-uh'. Her windpipe thrummed, and she gagged before her mouth glided back up for her to take in some air. "Could've fooled me. You're doing so great, Moni."

If the way he looked at her and the way he bit back moans didn't do it for her, that praise certainly did. It was like her insecurities about going down on him or casually being naked were gone when she repeated the previous trick and his hips bucked upward.

Marc's hand found the back of her head before he fully realized it moved and his fingers ran through her strands, itching to take a handful. He imagined she would love having her hair pulled and the savagery of having her throat fucked.

Just have to have you do this a few more times before we try that. He thought to himself, forcing his hand to smooth over the crown of her head. He realized he was doing it again, planning for a 'next time' after repeatedly telling himself to put this to rest. It was becoming plain in his mind: there was no stopping this.

"Get up here." He growled, feeling her throat swallow around him once more. Moni did so without hesitation, positioning her face over his lap and her knees on the couch. From there, he was able to snake his hand around her ass. "Does sucking my dick turn you on?" He asked as his fingers explored her wet folds.

Another hum fled her nostrils as Marc's hand went to work and without thinking, she gagged herself again. In her research, she became curious about the idea of losing oxygen for your lover. Testing your trust by letting them physically take your breath away in many different fashions. It seemed that had her on the brink, as well.

As delightful as it was to have Moni's mouth working his cock, Marc realized just how much he needed her cunt again when he sunk his middle finger inside and another whine swam through his ears. He couldn't let her have all the fun.

His solution was to pull her head away from his lap by her hair just enough to get her attention rather than manhandle her. When her face came back into view he noticed her watery eyes and a triumphant grin on her swollen lips. That made his grip a bit tighter, and in response, she gasped but the smile didn't falter.

Oh, she likes that.

"I wanna try again." She spoke softly, and for a moment he wasn't sure what she was referring to before her leg swung back over his thighs as it had before.

"Yeah?" He confirmed, holding back a tinge of disappointment as her previous position was giving him the idea to blow her back out, but that could wait until she struggled enough. "Keep your hands on my shoulders. Don't rush yourself."

She tucked her lower lip between her teeth in concentration, keeping her hands where instructed once she was positioned. There was more than enough lubrication, just like last time, but she once more found herself hesitating as she lowered herself.

Her patience had been washed away when his thick tip breached her entrance, and she knew what this would do to her, but didn't care. She wanted to feel him fully. In one quick motion, she punched her hips down like ripping off a bandaid.

A loud bellow flew through her throat at the sheer force of his head coming into contact with her cervix but the fullness alone had that pinching sensation on the backburner. Her face buried into his shoulder and her arms wrapped around his neck like a hug.

Marc let out a grunt, the sudden gripping of her walls around him both catching him off guard and filling him with bliss. That was the opposite of what he told her to do. He wanted to be upset, but it would be a lesson learned. Still, upon hearing the pained sound she made, his hands met her hips as if he could hit the undo button. "What'd I tell you?"

"I miss the sore feeling." She admitted shakily, pulling her head away from his neck to look at him. Dirty talk was never her strong suit, but she already pushed a couple of limits today. One more surely wouldn't kill her. "I want every step I take to be a reminder that you stuffed your fat cock into me."

Marc was floored by the filth that he heard leave her mouth, but like everything else, it sounded angelic in her voice. The corner of her lips perked up at his genuine astonishment, which grew greater when he felt her roll her hips. Who was he to deny her of such a wish?

"Take it, then."

He didn't have to tell her twice. Using her grasp on his shoulders to steady her, she leaned back to allow his cock to rock against that spot that made her toes curl. With every forward motion, a moan would spill from her teeth and heat would bloom in her gut.

The part of Marc that wanted this to be a teachable moment vanished as he was overcome by the feeling of her grinding his cock along her walls. His fingertips dug into the meat of her hips and ass, guiding her up and down, pulling her closer to the light. "Just like that, baby. Use that dick."

She used it as if she owned it, swiveling and jerking her lower half to every pleasure point and nerve center within her. The longer she did it, the less it became about determination to impress Marc and more about reaching the earth-shattering peek that was so close she could taste it. To get there, she wanted to keep him talking.

"Do you like this?" She asked between groans, knowing he did by his sounds alone. She needed him to ramble, praise, and talk her through. It seemed Marc realized he had been slacking as he blinked back to reality from the leisurely gaze he kept on her face.

"This is amazing." He started, shifting his focus from her beautiful, blissful face to her cunt gripping his cock. She was close but needed a little more help. When she descended, he thrust hard to meet her, quickening the pace. " This is better, though, huh?"

" Yes ." She hissed in the small window of respite before the motion repeated.

"You wanna come all over my cock?"

Her body fell into him, face returning to the nape of his neck as his hands and lower body took over the motions, leaving her fumbling for an answer while her brain short-circuited. Her climax was within reach, but in the absence of her answer, Marc yanked her ass up and his pelvis down. "Fucking answer me or I'll stop."

Panic at the lack of stimulation consumed her ability to formulate words. On top of that, she had completely forgotten what he asked her. This was cruel and unusual, and she was fully immobilized from forcing her hips back down by the strong hold on her.

"I-I forg-got." She stammered, her body shaking from being jolted away from relief and the torturous emptiness. Marc tsked at her.

"Don't go dumb on me now, babygirl. Do you wanna come on my cock?"

" Yes ! "

"Say it."

"I wanna come on your cock."

As if those were the magic words, he was back inside of her in a flash, picking up the same rough motion, giving her no time to breathe between his upward maneuvering. She swore if he did that again, she would cry but she was already there, tears gathering along her lower lids.

"Let me hear it, Moni. Don't be shy."

She began to wail but she couldn't tell if the tears falling down her cheeks were because of pleasure or pent-up emotion. Either way, it was loud and filled her with a profound sense of release even before she orgasmed. Even in this state, she recognized that a painful howl like that could stop this again, so she did the one thing she could think of to muffle herself.

When Marc felt Moni's mouth against his neck, he almost felt bad for edging her. Each kiss and nip felt like a plea for forgiveness or penance. On top of that, it sent shivers through him that made him want to cherish her. He continued to mercilessly pound into her and that familiar squeezing returned.

Simone's efforts to keep herself contained were fruitless when Marc's left hand came between their chests and pushed her backward, denying her the patch of skin she had to distract her mouth. His dark, lustful eyes zeroed in on her face and his palm landed on her collarbone, thumb making the lightest indention in her windpipe as if he had to force it there.

That caused her to come undone before she even had a chance to tell him she was coming. He nearly had her throat in his grip and the thought had her foaming at the mouth, abs tensing, the only thing steadying her from fully falling being his control. She couldn't announce her orgasm, but she sure could sing his name.

That was good enough for him. On the brink, he fought to keep his eyes open, not missing the moisture on her cheeks and the redness of the white that surrounded those enchanting brown marbles. Of all the ways he had likely made Moni cry, he was taken by this one in particular.

Her shouting his name, quaking and twitching, it was all a thing of beauty and brought him to his own intense conclusion, plummeting her hips back down flush to his pelvis hard enough to echo through the penthouse. A broken, throaty groan passed through his gritted teeth that drowned out the squeal that shot from her lips on impact.

On the comedown, she slumped back onto the couch beside him, feeling the aftershock linger in her newly exhausted body. It was a battle to not curl up into his side, allowing his warmth to soothe her. Instead, they sat in silence, catching their breath, waiting for the other to say or do something.

After several long, deafened minutes, Moni managed to find the strength in her boneless legs to stand and go back to the bedroom for clothes. This left Marc sitting, blinking away the spots in his vision, and questioning how she could be so nonchalant.

It felt uncharacteristic but even if she was faking her ability to be able to walk away from a moment so profound without so much as a kiss, he supposed he was lucky. She could be hounding him, questioning why their only form of intimacy was sex, but she didn't.

I can admit when I'm wrong. He thought to himself. This was the third time they'd done this dance now and it was never meant to get that far. He expected it to stop at his eating her out weeks ago, then they fully fucked with no established code or label, and they had just done it again.

Simone had just slid the jeans over her butt when Marc emerged in the doorway. Her eyes flicked to him then back to her suitcase. He was disheveled, with a patch of moisture on the front of his pants courtesy of her and a few new wrinkles in his shirt. There was a pretty decent hickey on his neck, as well that she chose not to point out.

It's about time I got you back for all those bruises. She thought to herself, fighting the smirk that wanted to curl upon her mouth. Though, I probably have some new ones I'll find tomorrow. My throat not included.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle this. I mean, it’s my fault that this happened in the first place.” Marc spoke, crossing his arms over his chest. His tone was somewhere between prideful and reluctant and for a moment she was almost sure he was trying to outright and officially call off something. She just needed to know what, exactly.

“And by this , you mean…”

“Our particular brand of friendship." He clarified, now taking a few steps inside.

Friendship. She thought, feeling indifferent about the word. It was what she wanted in the first place and she was happy that he finally acknowledged that they were still friends but she never would have placed their new situation under that umbrella.

"It’s good, right?” He piped up again, fishing for her true thoughts.

“Well, of course. Did you think I would be a wet blanket about it?"

“I assumed you would have far more expectations.”

It didn't take a genius to know that Marc wasn't trying to start a serious commitment with Moni. Even in the throws of sex when he looked at her with admiration that of a man deeply in love, she understood where they fell. The problem was that she didn't care for it. The other problem was she was terrible at putting her feelings ahead of others.

“Such as?” She wondered aloud, curious at how much he knew and chose to ignore.

“The things I’m not able to provide. The public displays, the labels, moving in, stuff like that." He listed them off like they were burdens. It sounded like he correlated her asking for affection with her asking for the moon or stars in pretty pink gift wrapping. "This way, I know you’re home, where it’s safe.”

That last bit made her backtrack. When they first reconnected, he tried to push her away with the absurd idea that he was dangerous and that she shouldn't want anything to do with him. Now, he was trying to play protector, like whatever demons chased him would put her in their sights as well.

It sounded like the justification Simone O'Hara used for everyone keeping tabs on each other or when she told Moni to lay low because they shared a face. O'Hara had enemies. That, along with being Khonshu's fist of vengeance, was something she had in common with Marc no matter the Earth.

“So that’s your excuse.” She muttered, speaking her thoughts out loud and nearly unable to hold her amusement in. It was the point made in many books and movies she had consumed over the years. The hero cares so much about the people around them that they just have to push everyone away. Classic.

“Here we go.” Marc replied, frustration in his voice. Her calling him out resonated with him as if he spoke too soon, confirming his doubts. She jumped to defend herself, stopping her movements before putting on a shirt.

“I’m not trying to start anything but you can’t seem to make up your mind about whether it’s you or the people that hate you I should worry about.”

“It’s both." Marc corrected quickly, voice raising just enough to make Moni drop her visible attitude. He sensed more questions, so he proceeded. "It's why I don’t have access to my kid anymore. It’s why the only people I can call friends are the same people on my payroll.”

She took a moment to mull this over. It was heartwarming that he cared enough for her but it seemed needless. Typically, in portrayals of this scenario through media, the idea of keeping people away backfired.

He wants someone at his beck and call but not a relationship . Well , not just anyone, obviously . Let's delve into that.

“Not to be presumptuous but couldn’t that be achieved with a long-distance relationship?”

“Aside from the fact that I’m not great in even a live-in relationship, I think there should be certain freedoms.”

Bullshit, dude . You would lose your mind if I slept with someone else and you know damn well you could get another woman in any area code to fuck you but you started this thing with me, instead . She thought, realizing just how far of a shout this was from the reconnection she intended for in the first place.

She wanted to point out the discrepancy in his 'certain freedoms', bring back up the point she made before about Nick and Quinten, and maybe insinuate possible jealousy over her getting cozy with Steven. Instead, she blurted out something else.

"Tell me how you see this going. Paint a picture of the bad shit."

That was easy enough, seeing as it wasn't only a thought he was often plagued with but it was a curse of his profession. He took a seat on the edge of the bed so there was no mistaking how serious he was.

“Think of it like this. Say someone gets a list of people I care about—someone dangerous—and decides to go around killing those people or wrangling them up. I can’t have you on that list.”

“You say that like it’s happened before.” She responded, noting the somber expression and how he never pulled it away, then realized she still hadn't put on her shirt. This was hardly the kind of conversation she wanted to have with her bare chest exposed, so she pulled the top over her head.

“Something like that.” Marc said so quietly, she almost missed it. It tugged something in her heart, pulling her back to the face of the boy she knew who got into fights to keep his little brother and best friend safe. She sat down next to him, having to still her hand from reaching for his.

"You know I found out Luis was a pedophile when I was six. You know I watched my dad get decapitated when I was eight. I listen to kids tell me about the shit they've been through at even younger ages every day. I don't think there's anything I haven't heard." She spoke, hoping that maybe it would pull out whatever was eating him. "You can tell me anything."

"Just know that I will do anything to make sure you're okay." He skated around her point, feeling his blood pressure rise at the idea of switching up on him and reminding himself that she was just trying to be an ear, not a therapist.

His avoidance bugged Simone, but she knew she couldn't compel him to speak about things he didn't want to share. She would have to seek solace in what he did say rather than what he chose not to. Even so little managed to put her in a place of peace.

“Always protecting that little catholic girl from the south side of Chicago who never got into trouble, huh?”

And look how far she's come . Marc thought to himself, keeping his body from scooting closer or leaning in her direction. It was like fighting gravity or magnetism.

“Nothing changed. Just higher stakes now.”

Simone wanted to say fuck the stakes. She wanted to tell him that this conversation only encumbered her with the realization that if he wanted to be with her, he would. Instead, she was a dirty secret, but the thing she had to live with was that he was hers, as well.

As much as he told himself he didn’t need her, he had twenty years of keeping up with her every move and well over ten years of seeing her every day before that under his belt that said overwise. There was no way he could stay away from her now and lying to himself would only solidify his state of delusion.

His mind went back to all the things he never said, and he decided if she was as rational as she seemed, she would never put herself through this for someone with the kind of baggage he toted.

"You know, I don't actually live here. I live at the Mission and sleep in a sarcophagus.” He admitted, likely to the chagrin of Steven. To his surprise, she chuckled.

"I knew all those video calls weren't from an actual bed. I thought it was a futon, though."

"A futon? I'm a grown man, Moni." He pretended to be offended. This made her laugh even more and the sound of it prodded him to keep going. "You're telling me you flew out here under the assumption that you might end up fucking me on a futon?"

"In my defense, I'd fuck you in the sarcophagus too." She said through her giggles, knowing the futon sounded sane in comparison. "And the elevator. And the balcony."

"Don't forget the shower and limo."

"Oh, no, those crossed my mind also."

The laughing died back down to longing stares wrapped in warm silence. Simone's eyes continued to flit between his eyes and his lips. Marc's did the same, even after being more than satisfied with their previous trist he couldn't help but note that they were listing off odd places to sleep together when there was a bed right under them.

"You sure you can't get away with another day or two?" The words slipped from the tip of his tongue as if they weren't his own. He almost questioned if Steven commandeered his mouth to speak his mind for him. Moni's eyes seemed to light up, but only for a second before they fell to her lap.

"We both know if you let me stay here for too long, you'll never want me to leave."

Even against her better judgment, knowing she needed to go, needing to keep her appointments and checking on Maricella, something in her mind hoped he could make it hard for her to escape. It was unusual for her to feel so ready and willing to pull out her phone and tell Joan she wouldn't be making it in tomorrow.

God, you're absolutely right. Marc thought, wondering if he should be proud of her for not jumping at the opportunity and throwing their best interests to the side. She could always miss her flight due to unforeseen circumstances, such as losing track of time under him or maybe because she was strapped to this mattress.

"Maybe another time." He agreed, still needing to will himself from starting something he wouldn't be able to finish.

Chapter 17: Naïve

" Tastes bittersweet when you drive up
You open up to me like a flower
I just wanna see you bloom and I
I need you to tell me when I'm being naïve
'Cause I know I can be"
-"Naïve" by Willow

 

Marc got into a fight with Danny Smith on a Monday in September. Using physicality to solve problems wasn't totally out of character, but he had been acting strange for a week leading up to this event with just about everyone, even Moni.

It began with a comment as Marc and Moni walked down the hallway at school. She had her books clutched to her chest and he was being particularly fidgety, staying shoulder to shoulder with her as if sensing imminent danger. It felt like the smallest disturbance would have him covering her.

"Get any closer to her and you'll be inside her, Spector!" Danny shouted from behind them. He was a classic example of someone who took 'if you like them, be mean to them' far too seriously. He had sandy blond hair, and blue eyes, and was one of the few shorter fellows in their school who seemed to care none that Marc had the size advantage over them.

He talked a lot of shit but never got much more than empty threats. In Moni's case, she chose to ignore him and was normally successful in encouraging Marc to do the same. This was not one of those times, they would learn, as the boy at her side stiffened up immediately upon hearing the statement and the nasally laugh that followed.

There were plenty of peers who continued on to their next class, passing them by, thinking this was just another case of Danny being obnoxious, but those who were close enough to catch Marc's reaction stayed back to watch what would unfold.

"You picked the wrong day to mess with me, Smith." Marc snarled before he even turned around. Moni moved her books to the hand furthest from him and used her other to grab his hand in an effort to keep him moving.

"Don't worry about it. Let's just go." She muttered loud enough for him to hear but it was clear he chose to ignore it once he slipped from her grasp and pivoted around to face Danny.

"And why's that? Trouble in paradise?" Danny continued to run his mouth, unbothered by the fact that Marc was stomping in his direction. "Afraid someone's gonna snatch her away if you stray too far?"

For Moni, it all happened in slow motion, despite other witnesses claiming it happened faster than they could see. Marc's left shoulder fell back just as his right fist reached the air. His face was as stiff as stone as if he wasn't angry at all . Then, his shoulder snapped forward just when his fist connected with Danny's nose.

Marc was over Danny before he even fully rag-dolled to the floor and he hit him somewhere close to five times before the nearby faculty was yelling and the resource officer had him by the coat, dragging him up from his knees.

Moni wasn't sure what to do, say, or believe as she watched the entire thing . It was only scary because she felt there was nothing she could do. She loved Marc and deemed he was justified in finally knocking some sense into Danny but didn't realize he had gone too far until she watched Danny's face swell like a balloon and gush blood before her eyes.

She only ever saw that kind of violence in movies. Even wrestling shows in those days didn't show that much brutality. The only thing she could equate that moment to was one she tried her damnedest not to think about. The day she watched her dad crash his bike on the track.

Anton had lost control of the refurbished motorcycle and smacked into another driver. They both went flying, but Anton had flown straight into the cable barrier. No helmet or padding could stop what those things could do when flesh hit them at high speeds.

He had been slumped over them and both Moni and her mother assumed he had just taken a nasty dive , standing up on the rafters and calling his name, awaiting that gloved thumbs up to signal all was well. Then dark liquid began to pool on the asphalt, and he had been too far away from his bike for them to assume it was oil.

Estie's immediate response was to cover her daughter's eyes, repeating 'no mires' over and over until she broke down but still held her little girl's head to her chest. Ever since that day, Moni worried about nearly everything. Marc soothed that most of the time.

 

The assumption was that Marc went to juvie after that. That was the running rumor, at least, and nobody would set the record straight . Not even Moni, who didn't know the full story , herself. All she knew was her best friend wasn't on the bus on Tuesday or at school any subsequent day after that.

After a week, Moni stopped by Marc's house to see if he was simply suspended or if he had actually been put in the detention system. Elias answered the door and just told her that he would be back soon. That was what he told her every week for nearly a year.

Within that timeframe, they both turned fourteen and the world around Moni felt broken. Every little inconvenience touched a nerve and felt like the end of the world. Her mother chalked it up to puberty, which did her no favors. Not only was she emotional all the time but her face was breaking out more and she had to wear an annoying retainer.

One day when she stopped by Marc's house as she did every week, Elias answered as always and instead of his normal frustrated yet sympathetic 'Not yet, Moni.' he gave her a half-smile.

"He's in his room, but he's been through a lot. Try not to ask him a lot of questions at once."

It felt like her heart would beat out of her chest as she passed by Mr. Spector and went straight to Marc's bedroom. His door was slightly ajar, so she didn't bother knocking but didn't rush in.

Just be cool. Don't freak him out. She told herself as she nudged the door open with her fingertips. From her vantage point, she could only see white socks on large feet attached to long legs clothed in blue jeans. He was lying on his bed, and if he was napping, she didn't want to be rude.

"Yeah?" She heard his voice ask in response to the door opening but not seeing anyone enter and she nearly choked up, knees locking and not letting her move. She watched as his legs swung around to the edge of the bed and touched the floor. Then she saw his face when he hunched forward to get a better view of the doorway.

"Hi ." She greeted sheepishly, dropping her eyes to her Chuck Taylors. It had been less than a year since she had seen him last and yet she could have sworn up and down that he looked different. Slightly older, which he was, and taller, if that was even possible. His hair had grown a bit, also.

Is he hot? Why is he hot? Spector's not supposed to be hot! Her thoughts raced, and she couldn't bring her face back up to confirm if what she had seen was a fluke before those white socks were directly in front of her shoes and she was enclosed in a set of long arms. Without reluctance, she hugged him back.

"I missed you, dude." He said, and she felt her back seize up at how different his voice sounded now . For some reason, she felt like her first move needed to be to drop her voice down an octave or two to match it but her first word to him had been high-pitched due to nerves. She had to remind herself of what his dad said at the front door but that didn't stop the biggest question she had from punching from her throat right away.

"Did you really go to juvie?"

Even Marc's laugh was deeper and made her head spin with the vibration from his chest resting against her head. She could stay here all day if that was acceptable but the feeling she had at the pit of her stomach felt blasphemous.

"I'm guessing that's what they're saying about me at school?" He asked and finally pulled away from her. "It's better than the real reason."

"What's the real reason?" She asked through a throat that felt too dry and had to avert her eyes from him for fear of blushing. Before he answered, he closed his bedroom door and gestured to his desk chair for her to sit down.

"I was at Putnam." He admitted as he placed himself back on the bed. There was only one place in the whole of Chicago by that name, so Moni was confused.

"The mental facility? Why would they put you in a place like that ?"

"I have something wrong with m e." Marc said without hesitation, now pulling his gaze to the floor. It didn't sound right in her mind and she nearly spoke up to protest.

There's nothing wrong with you. She thought but swallowed the words back. There had to be a reason he went there. Subconsciously, the rolling chair she sat in was inching closer the longer his silence stretched.

"A week before I got into that dumb fight with Danny, something happened to me."

Another pregnant pause followed his half-confession. He spoke as if he were telling her a secret, hushed and flicking his earthen eyes to the door, then the floor, then her. She found herself treating it as such, now close enough to where their knees barely touched.

"You don't have to tell me about it if you don't want to." She whispered. They normally told each other everything, but she remembered how he acted during the week in question . She still didn't connect that anything was wrong with him, though.

"I have to tell you. You're my best friend." He insisted, taking in a shakey breath in a way that seemed to soothe his nerves. "You remember those disappearances that happened a while back ago? And how people were turning up dead?"

"All those Jewish people? Yeah, I remember."

"The person who did that to all of those people nearly got me."

Nearly got you? She wondered, but it didn't take long to put the clues together. Marc was trying to tell her that he almost died. It was hard to picture, even with him being gone for what felt like forever, at least she could count on him still being alive.

It suddenly felt like her clothes were on fire and there was a sludgy feeling in her brain. What would she do if Marc died? She simply couldn't imagine it. No doubt, it would affect her more than her own dad's death did. That thought alone had guilt bubbling in her stomach.

The way he looked at her as if waiting for more questions or knowing he would need to explain more about what happened made it feel like her heart had been curb-stomped. She didn't want to push him like other people undoubtedly had.

"I'm so sorry." Was all she could form as she stared into his glassy eyes.

"It's okay, I didn't get hurt, but it messed up my head. I have to take medication now. Sucks, but it isn't as bad as dying, I guess."

"I won't tell anybody. I promise." Moni told him, thinking that was the right thing to say before her eyes fell down to his lap. At some point, her hands ended up there with his and she wasn't sure if it was because she put them there or the other way around. It didn't seem like he minded, so she didn't fight it. Instead, she tried to do what she did best and make him smile. "Your hair's longer."

Marc cracked the most adorable smirk she had ever seen at this before shaking his head as if he needed a reminder that all that hair was there. His tousels whipped back and forth, and once he stopped, he zeroed in on her mouth.

"Where'd your braces go?"

Chapter 18: Score

" Can't get you off of my mind
Can't risk, little did I even know
That you move in silence
Did all your dirty in private
You over your time limit "
-"Score" by Isaiah Rashad

 

"Do you want to tell me what happened to your arm, Sebastian?" Simone asked as she sat in front of her oldest patient, both in age and amount of time she's had him in her care. He was a quiet kid for the most part, but his biggest struggles were Oppositional Defiant Disorder and emotional dysregulation.

The first thing Sebastian's parents told Simone upon initial intake was 'Good luck getting Makenna to talk or behave at all once she does talk' , which proved to be true for the first few sessions until Makenna told Simone that he preferred to go by Sebastian. After that, it was relatively smooth sailing.

"I fell off my board." Sebastian replied, holding up the blue cast that covered the entirety of his left forearm. He loved skateboarding and from what Dr. Fredrick had been able to gather over the years, he was pretty good at it. This was the first time he had ever entered her office with an obvious injury from this hobby.

"Really? What trick caused that?" She asked, preparing to write down the answer in case she asked again at the next session and it changed. The kid's icy blue eyes darted to hers and for a moment, he stammered and his left leg began to bounce up and down.

"Just lost it from the top of the half-pipe." He responded, using his cast to push the fingers back on his right hand and pop them before his glance shifted to the knuckles as if the cracking deterred his attention.

In all of Dr. Fredrick's years of treating Sebastian, she learned that he cracked his fingers and neck when he felt put on the spot about a lie. He was only twelve and nearing his thirteenth birthday when he would graduate to Dr. Blevins' program.

Once he was gone, she would likely only ever see him in passing unless Simone took Joan's patients for a period. It would be an adjustment for Sebastian, who was used to Dr. Fredrick and showed more resistance to Dr. Blevins on the days when the former wasn't in the office. If there was anything that needed to be out in the open, there was limited time to learn.

"Still having problems with that kid from school? Logan, was it?" She questioned, wondering if the query would assist in giving away whether the broken arm was from a fight. Sebastian shook his head at this.

"Logan's still a douche but he doesn't mess with me much anymore after he was suspended."

Simone remembered that session clearly. Sebastian came in with one of his eyebrows drawn on because Logan shaved it off in a mean prank. At their age, their self-image is already fragile, and having dysphoria on top of that only makes it worse.

Having only one eyebrow felt like the end of the world to poor Sebastian and the endless torment from his peers did him no favors, but there was one thing Simone knew for sure: Logan had never physically harmed him at any point. If someone had caused the broken arm, it wasn't him.

Simone didn't make much more headway in finding out exactly who did before the session ended and with it, her workday. She made a note to bring it up again next week but she knew her mind would be on it for the remainder of the night. Once she finally retrieved her phone from her desk drawer, she noticed a litany of missed calls from her mother's nurse, Becky Lang and she made quick work to call back.

"Oh, thank God. I know you're at work but I had to try." Becky spoke frantically as soon as she picked up.

"I'm just about to leave. Is mom alright?" Simone asked, now feeling panic rise in her chest at Becky's sporadic tone. She hadn't been around as much as normal since returning from Earth-928 because of the revelation that Estie knew about Marc coming to town and never told her. She knew it was forever ago, but she couldn't help but resent her for that now.

"Estie's having one of her episodes. I don't know what she's saying but she keeps trying to go up the stairs and she's calling out for you and your father like you two are here."

Simone nearly sighed with relief upon hearing that it wasn't a life-or-death emergency. Becky had the tendency to freak out in situations like these where Estie's mind would suddenly be transported back to when Anton was alive.

There was one point when Estefania assumed Becky was an intruder and began throwing things, screaming for Anton to help. It was those times when she would only speak Spanish, which Becky didn't understand. Still, crisis or not, Simone knew she would have to de-escalate the situation.

"Alright, just keep doing what you're doing and I'll be right there."

 

Upon arrival, Simone had to use the key to her childhood home to get inside. During her episodes, Estie would lock the door as was habit when Simone was young to keep people out unless they were let in. Though the neighborhood never got any better, Estie forgot to lock it on her good days often. 

The moment she stepped into the house, Becky was gathering her coat and bag like she had been waiting for Simone to stroll through and take over. She expected a lot more chaos; broken plates, yelling, maybe even burning food on the stove, but it was quiet. 

"Where is she?" Simone asked quietly, and Becky gestured to the bathroom. The door was wide open and the light was on but there was no telling what was going on in there. She looked at the nurse with a nod. “I got her from here.” 

Becky wasted no time getting out of there once she was relieved, timidly ducking away her gaze and popping out of the heavy front door without so much as a goodbye. This was surprising, as the hushed house was a far shot from the more terrifying outcomes.

Instead of calling out for her mother first, Simone soft-stepped to the bathroom, where she could hear her humming a light tune as if all was well in her world. As if she didn't have issues with her lungs or brain.

When Estie came into Simone's view, she was standing in front of the mirror over the vanity applying brick red lipstick and wearing a dress she used to wear to church. That was when she realized Becky had left in such a hurry because her mother had gotten upstairs somehow and dug the dress out.

"Mamá?" Simone greeted calmly, internally wincing in preparation for what she was about to see in Estie's behavior. Once again, she was proven to be weary for no reason when she turned and smiled.

“¿Estás lista para misa, mija?” Estie asked, which told Simone that she thought it was Sunday morning if the dress and makeup hadn't given that away already. There was a time when Simone would take her to St. Peters just to help her wade through the delusions and let her have time there, but it seemed to only get worse after a while.

“No es domingo.” She told her mother with a shake of her head. The only steps she could take were to get her to the present time before she started trying to search the house high and low for her husband.

Estie stared at her blankly but didn't argue. The confusion was evident, so Simone took her by the hand and led her to the wall calendar by the fridge. Becky took the liberty of marking off the days and writing in appointments as they came.

“See? Tuesday, and it’s almost six in the afternoon.” She said, pointing to the day of the month untouched by red pen to be sure her mother was seeing it. There was a long pause as Estie assessed the calendar and the confusion slipped into dread.

Though this meant Estie had returned to her mind, the disappointment was unmistakable. In this moment, Estie remembered that she was sick and widowed, and all her daughter could do for her was try to provide a small light to her life. "I can take you to Sunday mass if you want. I shouldn't be busy."

Shouldn't be. Simone thought to herself. So long as Marc doesn't drop in or Steven doesn't drag me to New York.

 

In her free time, Simone started looking into the practices of BDSM and becoming familiar with the terms and rules of engagement. With each new thing she would learn, she would discover something new about herself in the process.

She was curious about impact play, safewords, and the color system, and found herself focused on one certain term that threw her for a loop. 

Dropping? She thought as she read the definition and causes on the screen of her phone. It was pretty straightforward: when you’re in a space of high adrenaline, even if you want to be there, and that excitement wears off. Dropping refers to the feeling you get after. 

She wondered why she hadn’t gotten that before and chalked it up to not getting too crazy with Marc. Then she remembered when she started to cry during her last visit just before she orgasmed. 

That can’t be the same thing, could it? I had been edged just before. Maybe.

Then there were a few that left her reeling. CNC, knifeplay, and sharabi. Interesting, but also terrifying. 

I did have that thought about Marc putting a knife to my throat after he broke into my house. Would I really be into that?

The ache the image caused told her yes, she likely would. Then, that raised the question of whether she had always been this way. Ericka bought a set of fuzzy cuffs one time to mess around with but after the one use, they were tucked away into their bedside table, never to be pulled out again.

What if Ericka pinned me to a counter with a knife? She considered, playing the image out in her head before realizing something that she felt nothing in response to the thought. It was so unfathomable that it wouldn't conjure correctly in her head, the closest she could get being her ex dressed in a Ghostface costume with the sharp object being plastic. Even then, it didn't turn her on to any degree.

But replace that with a visual of Marc replacing Skeet Ulrich as Billy Loomis and suddenly, I'm panting like a fuckin' dog. Jesus.

There were also the pet names and labels and that brought on a whole new string of thoughts. In her previous relationship, the most Simone got was 'babe' or 'mami' during the period when Ericka was working on her Spanish.

He called me babygirl that last time. That was interesting. Would he ask me to call him anything else? Would I really be into calling him daddy or master? That sounds more out there than the knife. 

“Papi? Papito?” She tried the word on for size, wondering how it rolled off her tongue and realizing it just sounded like her speaking to her dad before he died. 

Craso. Gracias, pero no gracias.

It occurred to her that these things should be communicated beforehand but she would probably be too chickenshit to ask aloud. Then, she remembered her phone was in her hand and she checked the time. It was 7:30, which meant her sitting and daydreaming had taken up the first two hours of Marc's time alert. Knowing he could be up to anything, she opted for a text message.

“Been doing some thinking… being called daddy isn’t your thing, is it?” And she hit send like it was a casual question. There were a lot more questions she had after that and she wrote them down so she wouldn't forget, not wanting to flood him with messages before he even got the chance to answer the first one.

Would it be hard to bone in the sarcophagus ? I guess not if the lid is off.

What superpower do you possess that causes me to orgasm every single time? Well, that's just good ol' fashioned talent, baby.

Something that dawned on her on the flight home was how Ericka had been wrong about penises lacking the ability to make a woman orgasm without assistance. Ever since she made that connection, she felt like the inner workings of her body had been reset.

Not only did she feel special to some degree, but she couldn't help but feel like Marc had to have been a unicorn. That, combined with the amount of time she spent thinking about him, made her realize that one thing was true. A fact that she could not shake or decide if she wanted to shake: she was attached.

That was the ugly part of this whole thing. It didn't matter how cool she wanted to seem, her heart would always overthrow her mind when it came to Marc. He could do anything he wanted, and she would sit down, shut up, and let it ride. Her emotions were a small compromise in comparison to the lovely reward that was seeing his face or hearing his voice.

Or seeing his name pop up on her phone, which she scrambled to read the second the banner appeared above an article she pulled up called 'The 19 Types of Dominants' .

Marc: If that’s what you want. I prefer when you say my name, personally.

She found her bottom lip tucking itself between her teeth as she read it in her head but she heard it in his voice. It was interesting how he focused on what she wanted but happened to know good and well that she was more than content with his whims.

“It's not really doing anything for me.” Was what she replied quickly before realizing she might have been lying. The longer she mulled it over, the more she realized how in deep she must have been to be willing to try it if he asked her to. It didn't take long for her phone to ding once more with his response.

Marc: Is that an admission that you’re thinking about me? Let me get a screenshot really quick.

Only all the time. No big deal. She thought but didn't type, replacing it with a lone middle finger emoji and letting that be her admission of guilt.

Marc: You can always send me a little video next time.

Simone hadn't been doing anything in the way of private time as she fulfilled her curiosity, but the risky texts were doing something for her. What she didn't want to do was admit that she had never taken a dirty video before. The closest she ever got was a picture of her tits while Ericka was on the road.

I'm pushing forty. Should I really be taking nudes? She thought as she sat chewing on the cuticle on her thumb. She had little faith that she could take an impressive video at all. I mean, what would I even do once the camera was on?

It was as she questioned that when she remembered that it could go both ways. A little exchange of strip teases or snaps below the belt. It certainly wouldn't happen right now, as he was surely working. That didn't mean she couldn't poke him a bit.

“Why? Looking to rub one out this evening?” She typed and sent it without hesitation. A part of her hoped he wouldn't answer for a while as she scrambled from where she sat. If this was happening, she at least wanted to put on a pair of underwear with a little more lace.

While she got what she wanted, there was a bit of disappointment when she found herself actually waiting around for Marc to say something. Thirty minutes turned into an hour in a flash as she tried to get her mind off of it by scrolling through social media.

Her homepage was catered to her in the way of videos of animals, nerd culture news, and spooky stories set over a slowed-down version of ' California Dreamin ' ' by The Mamas & The Papas. Then there was the occasional complainer, ranting and raving about gentrification.

There was a long stretch where she just flipped through videos without even watching them. Nothing immediately interested her until she scrolled past something a bit too quickly and had to backtrack.

The geographical tag said it was from New York, but she could have told anyone that. It was captured from far away but she knew that suit and those moves without even reading the caption. It was Moon Knight going toe-to-toe with a big guy with a skull on his chest, uploaded by an account called ' MK Spottings '.

She found herself watching the video on a loop, letting it play over and over but had to turn her sound off because whoever uploaded it put a sped-up version of ' Who's Girl? ' by Homewrecker, one of the songs Ericka wrote about Simone after their split. It was a heavy, angry track that, if the title didn't give away who it was about, the lyrics certainly did.

In a fleeting moment, Simone went to the page that uploaded the video to see what else they had. They were all very similar with varying locations, some with Marc fighting and others just taken as he was passing through in the full garb. Many were submitted by the page's followers, which was well into the quadruple digits.

How do I always get involved with people with fanbases? She thought as she went through and saved the better-quality videos, each one turning her on a bit more than the last. She would have been at this all night with the amount of them if it weren't for the screen suddenly filling a beautiful picture of a pink sunset. It was Marc's contact photo, and it seemed a text back wasn't on the menu tonight.

"You must think you're so cute teasing me like that." Marc said the second his face filled her screen upon her answering. There was no need to wonder what he had been up to since her last message as she saw he was in his suit, not the one with the hood and cape but the one with the tie and blazer.

It had random splatterings of blood on it and she was quickly reminded of the thought she had earlier about Marc taking the role of Billy Loomis. Her brain felt like it was lagging, stuck between wanting to respond to his words and wanting to ask about the red spots all over his perfect white jacket.

Snap out of it, Fredrick. She told herself, blinking away the fog and coming back to Earth to remind him that what she texted him wasn't a tease by any stretch of the imagination.

"What're you gonna do about it from 800 miles away?" She asked him with a devious grin and a raised eyebrow.

From the other end of the video call, Marc had just finished up some rather messy business with a few small-time burglars. Nothing to write home about but he hadn't realized Moni texted him until he got back to the office. The mixture of adrenaline and the words themselves had him locking the door to his office before he called.

He couldn't help but cock his head at the way she was asking when she answered. How she froze up and seemed to go somewhere else, not responding right away. While not completely out of the ordinary for her to space out, it was almost like he had caught her at a bad time but was seemingly doing nothing at all.

“You cool?” He asked, not ignoring her previous question but finding himself far more curious about the wide eyes she held before she asked.

“I’m cool. Why?”

“You’re being weird." He pointed out, trying to listen and scan for any signs of other life in the room. It was highly unlikely, but that bit of paranoia was hard to shake. "What were you doing when I called?”

“Nothing, I was just…" She trailed off, trying to figure out why she even bothered lying to someone who knew her so well. The truth felt far more embarrassing than anything she could possibly say to throw him off. "I was just sitting here.”

What a little liar, she is. Marc thought but decided to play along.

“Doing what?”

“Messing around on my phone.” She spoke with a 'duh' tone as she internally screamed at the way his eyes somehow pierced her soul. A grin broke across his mouth.

“I don’t think you were.” He said in a low voice that reminded her that she had unfinished business. Her teeth latched onto her bottom lip against her will, and she understood that—while he didn't know exactly what she had been doing—he certainly had some major role in it. She was sure of it and still had that bit of guilt about it that made her want to deny all allegations.

“Why are you calling me, Marc?” She asked with a hint of frustration.

There she is. He thought, the sound of his name in her mouth sending signals straight from his ears to his cock that was gripped in his right hand while his phone remained in his left.

“Say that again.” He requested. Her eyebrow perked up,

“Why are you calling me?”

“No.”

“Marc?”

“ Yes. ” He practically groaned.

“Oh." Moni said at the confirmation, not totally understanding at first. Then she noticed his right arm flexing a bit and straightened up slightly. " Oh! So that’s why you’re calling me.”

“If I’m being transparent. You, on the other hand, are being a filthy fibber. Were you at least thinking about me?”

He thinks I was flicking the bean when he called? She thought as her breath caught in her lungs. She had to bite her tongue from admitting that she was looking at videos of him in action instead, wondering if that was more embarrassing than his assumption. Denial continued to be her best bet.

“What? No!” She defended, her voice cracking a bit. Marc didn't mind her pleasuring herself—especially since she was too far away for him to touch—but if there was one thing he wouldn't stand for, it was hiding what got her off when she was by herself.

“You’re still lying to me.” He accused once more, noting how red her face was getting beneath her tan skin. "Don't be ashamed. I would love to know what goes through your head."

She found that hard to argue with but still felt a bit hesitant. Even at her grown age, she felt odd when it came to masturbation. It was considered unclean and she often tried to avoid talking about but it didn't come as a surprise that she did it more frequently these days. Still, the thought of spelling out her fantasies made her cheeks feel warmer than normal.

“You make me wanna scream sometimes.” She uttered the old phrase, using nearly every bit of reserved oxygen in her lungs to spit it out. Marc shrugged a bit at this.

“That’s the idea.” 

Jesus H. She thought, not even considering the sexual undertones of what she said. She wanted him to make her scream, but that hadn't quite come to fruition yet. Maybe we can work on that.

“I'm starting to think you're all talk. Not that I'm complaining but screaming hasn't been achieved.”

I was being gentle with you. Marc thought as he reminisced about the pretty sounds Moni had made. They were more than enough for him but if she wanted to howl, he could make that happen next time he got his hands on her. For now; though, they would have to settle for phone sex.

"Prop your phone up on something and take your pants off for me."

Her eyes went wide again at the proposition. It didn't take much to know exactly what he was going for, and she was even more intimidated by the idea of touching herself while he watched than she was of him simply thinking she was doing it. Still, she did as he told her to as always.

I did not change my undies just for him not to see them. She thought as she slipped away the sweatpants first, lingering for a moment so he could get a peek at the little red garment. He didn't comment, so she proceeded to strip those away and climb back into her bed.

She sat with her legs crossed for a second to be sure that where she thought Marc was going was correct. Without speaking, he nodded his head once. She was never great at cues, but something in his eyes helped her understand. Before she could chicken out, she was on her back with her knees bent upward and her business fully exposed to the camera.

"Tell me what you were thinking about. I want details." He said softly with a rasp that shot through her. She had nothing prepared for this because she wasn't jilling when he called her, so all she could think to bring up was one thing.

"I have this reoccurring thought, and don't judge me for this." She stalled, tapping her fingers against the mattress nervously.

"Never." Marc chuckled slightly, then realized she was lying with her hands at her sides. "Play with your pussy while you tell me."

Fucking hell. She thought, noting that her saliva suddenly felt too thick to swallow. Her cunt pulsated even further, and the last thing she wanted was to raise more questions, so she did as he told her to.

"That night you broke into my house-"

"You mean, when I used your front door?"

"That's the one." Moni couldn't help but giggle at the constant disagreement on that topic, the pads of her fingers rolling over her clit at a slow pace. She hadn't realized how wet she was. "I keep thinking about you creeping up on me."

There was a pause as she attempted to gather her bearings. She wasn't used to talking about her naughty thoughts, especially to the person who stars in them. More than that, this one was particularly embarrassing for her.

"Don't stop there. It's just getting good."

And this is where he finds out how diabolical my brain can be and the mood is killed. She thought, but a soft, airy moan escaped her lips upon hearing the word ' good ' like it was a trigger word now.

"You have a knife, and you hold it to my throat."

"A real knife?" Marc questioned curiously, keeping that rasp in his voice. "That's dangerous, Moni."

That's the point. Was what she thought, but instead, she said-

"I know."

"And that's all? I sneak up and pull a knife on you?"

"Then you tell me to be good and drop my sweats, so I do, and you fuck me against my kitchen counter."

"Do I still have that knife there?" He asked, voice sounding more strained as his hand worked faster, matching Moni's rate. He would have never guessed she thought of things like this, and though he never considered welding a knife against her, it was a colorful daydream, and how clearly into it she was only made it that much hotter.

And, of course, if I fucked her with the knife in my hand, that could end badly with too much jostling. He thought to himself but had to push the image of accidental impalement or maiming out of his mind before it fully killed his building climax.

"No," She croaked through a dry throat as she prepared to tell him about the idea that had intruded on her daily activities so many times, knowing it could open the door to it becoming a reality but the lingering shame of uttering such devience still had a hold on her. "You put it down once you're inside and..."

"And what ?" Marc insisted she continue, so she did with a shaky inhale.

"You replace it with your hand."

"You want me to choke you?"

"Yes, please ."

That admission alone nearly did him in. It was something he had shown restraint against before, afraid it would be too much for her to handle no matter how responsive she had been to everything else they had done. That sweet face slowly changing color until she sees stars as she's coming.

I'll remember that. Marc thought but was abruptly yanked away from the moment by a knock at his office door, filling him with disappointment even though he knew the implications of doing this sort of thing at the office at this hour.

"Someone's here to see you, Mr. Knight." Reese called out. As much as he hated to cut this short, he had to put the job first. Still, that didn't mean his previous request couldn't be honored.

"Just a minute." He called back, tucking his hard-on back into his waistband to help secure it from tenting his pants until it deflated. As he brought his attention back to the phone, Moni was sitting up with her legs crossed and a slight frown. "I better have a video waiting for me when I'm done with this. Exactly as you were, telling me what you imagine we would be doing if I was there. Understood?"

"Sure." She confirmed with a nod and flattened lips to hide her dismay over the interruption. Then, without another word, he vanished from her screen. A feeling of loneliness and bitterness rose in her gut. She knew he had crime-fighting to do but they had been on a roll. The sudden break in tempo was nearly enough to kill her need to orgasm entirely.

Still, he wants you to make a freaky little video for him.

"Let's make it count." She muttered to herself, once again assessing that she was wearing a pajama shirt. She owned much sexier items.

 

Marc went the rest of the night and early morning hours without checking his phone. Being preoccupied with his Mission made it easy, but he struggled not to look at his home screen just to be sure the notification was there.

He imagined it would be. Moni was typically pretty good about doing what was asked of her but he wouldn't put it past her to leave him hanging to get back at him for having to run off so soon. He feared what it would do to him if he found nothing from her. Even the thought made his heart sink.

His phone remained off and in his pocket, until he got to the sarcophagus, eager to see what filth awaited him once he powered the device on. Just as he hoped, two notifications were sitting stacked on top of each other on his lock screen.

Moni: Do your worst.

Moni: Sent 1 Movie

I wonder what that could mean. Marc thought as he tapped the screen and pulled up his thread of messages with her. The thumbnail of the video was nearly enough to have him springing upright. It was a clear shot of her face, which he hadn't gotten at the previous angle. Rather than dwell on the happenings, he decided to go forth and let it play.

It opened with Moni adjusting the phone, likely propping it up on books or pillows, making that face she does when she concentrates—biting her lip and squinting slightly. She was perfection, and once he got a glimpse of her beautiful round ass in the full-body mirror behind her, he realized she was a genius as well.

"You wanted to know what I picture us doing if you were here right now."

Moni had moved the mirror closer to the edge of her mattress, intent on giving him a show of both her face and the view of her playing with herself while bent over. He simply expected to find her doing as she did during the video call.

"I'd be sitting on your face with my hands tied behind my back so I couldn't go anywhere until I begged you to stop making me come." She spoke softly as her hand appeared between her thighs in the mirror and rubbed circles around her folds.

Just as he had earlier, he greedily took his erection into his hand and began to pump, already feeling close due to the prolonging of his release. Even through the light coos, he could tell this was something she wasn't used to doing, the same nervousness from earlier.

How unfortunate that I can't be there to fulfill that.

"I would be completely immobilized, your strong arms locking my legs on either side of your head. You would overstimulate me until I felt like passing out with tears streaming down my face."

It was as if she pulled the fantasy right out of his head. He pictured Moni riding his face often but with how jumpy she got when he tried to continue to manipulate her clit before, he didn't think she would like the idea of being forced to climax over and over without a bit of respite.

"After a while, you'd let me go and shove my head into my pillows and you'd pound into me like you hated me. Slapping my ass until it bruised and reddened."

As Moni's hand moved faster, so did his own. Her eyes stayed locked on the camera as if she knew he would critique her for not letting him see them, and her fingers began to glisten. He wanted to be there with her, knowing that surface stimulation likely wasn't enough for her anymore.

He wanted to feel that wet cunt instead of his hand but he had the memory of how it felt burned into his brain. All it took was some imagination and he had plenty of that to spare. Her legs were beginning to wobble, knees buckling ever slightly as she neared her orgasm. He knew that face, the quickened breathing, the shivers through her body.

"Fuck, Marc , tell me I'm yours." She moaned, and as if she could hear him he replied out loud, his hips bucking as he knew what would come next.

"You're mine , Moni. All mine."

The very second his cock began to spew, a low, feral groan punched through her throat. Her hips rocked to make up for her hand losing control and her face fell into the mattress, slightly off camera but not enough to obscure him from seeing her writhe. It was such a stunning display that he was left unsatisfied as he splayed back, catching his breath.

This experiment was fun, and he finished just like he wanted to, but it did little to help him cope with one unignorable fact: Moni wasn't there. If anything, this just made him miss her more. He was awash with guilt, even if he didn't want to be. She wanted to be his, she said it herself and he had the proof on tape.

How would that ever be an option for us?

She sat back up, taking the phone with her and flashing that killer smile on trembling lips from the aftershock. At some point, she had changed into a little black thin-strapped tanktop but he didn't give a shit what she wore. Her hair was a mess, her nipples poked through the thin fabric, and she let out a deep sigh.

"Your move, Spector." She said with a small, tired chuckle before the video ended. That sorrow felt like it had been plucked from his body at this. Her head was still in the game, and that, he could live with. Once the video was closed, he reread the message she sent along with the video.

Do your worst.

He wondered what she meant by that. It was ambiguous as hell, and it could have been an open invitation for constructive criticism or maybe even a reply with his own little show. Instead, he took a different approach.

"Alright. Don't be surprised if I pop back in on Saturday. Clear your calendar."

Chapter 19: Hurts Like Hell

Summary:

Tags were updated accordingly.

" Deeper I fall in this cycle
I just can't deny
I must be outta my mind
Cause when you dig in the knife
I kinda like it
Like it when it hurts like hell "
-"Hurts Like Hell" by New Years Day

 

Simone knew she had taken a risk by sending that video once she had rewatched it and found out what she had said. It slipped out, her mind so focused on the narrative that she couldn't stop it.

"Fuck, Marc, tell me I'm yours." She had said.

Even then, she wasn't sure if she had it in her to refilm it and make it feel or look genuine. It wracked her senses after, and she was worried about how Marc would take it. She lost sleep mulling it over, having to tell herself repeatedly that he was just waiting to see it until he settled down for the day.

Then she got his text. It was obviously in response to her final words before ending the video. She challenged him and told him the ball was in his court, and she didn't even know what she meant by that. It just sounded like a clever sign-off and like the other outburst in the video, she really didn't mean to say it.

Marc: Alright. Don't be surprised if I pop back in on Saturday. Clear your calendar.

There was no normal way to reply to something like that in her mind. She supposed she was lucky he warned her, especially after the last few drop-ins. Ever since then, she left her kitchen window unlatched on purpose, regardless of his imminent disappointment if he found out.

I can't say something too eager like 'looking forward to it' or something stupid like 'I'll be waiting', so what the fuck do I say? She considered as she sat up in bed, wasting her free morning hours before work. Then she decided to be candid and tell him exactly what she first thought upon reading it.

"So now you tell me in advance? Gold star." With the golden star emoji to follow. Oddly enough, that put Simone in a fantastic mood throughout the day. Marc let her Freudian slip slide and gave her something to look forward to. The only foreseeable drawback had to be that Saturday couldn't get here quickly enough.

 

On Thursday, Phoebe called Simone wondering if she could watch her kids for the night so she could go out with her husband. Of course, the answer was yes because it had been a long time since Pete took Phoebe out anywhere and their sons were like nephews to her.

Jude was the firstborn and the most well-behaved kid Simone had ever known. He was the perfect spitting image of his dad, aside from the genes that gave him his mom's copper hair, green eyes, and freckles. He was six now, and it was because he was so sweet that his parents were persuaded into having another baby.

That was when they had Rocky, who had just entered his terrible twos. It was often said that he should have been the one to get the red hair because he was a little demon, but instead, he inherited dark hair and dark eyes like his pops. You would never be able to tell Phoebe was the boy's mother if not for her constantly having to hold his hand to keep him from wandering off.

Despite all that, Rocky loved auntie Simmy and was always on his best behavior around her. Phoebe had made comments before about the boy passing as Simone's son because of his complexion and features and joked that she could take him at any time.

When Phoebe and Pete arrived to retrieve their children around 8:30 that night, Phoebe asked Pete to take the kids to the car so they could chat. This either meant that Phoebe needed to tell Simone something the kids or her husband didn't need to know, or Simone was about to get tough love.

"So, how're things with Jake the Snake?" She asked as she sat on one of the stools at the breakfast bar in Simone's kitchen. It was a loaded question, but Simone knew she had to confide about what happened at some point to someone.

"I said something I shouldn't have the other day. He didn't really acknowledge it, so I don't know if it made things weird or not." She explained as she picked off a small chunk from a dinner roll and popped it into her mouth. Phoebe leaned out of her seat at this admission.

"Oh, geez, Simmy. You didn't tell him you L-O-V-E him, did you?"

"No, no, nothing like that!" She defended. "I kinda-sorta told him I wanted to be his, though. Whatever that entails."

"And he just let that pass? How?"

"It was in a dirty video, so it could have easily been glossed over or assumed to be sexy talk but I can't stop thinking about it."

A crease formed between Phoebe's eyebrows at the implication that a video like that exists, given Simone's history of being reserved and showing little to no interest in men until recently. Then she seemed to let that part pass, leaning back once more and folding her arms over her puffy-coated chest.

“I’m worried that you’re willing to ride or die for someone who wouldn’t do the same for you.” She gave it to her friend as straight as she could. It was clear that the more Phoebe heard about 'Jake' the less she liked him, and that was telling because the more important details were spared. It was hard for Simone to comprehend, but she was still as quick to defend him as ever.

“He would. It’s the type of person he is.” She responded, still using Jake as a placeholder for Marc in conversations like these. His looking out for her, the heels, the eagerness to show up for her, it all told her that he still felt the same as he always did. The problem was, if she were talking about Marc, Phoebe would get it. That wasn't allowed, and it was clear that her fire-headed friend wasn't buying it.

“Then how come I’ve never met him?”

Shit. Simone thought, scrambling to come up with an answer that wouldn't sell her or Marc out. Before she had time to consider, it slipped through her teeth.

“He’s the type of guy who only comes out at night.” She said nonchalantly with a shrug. It had to have been the most bullshit excuse she had ever come up with for anything, and she was internally screaming as she watched Phoebe begin to laugh.

“I’m sorry, but that just sounds crazy. What does he do for a living? Is he fucking Batman ?"

Yes. He's Batman, Phoebe. She thought, realizing just how close she got without even knowing it. If there was a time to veer away from this topic, it was now before Simone dug herself a deeper hole.

“Don’t be so concerned! I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.”

“Are you sure? Because I’ve only ever seen you like this for one other person and the only reason I can say that is because I spent the majority of my time listening to you talk about him over the phone, also.”

It was clear Phoebe was talking about Marc, given the context clues and the sympathetic look in her eyes. She knew Simone had a crush on him and gave her crap about it all the time when they were teenagers. Phoebe also knew how devastated she was when Marc left, and how his dying shattered her.

Simone couldn't help but consider what her friend would think if she knew the person she was thinking of and the person they were talking about were the same guy. If she knew that guy took her virginity right before he ran off. If she knew they were pumping him full of pills he likely didn't need at such a young age. Even without knowing any of that, she still knew her best friend well enough to wonder how this would end.

“You think I’m setting myself up to get hurt,” Simone muttered, hearing Phoebe's concerns loud and clear without her having to speak much about it. She tilted her head, and Simone's heart sank as she realized she was only half-right and was about to get hit with a hard truth.

“I think you’re setting yourself up to fall in love with someone who isn’t ready for you to love them.”

Simone nodded at this, at a loss for something to respond with. She had already fallen in love, and though it was a long time ago, it never went away. In order to hold that feeling through all of this, she had to lie to herself and believe the lie.

He loves me. I can feel it.

 

Friday was a drag once again, and Simone started to feel like she might change her mind about getting a heads-up about Marc coming to visit. It was as if she had put her mentality in standby mode from the morning she read the text all the way until Saturday morning when her body entered the state as well.

She did her morning run, but much faster than normal to cut down on her time out of the house, took a quick shower and shave, and put on something comfortable but decent-looking that made her butt look good. Then, she realized depending on the activities they got up to, she had no sipping libations or anything really fun to do.

Rather than leave the house, she put in an order for a case of Coronas and five limes because she wasn't sure how many limes were too many. While waiting for that to arrive, she rented a few movies on Prime Video.

If he's just coming over to sleep with me, I'll have wasted my money, but at least I tried to come up with something for us to do that doesn't involve rearranging my insides.

By 3 PM, Simone started to wonder if she should text Marc and ask when exactly he was planning to slide through but decided against it. He said 'If' in the text, which meant he might not be showing up at all. Unfortunately, she hadn't doubted him at any point during the past few days.

By 5 PM, she started slicing one of the limes and looking over her shoulder in case Marc ended up tip-toeing through her front door again. Her phone was on the coffee table and that meant she couldn't watch the camera for signs of life. Needless to say, she was growing antsy.

What she didn't consider was the possibility that he might attempt another breaking and entering and her only unlocked window was the one above her sink, just like before. Once her lime was cut, she went to her fridge and pulled out one of the beers to start the party a bit early. While she dug through her utensil drawer for her bottle opener, she heard the familiar sound of the window sliding open from behind her.

You sneaky bastard. She thought as she turned to see if she was just hearing things or not, but the chilly wind that blew through told her what was happening before she even had to see his palms leave prints on the glass. She left everything where it was and shuffled quickly to the dark laundry area just off the side of the kitchen and out of sight.

Marc's fingers curled over the windowsill and gripped it, which was followed by the sound of a small grunt as he hoisted himself up and climbed through like a professional. Once his feet were on the floor, he looked around, spotting the unopened bottle of Corona that had barely begun to condense and the eight lime slices.

Soundlessly, Simone observed as he stepped around the corner and into her living room, seemingly trying to do so as stealthily as possible. He was checking each blind spot but had fully ignored the closet-esk space she snuck off to. If anyone was about to get got, it was going to be him.

Her bare feet followed once he was out of sight and she held her breath for fear of tipping him off in any way. Knowing her, she would giggle or snort and he would catch her before he made it to the hallway. All she could hope was that she was rolling a natural twenty on her check.

The thing that caused her to fall back slightly was that Marc didn't turn in the direction of the hallway and instead approached the door to her garage. Being so excited that he even showed up at all, she wasn't worried about the questions that would be raised if he saw what lay behind that threshold.

It was clear he was banking on her being in there, and she peered just past the entryway as he turned the knob and flicked the door open. Nothing but a dark garage full of half-full cans of paint, tools, and an obvious SVU-shaped vehicle under a tarp.

Fuck. The Durango. She thought as her excitement shifted to panic when he reached into her garage and flicked the light on. There was no more sneaking up on him. Now she needed to do something.

"Want a beer?" She asked, springing out from the dividing wall, surprising Marc enough to pull his attention away from the garage and face her with a straight back and clenched fists.

"Where the hell did you come from?"

"Laundry room." She answered, gesturing in the direction of the room in question with a grin. It wasn't the start she was looking for, but it would have to suffice. Unfortunately, it wasn't good enough to make him forget the fact that she had a car as he proceeded down the three concrete steps that led to the ground-level area.

Fine, I'll take the beer. She thought as she turned back into the kitchen and continued searching for the bottle opener, keeping her ears perked up for any sounds or calls for her name. She was unsuccessful in finding what she was looking for, but she had a corkscrew with a handle that worked just fine in prying away the cap.

"You never mentioned you had car. " Marc called out as he circled the covered vehicle. It was clear it had to have been recently moved or started up because there wasn't a single speck of dust on the dark green tarp.

"Kinda hard to bring up when you don't really have to drive anywhere." He heard Moni say from the doorway of the garage. He turned and saw her holding two Coronas with a wedge of lime in each. Before then, he hadn't noticed she was wearing a red knitted sweater tucked into a brown pair of cuffed jeans. She seemed to be wearing more red since the gala, but the bottles had him more curious.

“You drink beer?” He asked, finding this new detail to be curious as he held his hand out to take one. As one of the bottles changed hands, she shrugged.

“Not often, but I do.”

That's two new things I've learned within five minutes of being here. Wonderful. He thought to himself, still eyeing the secret automobile.

"Does it run?"

"It does, surprisingly. Just checked up on it a couple of weeks ago." She answered, the inflection in her voice telling him that she was dancing around something. Her use of the word 'surprisingly' told him it was older. This made him more inquisitive, and without asking permission, he lifted the corner of the covering.

What Marc saw was a familiar tan color that reminded him of his first car and got a sense of nostalgia from seeing it. Uncovering a bit more, he saw the Dodge logo on the hood and suddenly couldn't hold himself from throwing the tarp off the entire front end and right side. It was a Durango. More specifically, his Durango. He would know it anywhere.

"You're kidding me, right?" He questioned aloud, looking to Moni, then the car again.

Kinda wishing I was, right about now. Would be better to kid than to look like the psycho ex who kept the twenty-something-year-old car you banged her in. She thought as her lips formed a straight line, expecting the hammer of judgment to bonk her on the head. What she didn't expect was for Marc's shocked face to slowly light up and chuckle.

"How?" He asked emptily as the rest of the tarp fell away. He circled around it with what space the garage allowed, still holding an expression that of a kid on Christmas. " How do you have this?"

"Your dad sold it to my mom as a graduation gift. As for how it's still in good shape; I take care of things, even when they're other people's."

"God, I would have thought this old thing was in pieces by now!" He exclaimed and attempted to open the locked door to the driver's seat. Before he had the chance to ask, she rushed to her purse for her keys and back as quickly as the beer in her hand would allow without spilling.

She tossed the bunch of keys and he caught them with one hand. This wasn't the direction she expected this to take at all, but this was certainly preferred. To no surprise, he found which key was the correct one without testing any others.

I can't believe I didn't notice this scuffed-up key when I had her keys before. He thought as he popped the door open and poked his hand inside to be taken back to his senior year of high school. Only, because of Moni, the car looked much cleaner than he left it.

"Open the center console," Moni spoke up as she went to the passenger side door. He sat down, already overwhelmed with amusement, and even more so when she sat down next to him. It was just like back in the day. Then he realized what she was getting at with telling him to open the hatch.

"You still have the CDs?"

"Of course, I do!"

Cold December weather be damned, they opened the garage and started up the Durango just to listen to sub-par quality music while they drank. For old-time's sake, Marc let Moni pick and she pulled out I Care 4 U by Aaliyah and skipped straight to 'Are You That Somebody?' just because she couldn't remember the last time she listened to it.

"You fixed the seat?" He asked as he noticed it not shifting even an inch as she shrugged her shoulders to the beat.

"As soon as I had the money, the rocking chair was 86'd. Sorry." She laughed before promptly getting back on track by softly singing the lyrics. "Won't you come play round my way, uh-huh, and listen to what I gotta say, uh-huh."

"You're such a dork. Why didn't you tell me about this?" He wondered, and she pursed her lips and gave him a separate shrug from the groove. "Why keep it, then?"

"I didn't trust that anyone else would take care of it like me." She spoke as the track changed. It really was something to see as he saw staring at her, in awe. She was so thoughtful. He knew that, of course, but anyone else would have junked this old thing by now. Moni didn't just keep it because it was special to her, but because it was his car.

She's amazing. He thought to himself, which was the very same thing he thought when she fell back into that very same seat after kissing him all those years ago. In the same vein, he felt the same harsh beating in his chest that was a strange mix of hysteria, love, lust, and the knowledge that Moni could break his heart in an instant if she chose.

Back then, he pulled her in for another kiss that eventually led to much, much more. Back then, he had a lot less to lose and didn't have an empty beer bottle in his hand to give him an excuse to stay on the path of resistance. He didn't come here to help her fulfill her dirty dreams like he had alluded to. She wanted him to do his worst, and he took that as doing the opposite of what she wanted him to do.

"Another?" He asked as he took the key out of the ignition with his right hand and held up the bottle with his left.

“I have Tito’s in my freezer, also.” She informed him with a ticked eyebrow.

“Are you asking me to take a shot with you?”

“Or three.”

Back in the kitchen, Moni stood on her tip-toes to retrieve two shot glasses while Marc grabbed the vodka. He offered to help since the glasses were on the upper portion of the cabinet, but she insisted she could do it. It took a bit of stretching, but she was successful.

“Pick one.” She said as she turned to him with a shot glass in each hand. One said ‘Best Fucking Friends’ and the other said ‘I Eat Pussy Like A Fat Kid Eats Cake’ with a little illustration of a slice of chocolate cake under the words.

“These are fun. You pick them out yourself?” Marc asked as he took the one with the cake on it.

“Phoebe collects novelty glasses and sometimes she finds one that reminds her of me.” She explained and took the glass back to pour the shots. “What are we drinking to?”

“You can pick." He decided, thinking he could pick the Durango or say something like 'to our health' but wasn't feeling that those were fitting. The tiny glass returned to his hand and she held her own out in front of her.

“To best fucking friends.” She suggested in reference to the one she held and they clinked them together before knocking them back. For Marc, it went down decently smooth but Moni made a face and made a 'bleh' sound as she swallowed.

"Need a chaser?" He wondered, motioning to the lime wedges on the counter. She visibly shivered, then seemed to go right back to normal.

“I’m cool.” She replied, making an effort to put on a brave face. It was rough, as she wasn't the biggest fan of vodka but had a way of powering through. It gave her a bit of a headrush, but it relaxed her at the same time. "So, what brings you around, Spector? Breaking into my house once again?"

That is the question, isn't it? He thought as he pulled two more beers from the fridge. He knew he couldn't just give away his scheme so soon but he hadn't expected her to question why he stopped in. At most, he thought she would assume it had to do with sex and that was what he was banking on. With how casual she seemed; however, he realized she might not try to egg him on like she did at the penthouse.

"Maybe I just wanted to see you." He responded, opening the caps off of the edge of the countertop and collecting the caps in his palm for disposal. She was so in awe of this method that she didn't register what he said right away.

I gotta get him to teach me how to do that. She thought to herself.

"I can't stick around for very long, though."

Hearing that felt like a kick to the gut. She never understood why he bothered to come all this way and pollute the air with whatever runs Steven's private jets just to turn around and leave after a couple of hours. If his true intention was to see her, she was flattered, but a video call could have sufficed. She wanted this visit to be different.

“You don’t have to run so soon. Can't you leave your Mission in the hands of…" Moni trailed off, eyes going blank as she stared into the open, flicking through her mental list of known names before remembering one that seemed right. "Badr?”

She remembered his name. Marc thought, fighting the right corner of his mouth from perking up. Paying attention was Moni's job, of course, but it was more than that. She always went out of her way to make people feel heard. It was one of the many things he loved about her growing up.

He had told Badr he would be in charge for a maximum of a few hours until he got back. That could always change with a phone call, but the idea of staying overnight could completely upend what he was going for in being here.

“Staying seems to contradict our thing , doesn’t it?”

“I have more places to sleep that don’t involve spooning me. And we don’t even have to have sex. That’s the friends part of all this." She defended, not fully believing it herself but she was willing to at least try to put her craving for his tongue in her mouth to the back of her mind if it meant getting to have more time in his presence. She wondered if he had the same willpower and couldn't stop a smirk from gracing her face. "Unless you just can’t help yourself.”

Oh, she's challenging me? Marc thought as he believed that each time they fucked, she was the reason it happened in the first place. Both times she taunted and teased him, even the first time when she put her ass in his lap on the very couch that remained in his line of site. The memory made him struggle a bit, but he could show restraint.

He knew he should say no and head out when he planned to but the longer he hesitated to agree to stick around, the more disappointment filled her eyes. No matter how loud that part of his brain that told him 'No, you'll only make things worse' was, the parts that said 'What's the worst that could happen?' were overpowering it.

"Alright, let me make a call."

 

As soon as Marc came back in from the back porch, he saw Moni setting up her Nintendo on the television in the living room. They played Mario Kart, which Marc was incredibly rusty and lost the first couple of rounds before he made a comeback and whooped her on the third go.

"I let you win that one. I was starting to feel bad." She said when he started rubbing it in her face. She was on the couch and Marc was sitting on the floor in front of it. Of course, he didn't buy this excuse.

"As if you've ever thrown a game in your life! I totally creamed you on Rainbow Road just like I always did."

"Yeah, after you got your ass handed to you at Yoshi Valley and fuckin' Electrodome! It was a fluke!" Moni exclaimed, laughing even though she was trying her best to sound mad. She couldn't remember the last time she had this much fun. Of course, she played games with Jude sometimes but was never able to fully embrace her competitive spirit with a six-year-old.

Marc wasn't convinced that she could beat him again now that he had the hang of it. He could probably count on his fingers the amount of times she won any game against him and that included the two from this visit. Her confidence inspired an idea, though.

"Wanna make this interesting?"

"You know I do." She accepted with the gaze of a woman who wasn't afraid of any terms or stipulations he could throw her way. There were plenty of delicious opportunities that could come from having the power to pick his prize, but rather than benefit himself as the winner, he figured punishing her as a loser could bear fruit.

"When I win, you have to drink 'The Swamp' ."

Moni's eyes went wide and her stomach turned at the very thought. The Swamp was something of a legend at their high school, used for dares and times like this when you needed someone especially heinous to torture the biggest loser with. A rumor was even started at one point that Josh Sigona was hospitalized after drinking a full glass to prove he could.

"I don't have all the stuff to make that." She muttered, hoping he would come up with something else but all he did was shrug.

"I'll improvise."

"Fine." She agreed hesitantly, suddenly unsure of her ability to beat him again. As far as what would happen if she did , she had no idea. There was no punishment worse than the one he came up with, and copying was lame, so she chose the winner-benefit route. "When I win, you have to give me a foot rub."

"Boring." Marc rolled his eyes. It was too easy and not something he would deny her of if she asked. He raised the stakes, so she needed to level with him. "Pick something else."

Just tell me you want me to pick something sexual, why don't you? She thought as she imagined telling him if she won he had to go down on her. It seemed cheap and even more boring than the massage. As far as things she needed—though, she wouldn't mind an orgasm—she couldn't help but think about how weird it had been with Phoebe since the other night.

"Alright. You have to take my phone and call Phoebe."

"What for?" He questioned, thinking she meant a prank call. Her eyes fell to her lap.

"She's been asking about Jake."

Jake? He wondered, finding this information completely out of left field. What the hell does Phoebe want with Jake? How does she even know about Jake?

" What did you do?" He asked as a wave of concern washed over him, fully ready to give her the third-degree if he found out right there that she blew his cover with Phoebe. Moni was quick to defend herself.

" I did nothing. Quinten went around telling every motherfucker we went to school with about my boyfriend and she's asking questions that I don't have answers to. So either you call her or Jake does."

As much as Marc wanted to be mad about this turn of events and how dangerously close to the sun they were flying with him so much as being in town , he recognized how difficult it must be for her to have to lie on his behalf. A simple phone call with Jake could lighten the load and put him back in the clear.

It isn't like she'll win anyway.

"Deal. You pick the course."

Moni chose Hyrule Circuit and seemed to lock in the second the countdown appeared. It was clear she didn't want anything to do with The Swamp and she maintained the lead for the majority of the race before Marc started making a push to overtake her.

It wasn't cheating and would be hard to prove as cheating, but Marc felt the sudden urge to stand up towards the end of the race. He didn't obscure her vision, but Moni had an odd fixation for butts, and having Marc a foot away from her face made it a bit difficult to keep her eyes on the TV.

It didn't shake her too terribly until he sat down next to her, seemingly not paying any mind to just how close he got, their arms and thighs resting against each other. If it was possible for a heart to whine, hers did so the moment she was reminded of how good he smelled. A shaky breath exited her lungs and the urge to cave crept in. In her mental distraction, she forgot to pull her items. Marc; however, did not.

He threw a banana peel just as the finish was in their sights, and it was game over. There was no way to catch back up and regain the lead after that, so Moni yelled out her anguished 'No!' before he even crossed the line.

Marc raided her kitchen to concoct something close to The Swamp. It was normally made with Bailey's, Clamato, Tabasco, soy sauce, and one beaten egg. She was missing everything but the Tabasco, egg, and soy sauce, so he used oat milk, stevia, vodka, marinara, and oyster sauce as substitutes. It looked and smelled the same as the real deal.

"Preserve me ." Moni whispered to herself as she eyeballed the mixture. She only had herself to blame, not keeping her eye on the prize and instead truly fucking around and finding out. It was the worst thing she had ever smelled in her life.

That quiet prayer made Marc start to feel bad. By no means would he make her drink the entire glass, not that she would be able to get that close. It hurt just being near the stuff.

"Alright, I'll give you a choice. You can opt out and I won't say a thing or take a sip and I'll talk to Phoebe."

There was a long moment where the pick felt obvious. She could dump the garbage drink down the drain and fumigate the area after but that meant things would be unresolved as far as Phoebe was concerned. She really, really didn't want to put the glass anywhere around her mouth, but backing down was for chumps.

The cup came to her lips quickly, and Marc found his arm going out to grab it in an effort to stop her from going for it but he was too late. The littlest bit passed through her teeth, and even holding her breath she couldn't do anymore. Swallowing wasn’t an option, either.

"Jesus, Moni, I didn't think you'd do it!" Marc howled, chuckling until he saw her face contort and her nose scrunch. Her eyes began to water and her chest hitched, and all he could do to help now was nudge her toward the sink where the brown stuff ejected.

"My god, it's worse than the original." She stammered before gagging and turning on the faucet to rinse her mouth. No matter how many times she swished and spit, the sour and salty flavor lingered. "It isn't going away!"

Out of comfort, Marc ran a hand over her back until she rushed to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Her reaction made him wish he would have just gone the easy route and picked a sexual favor as his winning prize.

"You're crossin' a line here." Jake piped up out of the blue in his head. Marc did a double-take of the bathroom door to be sure it was closed before he responded.

"Why? Because we're hanging out like we used to? I see this as a win."

"Use your fuckin' big head, Marc. What do you call it when you fool around with someone you also laugh with, listen to music with, and care for?"

"Enjoying someone's company," Marc replied quietly. "I know, it's a real shocker."

"Sounds a lot like companionship to me." Steven chimed in. "You have all the makings of a real relationship on your hands. Typically, those who just hang out to have sex just have sex."

"And I'm not having sex with her tonight. That's what she wants."

"What she wants is to keep you close, and you're giving her that. Does it make a difference if you sleep with her or are you just telling yourself that to make it more difficult to acknowledge that this woman is in love with you?"

Marc knew Steven was right. Even Jake had a point in his argument. As always; however, they weren't seeing things his way. He shook his head with a frustrated sigh, refusing to let himself be swayed.

"You don't understand."

"You're correct. I don't understand. None of what you've been doing makes any sense to me."

Before Marc could come up with something to say, Moni exited the bathroom but turned in the opposite direction to go to her bedroom. For a moment, he wondered why and considered if this was another lure. There was no tease, though. No taunt, no wild eyes, or 'come hither' motion. She just went to her room and even shut the door behind her.

He realized he didn't even bring anything for an overnight stay and wondered if she had anything like a spare toothbrush lying around for him to use. It also occurred to him that there was no chance he would be sleeping tonight. His brain and body were typically on 'go' when the moon came out.

What was I thinking agreeing to stay the night? Do I just sit around and wait for her to wake up? Do I sneak off in the dark hours of the morning?

As he thought it over, Moni came back out of her bedroom in different clothes. She had put on a pair of plain black sweatpants and an ancient cropped workout t-shirt with their school logo on it. It was a large men's, so it didn't show much midriff.

They were originally made for the football players in the 80s. Marc had been with her when she bought it at a yard sale and never in a million years did he think she would have held onto it this long. Then again, she held onto his car as well.

"You wouldn't happen to have something that'll fit me, would you?" He asked in a mostly joking manner.

"Not unless you intend to look like you bought your PJs at Baby Gap." She giggled before putting on an inquisitive face. " Actually, I'm sure I do. Most of the stuff I sleep in ranges from men's large to double-X. You're welcome to take your pick."

"I'll be fine. I don't see myself getting much sleep anyway."

Simone hadn't thought about that. His nocturnal schedule hadn't even crossed her mind when she asked him to stay. Suddenly feeling bad, her solution was to meet him halfway and get some coffee brewing. "Looks like I'm pulling an all-nighter."

"You don't have to do that. " Marc said as she brushed past him and to the coffee maker. While she appreciated his concern, she found it needless and couldn't help but chuckle.

"And let you sit around all bored at my house, where I talked you into staying? Not a chance." She insisted but didn't miss that look on his face that told her he didn't want to intrude. It was a tough call but as much as she wanted him around, it would be hard for her to stay up later than 1 AM.

And I told mom I'd take her to mass tomorrow. Shit. She thought to herself as the other obstacle presented itself. Still, she was willing to try but by the look of it, he wasn't as game as she was. "Or, I guess you could go home."

As she spoke, she abandoned the espresso, pulled a bag of baby carrots out of the fridge, and took them to the counter to put in a bowl. She knew she had a way of dissuading him from his decisions with her expressions, so the only remedy she could come up with was to not face him. "I got to be selfish for a bit and keep you for a little while. We had fun, so you're free to go if you need."

She didn't want him to go but the last thing she wanted to do was make him feel forced to stay. She took a chance to have him stick around this long, so it only seemed fair for her to pick her battles at this point.

It was clear that the tone Moni put on was to mask disappointment. Marc also knew her turning away held the same purpose. She always put her feelings at the back of the line, for as long as he's known her.

And here I am letting her do it. Here I am staying for the sole purpose of proving to myself that I could hang in a platonic way and masking it as 'doing my worst'. He thought to himself, allowing his eyes to drift over her as she regarded him the same way he did, her: pretending everything was fine the way it was.

It didn't feel fine anymore. Marc wasn't entirely sure if anything ever felt fine. Everything felt better with her but the potential to be great was always around the corner. With that in mind, it was like a switch was flipped and his previous agenda of denying her what she wanted was gone.

Moni was expecting to hear footsteps growing distant, maybe a goodbye, but that wasn't at all what she got. Instead, she felt Marc's hands grab her hips, and then his large body rested flush against her back. She almost went to turn around before warm breath coated her ear, and his teeth gently nibbled at it.

"I see I was correct." She spoke shakily, not letting the fact that she called his being unable to help himself slide.

"Yeah, you're a real prophet." He whispered huskily, the smell of her hair flooding his senses and all at once, he was a man without power over his faculties. His mind went back to her fantasy, and though he had given himself away already by being here, that didn't mean he couldn't check a few boxes.

His left hand snaked around her waist and his right snapped up to her throat, holding it like it would crack if he pushed any further. A small whimper fell through her lips at this and she swore she might just pass away right there, it was so hot. The heat of his mouth still graced her ear. "Are you gonna be good for me?"

" Yes. " Was what she said but it barely sounded intelligible. Her hands braced the countertop, and somehow she was sure if he so much as moved in a certain way she would explode.

His left hand moved quickly, pushing the fabric that covered her ass down her thighs with impatience. It was like the second he felt her warmth against his body, his dick woke up. There were no preparations or foreplay and he had a hunch that she wouldn't need it.

His right hand went from her neck right back to her hips and spun her around to kiss her and unbutton his jeans. As it happened, her countertops were the perfect height for her to sit on, something he noticed back when he was in her kitchen making coffee.

Moni didn't even have to move as Marc picked her up and placed her ass on the surface to finish removing her sweats. The bowl full of baby carrots was knocked to the sink by her hands brushing behind her to clear the space. Her head rested against the cabinetry, waiting for his next move or word, needing him to do something to her right away.

It was clear she wasn't the only one of the two who paid attention as he roughly thrust his length into her just how she wanted it last time. A deep yowl bellowed from her throat to match the sharp breath he took at the abrupt sensory implosion.

"Fuck, Moni . I barely touched you and you're already so wet." He spoke praisefully, one of his hands cupping the side of her face and admiring that slack-jawed expression. For a moment, he just stood there as her walls pulsated. Her hair strung around her face, thoroughly rocked and he couldn't stop himself from speaking his mind. "God, you're beautiful."

She didn't respond with words, but her lips ticked upward and her head turned slightly in the direction of his palm. Her pout closed around his thumb, and her tongue flicked and swirled over the tip as if it were a piece of candy.

And I thought I wasn't gonna give it to her tonight. He thought.

It was a hard pace straight out of the gate, skin connecting harshly and fingernails digging into wherever they could hang on. Moni's lungs emptied on every collision, unable to hold back her moans even if she wanted to.

Marc hooked her right leg on his elbow and pulled her even further from the countertop to where her ass was barely hanging on and he rocked into her deeper. She cried out at the sensation, her brain registering it as pain while her body told a different story as pleasure bloomed.

Something about this was different for Marc. He loved hearing her sounds and seeing her face, feeling her tight cunt take him with ecstasy, but the longer he ground into her, the harder it got for him to maintain his composure. Of course, longevity was all in the mind, but his usual tricks did little to help him.

Then a string of words fled her lips. He would have had to ponder what it was or have her repeat it if it wasn't so plain what she had said. Even sandwiched between animalistic groans of rapture, he heard it and read it in her eyes.

There was no true way to pretend that he hadn't caught it as his mind latched on and ran with it all the way to the point where he had to unsheath himself and hold the countertop on either side of her legs. It didn't turn him off, but it did nearly make him bust.

"You cool?" She asked, panting horsely. Fear had set in right then, her mouth once again betraying her and letting the words 'I love you' slip through the filter while Marc was all but digging into her. She felt she had just fucked up astronomically.

"I'm cool." He replied as his head still hung low between his shoulders. She could almost picture what was about to happen next: he would pull his pants back up and dart out the door like a bat out of hell, leaving her to yell about how she didn't mean it and it just came out but she would have been lying.

To her surprise, Marc's hands went back to her hips and yanked her away from the counter to spin her back around. From what she could feel on her back, the mood wasn't killed. His right hand returned to her neck, and one of his feet kicked her legs apart. "I want you to come on my hand, Moni. Can you do that?"

This was an interesting turn and she was unfamiliar with it, but when his middle and ring fingers sunk into her pussy, she didn't care to think too hard about it. The palm of his hand rested against her clit and he began to move his wrist to hit both points at once.

"I can." She sighed, feeling her body respond as if there hadn't been a break at all. The hand that grasped her throat squeezed lightly and in response, she leaned back into his middle.

Without air, it seemed she could feel everything in a much more profound way. The bend of his knuckles, the calloused skin creating friction, and she sank to a depth so unbelievably rich and foreign. Her previous outburst felt so far from her mind that she could have been tricked into believing it hadn't been real.

"Let go, baby. " Marc spoke softly and once again proved that her best quality was doing what he told her to do as she came undone. At the same second, he let go of her windpipe and it was like plummeting from a great height. Her limbs wobbled and she would have lost her balance if he hadn't been holding onto her.

Now that Moni was across the finish line, there was no reason he couldn't proceed with his previous relentless pounding. He was surprised by how well she did being choked and his pruney fingers were the proof of it. Though he knew he should have given her a moment to gather herself, he needed to be inside of her.

No maneuvering this time, just simply bending her over the counter for a good view of her ass. She was too short to stand like this, so he pulled her hips up and held her legs while he drove his cock back into her cunt.

It felt almost merciless and unyielding just as it did before the brief intermission but the new angle had her right hand gripping the side of her cold sink and her left feeling around for something to hold, finding its way back to the fingers that embraced her hip. An alarm went off in her head that it wasn't the right move after her slip-up from before but as she went to pull her hand away, he grabbed it.

Just that little bit of loving contact, the smallest gesture of holding her hand as he railed her sent him reeling and had him remembering what she said. Words they used to use all the time but didn't anymore. He didn't have to wonder why. Words like that were reserved for couples, families, and best friends, but they weren't any of that anymore.

At least, not before tonight. Not before the car. Not before the games and the bets or her expressing that she truly did care enough for him to keep him at her side whether he deserved it or not. Her willingness to accept that he would just leave and go back to New York even though she wanted him to stay.

I really don't deserve her. He thought to himself, and like that harsh realization crashing into him, he gripped Moni's hand so hard she yelped. He pulled it from where he had it on her hip and pinned it behind her back, half-expecting her to tell him to stop but she didn't. Not even close.

Moni came so hard she felt like she would dent her metal sink with how tight her grip became. She shouted his name along with a few slurred expletives that would have made the devil blush. The forcefulness of it, the teetering between pleasure and agony, how he held her hand just to turn around and try to pop her shoulder out of its socket. It was like taking a nosedive straight into the needlestack and pulling out a nugget of gold.

As unprecedented as it was to find out just he had only been scratching the surface of how far he could push her, Marc didn't have a spare moment to go over the logistics before the thrumming of her cunt had him unloading inside of her, and stumbling back on quaking feet before the last drop came out.

He didn't fall to the floor, but he did have to ground himself on the cold tiles. It was like the world had turned on its axis and though he knew he should have been elated by her profession of love, he was riddled with uncertainty. The feeling was mutual and beyond comprehension but he couldn't think of a single thing he had to offer her.

At best, he could provide rough sex and laughs and so much love that she would no doubt get sick of him after a while but at worst, he could only offer pain.

She seems to like pain. He pondered, thinking about how the way he twisted her arm had to have hurt there was emotional pain and pain that he would cause indirectly. It was the same cycle of asking himself over and over if it was easier to protect her at a distance or at her side.

Moni lay down on the floor next to him, stretching her arms above her head and enjoying the popping of her shoulders and back as sweet relief flowed through her. That was different. She didn't consider herself a masochist but supposed that answered that.

She looked over at Marc as he thoughtfully stared at her ceiling, his chest rising and falling like he was at peace. It was clear to her that something was on his mind, and she would be damned if she didn't attempt to bend his ear.

"You cool?" She asked the age-old question and he let his head fall to the side to look at her. He wondered if he should ask about what she said but he was of several minds on that. He knew she meant it, even if it seemed like one of those dumb things people say in the throws of sex but confirmation would only make him feel worse. Denial, even if it was a lie, would likely do the same. It felt better to let it rest until it happened again.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." He apologized, the guilt cascading over him unlike ever before. Biting and pulling her hair all seemed decently normal but that armbar was vicious. She shrugged and smiled at him.

"No disfigurement or lasting effects. It isn't me I'm worried about, though."

It was when Moni said things like that that only proved his point. She did need to worry about herself sometimes. Trying to argue that would be a losing battle, though.

"I don't know about you, but I'm absolutely worn out now." He changed the subject and started to stand.

You could say that. She thought as she followed. Though rarely used, her guest room was set up to standard. The bed was twin-sized and dressed in plain baby blue sheets with a rainbow quilt overtop, which served fine for when Jude and Rocky would need a nap.

"I can trade you if you'd like. " Moni spoke from the doorway as Marc assessed the tiny room with the tinier bed. It wasn't the worst arrangement, and compared to where he usually put his head down, it would work adequately.

"Don't worry about it." He replied with a half-smile. It was sweet of her to offer, but putting her out of her own bed wouldn't be necessary. At most, he figured he would just lay there for the better part of the night. Maybe mess around on his phone if things got too quiet.

Moni nodded, nearly double-checking if he was sure but decided against it when he plopped down on the mattress as if claiming it before she could. His feet extended past the footboard, and normally this would make her giggle but she didn't find herself as tickled now as she was mere moments before.

There was a sudden, deep-set feeling within her that something was wrong. What that was specifically, she couldn't put her finger on. Assuming it could be slept away, she decided to pack it in. "Well, uh, goodnight. If you need anything, I'm right over there."

Chapter 20: Ride Or Die

"Esto es amor, puedo ver, lo detecto
Aquí nadie dijo que iba a ser perfecto
Pero te gustan hasta nuestro' defecto'
Te embrujé y sé que tengo ese efecto"
-"Ride Or Die" by Sevdaliza

 

Simone had a dream during the night. The dream was so simple and felt so short that she didn't believe it lasted her the entire night. In it, Marc came to her and slipped under the covers just to hold her. That was all, and it brought on an immense disappointment over the realization that it wasn't true.

She expected Marc to be gone when she got out of bed, and the unoccupied guest room felt like confirmation as she sleepily trudged down the hall and saw the perfectly made bed with nobody inside.

Figures. She thought with a sigh and continued to drag her feet through her house. Her eyes began to burn, tears pricking her ducts. She knew it wasn't a big deal, but there was one thing that always remained: it sucked when he left without saying anything.

As she reached her kitchen; however, she was proven to be hasty in her assumption. Marc was sitting at her breakfast bar with a cup of coffee and messy hair. He was still wearing the same clothes he arrived in and he had his coat on like he waited for her to wake up before he took off. A warm, closed-mouth smile formed on the lower half of his face when she entered.

“Morning.” He greeted, picking up the mug that she recognized as her Skyrim one with 'Hey, you, you're finally awake' printed on it. "Coffee's hot."

"Good morning." She said back, contorting her face to keep from grinning too wide. She couldn't remember the last time anyone was awake earlier than her to make the coffee. In fact, she had been alone for so long that she forgot what it was like to wake up to find someone else around.

“Sleep well?”

“I did , actually ." She replied as she filled a mug with a picture of an astronaut on a skateboard. Perhaps it was the activities from the night before but she slept like a baby. "Judging by your being up, I’m guessing you didn’t.”

Marc hadn't lied about being tired out and much like Moni, he fell asleep rather fast. The difference was that he found himself up around 2 AM and unable to go back to sleep. This was the second pot of coffee but she didn't need to know that.

“I did for a few hours but after that, I was wide awake.” He said, sparing her the details. There was a small break where she stood next to the coffee pot and took a sip from her mug with a delightful little sound that dripped with relief. It was sweet.

“Do you want breakfast? I can do eggs, toast, bagels…” She listed off. Marc wanted to say he was fine but as she said more food names, he recognized how hungry he was. The idea was to stay long enough to catch her to say goodbye, but now she was offering to cook for him and it felt wrong to turn it down.

“Eggs are fine.”

It was strangely domestic watching Moni scramble eggs and engage in conversation about the weather and the plans for the day. She told him she would have to take Estie to church around eleven and that he was welcome to make himself at home until she returned.

That led to a chat about her no longer actively practicing Catholicism or any religion, for that matter. The more time she spent living out of the house, the more the concept left a bad taste in her mouth. Then Ericka happened , as she aptly put it. Ericka was an aggressive Athiest because she was disowned by her parents due to her sexuality and career in making 'Satanic music' .

Marc was still eating when Moni took off for the shower. He hadn't thought to let her know that he would be heading out and once again found himself in a predicament of waiting to take his leave. It reminded him of what she said at the penthouse.

"We both know if you let me stay here for too long, you'll never want me to leave."

It seemed to reign true for a situation like this, as well. He had numerous opportunities to tell her he had to go but it failed to leave his mouth each time.

I could just knock on the bathroom door and tell her I'm going. He thought, but the idea of her feeling like he waited until they weren't face-to-face to duck out filled him with trepidation. He caught that shimmer in her eye when she saw him this morning. She expected him to steal away before she woke up.

The fact that she thought that way of him left him riddled with guilt. It told him she thought he cared little about her, and even if that would make things easier to an extent, it wasn't true. It forced him to reflect on the last few times he would pop out since they began sleeping together.

While Marc considered this, his thoughts were interrupted by a Lauren Hill song playing softly somewhere nearby. It was from her phone, which she left by the coffee maker. Not wanting to intrude, he let it ring all the way through but couldn't ignore it when the song cued up again mere seconds later.

It's been three weeks since you were looking for your friend...

He got up to check and see who was calling, faintly paranoid by the idea of finding the caller ID to be Nick or another man's name he knew or worse, that he didn't know. Instead, it was someone named Becky.

Has she ever mentioned a Becky? He wondered, debating if he needed to answer it or not before the screen faded back to her lockscreen . It was that cat again; white, short fur and green eyes. Did she ever even tell me her cat's name?

Then the screen changed again, the name Becky was back, and he realized he should probably bring it to Moni's attention. Someone trying this hard to get a hold of someone must have something important to discuss. He picked her phone up from the counter and it continued to ring all the way to the bathroom before cutting off once more.

"Hey, Moni. Your phone's blowing up in here." He called through the door, and as if he summoned it, it started to ring again. "Says the caller is Becky ."

"Shit. Can you answer for me? Just let her know I'll call her back when I'm done in here." Moni's voice answered back around the sounds of running water. She sounded unamused by Becky bugging her, but that only made him more curious to know who they were. Before the call screen could vanish again, he answered it.

"Hello?" He spoke hesitantly into the phone and there was a moment where he wasn't sure if the caller would say anything before a timid, feminine voice finally chimed from the other end.

"Oh, uh, is Simone there?"

In Marc's ears, this Becky individual sounded like a tween girl. She also sounded surprised to hear him instead of Moni. It was possible that she was a patient but unlikely due to the use of Moni's first name.

"She's in the shower. Can she give you a callback?"

"That would probably be best. Thanks for letting me know."

"No pro- " The line dropped before he could fully finish his sentence. In the same second, the water cut off from inside the bathroom followed by the sound of a slip and a small 'whoop' and a quiet but frustrated 'slippery' muttered to herself. It didn't sound like she fell, so he didn't ask.

Simone wasn't in much of a rush to get to the phone. Knowing Becky, she was likely calling to check if she was going to be by soon or if Estie was having another fit of delusions. Once she opened the door, dressed in only a damp towel, she found Marc waiting on the other side with her phone in his hand.

"Becky?" He wondered shortly, flicking his eyes over her freshly washed frame. She pulled the phone from his hand with a nod.

"Mom's nurse. Did she say what she needed?"

"Nope, just said to call her back."

Moni squeezed past him, holding the towel up with one hand and dialing out with the other. Her hair was drenched and there were small droplets dotted along her back and upper arms as if she hadn't taken the time to wipe them away yet. It made him want to grab the handtowel from the hanger next to the vanity and finish the job for her.

Or I could use my tongue. No need to be wasteful. He thought but shook it away as he tuned into her side of the conversation.

"Hey, Becky. What's up?" She greeted as chipper as she could manage, followed by silence and what sounded like the adults in Peanuts films on the other side of the phone from his vantage point.

Moni stopped walking to her room and stood with her back turned to him in the middle of the hallway. Something that Becky said seemed to give her pause and had her stammering and muttering, searching high and low for a question but the distorted voice would have answers before she could find it. "Oh my... Wh... How... D-di..."

Marc grew more concerned as her voice began to shake along with the rest of her body. He would have assumed she was just cold but he was far too familiar with this reaction. Moni's trembling hand pulled the phone away from her ear and before he even had a chance to ask, her knees gave in.

To the floor, she went, the tears bursting from her eyes without a second of warning. She barely made it through the latter half of that call no matter how short and to the point it was. As soon as Becky hung up, her composure evaporated. One would almost assume she had slipped and fell with just how quick it was.

What followed was a bottomless, chest-clenching wail and that was all the confirmation Marc needed without even asking. Estefania Fredrick was no longer with them and just as swiftly as this became clear, he was on the floor with Moni's wet hair pressed to his chest and his arms wrapped around her.

It was a rare sight to see or hear her cry and it was more rough than he remembered. Hearing her fully break down, letting loose that emotion she held out of view of others. It was as if the sky was falling and as much as he tried to think of something to say to soothe her or do to make it better, there was no way to make this any easier. She was an orphan now and sometimes parentless children just need to be held.

Selfishly, he considered what would have happened if he wasn't here. Would she have called right away? Would she be sitting in this hallway by herself, sobbing hard until her throat went horse? The thought of that brought more anguish than being the one to hold her.

This is the first time I've hugged her since she found me. He considered, angry with himself for just now putting that together and wishing he had done it sooner and under less depressing circumstances. Moni was always a hugger. Crazy that she hasn't pinned me down for one yet.

When her cries died down a bit, Marc pulled her up from the floor and placed her back in her bed. Ignoring the cynical part of his brain, he stayed there with her, letting her soak through the one shirt he brought.

He hadn't noted before how cozy her bed was, but then again, he hadn't thought to pay much mind to that. The smell of her soap lingered on her soft skin and each small, shallow breath she took was a comfort. She had cried herself asleep.

It was odd being in this situation. Though Marc consistently inserted himself into her day-to-day and worried about her from afar, he never truly believed Moni needed him. The moves he made to keep a watchful eye were purely for his own reassurance but this was different. She needed him around this time. There was no question about it anymore. He couldn't go back yet.

 

When Simone woke up, she was beyond confused. Her hair was damp, her eyes were puffy, her throat stung, her head ached, and her face was buried in Marc's chest. His fingertips were tracing ghostly circles around the bare skin of her back, so faintly that it nearly tickled.

She was almost afraid to move, not wanting to interrupt this unique moment before she could fully cherish it. It was clear he thought she was asleep and she wondered if he would back off if she gave away that she was aware that this was still happening. Why exactly was this happening?

Oh yeah, my mom is dead. She remembered, becoming aware of the fact that this wouldn't have happened if she hadn't lost it in the hallway. A part of her went cold, not feeling right about this because it wouldn't have ensued if she had contained herself long enough to make it to her room. It hadn't occurred to her how bottled up she had been until she erupted.

The selfish part of her; however, still relished in the comfort of Marc's body heat. The fleeting intimacy and the rhythm of his heartbeat against her face. The very fact that she had been here for who knows how long and he wasn't troubled by laying here in perfect silence.

Her arm tightened slightly over his middle out of reflex, her body trying to find some way to get drunk off of his warmth. It was an intoxicant she was more than familiar with and had recently developed an addiction to but this manner of collecting it was different.

Something about this felt like floating through space; scared, cold, alone, only to be scooped into the blazing embrace of the sun but greater and far more personal. It was as if the sun knew her by name and spoke to her as if there was nobody else. As if the sun were capable of toning down those deathly rays to be her heat lamp. She could thrive here like a cactus.

The movement of her arm seemed to give away that she was aware, and the weaving of his fingers was replaced by his palm resting in the middle of her back. In the same motion, she felt his chin shift downward and his chest move back as if to see if her eyes were open. They weren't yet, and despite her efforts to pretend she was still conked, she couldn't help but giggle.

"What's so funny?" Marc asked the rasp in his voice vibrating through her being and reminding her of what normally happened when she got this close. Under lighter affairs, she might have been ready to pounce.

"You." She replied simply, moving her neck on stiff shoulders to look up at him. He ticked an eyebrow up at this.

"What about me?"

Everything . She thought but decided she couldn't tell him that.

"Don't worry about it." Was what she said instead.

That's helpful. He thought, biting his tongue because being an asshole, even if it was playfully, felt wrong here. Thankfully, it seemed like her mood had improved a bit from the staggering drop-off it took before.

One of her legs was tucked between his thighs. It had been like that since they got in this position and originally, he hadn't noted how he could feel her heat through his jeans. In fact, he hadn't noticed that this was the closest he had been to her fully undressed without being inside of her.

Simone could tell something popped into his mind by how suddenly she felt his member move slightly against her. The thought of fucking him hadn't crossed her mind just yet, but the muscular thigh pressed to her bits certainly had her swaying in that direction. She was never big on using sex as a distraction from working out grief, but everyone had a coping mechanism.

Maybe bouncing on it could be mine. For right now, of course.

The idea was interrupted before it even began by the sound of her front door opening with reckless abandon. Whoever had entered had a key and wasn’t worried about being discrete. Simone only knew one person who happened to tick both of those boxes.

"Simmy! I know you're home!" The voice of Phoebe carried through the house. Moni's eyes went wide as they passed from her open bedroom door back to Marc, all previous lust replaced with panic. Marc, more worried about the fact that someone just let themselves in than being seen, halted her from getting up with a firm hand on her hip.

"Who's that?" He asked softly, eyebrows pressed tightly together.

"Phoebe."

"She just walks in?"

"I do the same at her house." She told him as she scrambled to get up and dress, starting with a forest green sweatshirt she pulled off the hanger at random. As Marc was bickering with her, Phoebe continued to talk about running into Vicky Nelson at the store. Marc was up from the bed at this point, assessing a hiding place like a lover about to be discovered by a jilted spouse.

"She said she saw them taking your mom. I've been waiting for you to ca-" Phoebe's sentence ceased as she stepped into the doorway of the bedroom, spotting Simone sliding a pair of sweatpants over her knees and an unfamiliar man debating if it would be better to go under the bed or in the closet. Her eyes drifted between them, then stopped on Marc. "I see now why I haven't heard from you. Jake, I presume?"

"Uh, yeah." Marc agreed, knowing it was too late for a switch or to yank out his mustache. He supposed he should be thankful that Phoebe hadn't seen him since they were thirteen or else this would have been way worse. Judging by how different she looked, he assumed he was safe and played along. "Nice to meet you."

"I wasn't interrupting anything, was I?" Phoebe's gaze shifted back to Simone, who had successfully secured her pants but was internally freaking out regardless of if she recognized Marc right away or not. It was only a matter of time.

"We were just laying around. No biggie." She replied with a nervous laugh, looking for her phone.

Why the fuck didn't the doorbell app tell me someone was here ? She thought, but then spotted the device on the hallway floor behind Phoebe. Neither of them had heard it in their distraction with each other. Figures.

"Well, you certainly earned a lazy day. I'm so sorry." Phoebe apologized with sympathetic eyes and entered the room with something balled into her right hand. Simone didn't get a good look at it before she was pulled in for a hug.

Phoebe knew this kind of pain. Like Simone, she spent her life without a dad and lost her mom a few years before. It was one of the reasons they got on so well after all this time. When she pulled away, she put what she was holding in Simone’s palm like a secret meant for the two of them. "For your nerves."

Unsure what that meant, Simone's pupils dropped to her hand to find a sandwich baggie with a bit of pot in it. She couldn't help but giggle at the confidential nature of something that wasn't only accessible to her through medical means, but perfectly legal. Then she remembered that Phoebe was a school teacher and would be in deep if she got caught with it.

"I appreciate it," Simone said, still laughing. She hadn't indulged since she was with Ericka and didn't see herself doing so now, but it was the thought that counted. Even with the humor of the offering, there was a sinking feeling in her gut that her chuckles weren't genuine, and the grizzly reminder that her mother was dead crept back in. "I'll let you know when I have a date and time."

For a brief moment, Phoebe looked back over at Marc, who was standing awkwardly and not sure what to do. He feared if she so much as looked at him from a different angle, she would clock him. From what Moni had told him, she was already curious about 'Jake' enough as it was, and she didn't seem to miss her opportunity as she waved a finger in the air.

"Do you have family from around here? I swear, I've either seen you or several other people who look similar to you." She questioned as if they had run into each other in the supermarket cashier line, studying his face and trying to place it. "You related to the Acosta's? The ones who used to own the deli?"

"I'm not." He answered simply, and she squinted at him, determined to figure out if she knew his family to some degree.

"You're not related to the Kaplan's, are you?"

"Strike two." He joked, trying to cover his unease. Moni was behind the redhead now, holding a frustrated expression and an 'Oh, here we go' eye-roll with each inapplicable name-drop. She was growing closer to him, putting on her best intimidating bestie face.

"What's your last name?"

"Lockley."

Another pregnant pause filled the room and Moni began picking up clothes from the floor in anticipation. Phoebe wasn't dumb to any degree and if she didn't catch Marc in this line of questioning, surely she would once she got home and did her research.

"We had that youth pastor Chris Lockley. No relation?"

"Nope."

When she realized her guessing games weren't bearing fruit, she looked at Simone, who was sheepishly trying to find Marc a way out by any means. She had a laundry basket in her hand, skirting around the bed to join them on the other side.

"I thought you said he had a mustache?" Phoebe asked her with a hand clearly gestured to his stubbly upper lip. Of all the things to come back and bite her in the ass, the mention of that feature wasn't on Simone's bingo card.

"It comes and goes." She answered and held out the plastic basket for him to take. "Could you get a wash going for me, dear?"

Marc took the laundry without question, recognizing that Moni was providing him with a swift exit from the interrogation. It was better than nothing and got him out of Phoebe's eyeshot. Just as he began to walk past, she leaned over slightly to stop him in his tracks.

"Just so you know, buddy; I hit it first."

"You did not!" Moni called her out with an unbelieving laugh, taking his bicep into her hand to guide him out of Phoebe's path protectively. It was obvious that she was trying to play a role.

"This only works if you let it work for you, Simmy." She said playfully, trying to feign a whisper and watching Marc like a hawk until he was fully down the hallway. The crease in her brow told Simone that she was trying to maintain a stern face, but the trajectory of her eyes told her she was checking him out.

A knot formed in her stomach at this. Of course, Phoebe was married and happily so with a healthy enough sex life per her own chatter, but she wasn't blind or gay by any stretch of the imagination. She knew a good-looking man when she saw one.

Even if Simone knew she had no reason to be jealous, that feeling bit her like a mosquito and the itch grew more bothersome until her friend's eyes clapped back to her. "Do you need me to do anything?"

"I'm all good here." She replied, snapping out of the emerald-green trance brought on by her best friend getting an eyeful of what was meant to be her best-kept secret. It was time to get her moving. "Thank you, though."

"That's what family's for. Call me if you change your mind on that."

"I will. Love you."

"Love you too, girl. " Phoebe responded as she gave Simone another quick hug and stared off down the hallway. As she turned to go to the front door, she stuck a hand up and waved. "Bye, Jake the Snake! It was nice to finally meet you!"

The man in question didn't say anything in response, and Simone held her breath until she heard the front door open and close. A loud, long sigh of relief released from her lungs and just as quickly, her phone lit up the dim hallway.

"Jake the Snake?" Marc called out from her laundry room. Simone collected her phone from the floor and found two new messages on her lockscreen .

Phoebe: Bitch, he's fucking hot!! WTF!!

Phoebe: Soooo what's his deal?

She replied with three question marks, unsure of what she meant by 'deal' , and then heard Marc say her name in search of a response to his question.

"She has weird nicknames for everyone. Jake is a snake because she finds him evasive. She called Ericka 'Earthquake Ericka' back when she drank a lot and broke things."

"I see. Where's your detergent?" He called out again as he opened and closed the cabinet above the machine for the umpteenth time and came up empty. There were decorative bottles with pumps but they weren't labeled to any degree that made it easy for him to discern which one contained what. Then he re-assessed what Moni just told him.

Ericka drank a lot and broke things? He thought to himself, suddenly offended that he hadn't heard anything about this before, and circled back as Moni entered the space where he resided. "Ericka didn't put her hands on you, did she?"

"No, nothing like that. She just liked to get rowdy." She clarified as if this was a normal thing to tell someone and not as big of a deal as it was. "The blue bottle is detergent, green is softener, and yellow is bleach."

Another message dinged on her phone.

Phoebe: A guy that pretty has to have a deal. Married? Secret agent? Secret prince??

You watch too many Lifetime movies. She thought to herself before typing in the very same thing and hitting send. Her mind was split between so many events that it didn't register that Marc was trying to wash her dirty clothes until he pulled the bottle from the shelf.

"You don't actually have to do that. I just used it as an excuse." She told him, attempting to take the bottle out of his hands. He pulled it out of her immediate reach and shook his head.

"You really need to learn how to let people do things for you. Go sit down somewhere. Put your feet up."

"I can wash my own underwear, Spector." She insisted, putting her hands on his chest to shoo him out of the mudroom. Normally she was decently receptive when he used his 'that wasn't a suggestion' voice, but this was clearly a different matter entirely to her.

Her eyes were starting to redden as she looked up at him and it was clear this wasn't just about the laundry. Estie was very self-reliant and taught her daughter to be the same way after they lost Anton. As Moni told him once; they cried for a day, had the funeral, and then they moved on. Estie didn't miss work, Moni didn't miss school, no helping hands accepted from neighbors, and no free lunches.

“Okay, what can I do?” Marc asked, making it clear he wasn't as willing to let her do this on her own as she wanted him to be. Her vision began to blur over and her nose started to burn as her body physically ached to break down again. The harder he tried, the harder it became to keep it down.

“Nothing that won’t blow your cover.” She spoke through trembling lips. The things in her day-to-day routine—the things that felt normal—she didn't want help with. Anything to do with her mother; however, she was afraid to touch but the last thing she wanted was to put that responsibility on anyone else. Especially Marc.

They got lucky dancing around Phoebe. She knew everyone that had lived in or around Chicago in the last two decades but she didn't ask about the Spector family. If she had, that would have surely sold him out, presumed dead or not. There was bound to be someone equipped enough to get closer than she did.

"Tag me in, Marc. " Jake spoke up, likely buzzing after hearing his name being said so many times. On top of that, he was passable in this area without getting noticed. If Moni needed to go somewhere, he could accompany her without suspicion. It wasn't a bad plan.

“Maybe not, but I know someone who can.” He told her as she became preoccupied with pumping laundry liquid into the tray and took a back seat in his own head.

Simone closed the lid of the top-load washer and hit a couple of buttons, not questioning what Marc was up to or what he meant by that because she wasn't sure what difference it would make. She had a hundred phone calls to make and she had to figure out so much more.

She hadn't noticed he walked off until she looked up and he was gone. Impulsively, she checked her phone to find Phoebe stopped messaging, which was one less thing to split her attention. She was right about the nerves, though. They were shot to hell and the greenery in her pocket was sounding better and better.

As for her search for Marc, Simone had to go all the way from the laundry room to her bedroom and found him collecting his coat from her floor. Another wave of dread hit and she suddenly felt like she was about to be left alone with ninety-nine overwhelming problems but found that wasn't the case as she watched him place the fake mustache under his nose.

“Hey, darlin’.” The oddly comforting accent floated through the air as he turned around to reveal the set of kind eyes typically paired with it. His arms extended outward as a wordless offering for a hug and her feet took her straight into the embrace before her brain had a second to question it if it wanted to.

“Hey.” She spoke into his shirt, noting how he kept his hands toward the middle and upper portions of her back in a respectful manner, patting and rubbing up and down in consolation. It was just like the hug she got from Jake of Earth-928, only this version of him wasn't afraid to squeeze her.

They held this for what felt like a few minutes but neither of them minded. It took every sliver of willpower Simone had not to let herself get emotional again. She knew she had the right to cry and would need to let go again eventually, but the embarrassment that followed her from the previous break was hard to shake. It was time to breathe, take solace in knowing she had company, and knock this shit out of the park.

“Where do we start?” Jake asked, pulling back from the hug to get a read on her face. Her eyes were red again but her cheeks were fully dry. After the pop from earlier, he expected a lot more waterworks, but the day was young.

“We'll have to go to her house and pick up a few things, then the funeral home and St. Peter’s cathedral. Then calling friends and family once we get a funeral date and time.” She explained, turning on her heels with a sigh and muttering to herself. "This is gonna fucking suck."

 

Jake drove Simone around in the Durango from place to place, accompanying her into her childhood home to gather something for her mom to wear and important paperwork regarding the house and the funeral plans she arranged back when she first got sick.

Going through Estie's Sunday clothes was more rough than she imagined. Each long dress brought back an image of times when she was a girl; no father, no grandparents in the States, just her mamá. Luckily, it didn't take long to find the one Estie would be buried in. It was a yellow half-sleeved dress with white flowers on it.

"She always loved dressing us in yellow. " Simone said more to herself than to Jake, but he caught it. "She said it looked best on us. It was our color."

" Personally, I think you look great in any color but who am I to argue with your ma?" He replied sweetly but tried to pass it as an off-hand observation rather than a compliment.

Soon after that, they left the dress at the funeral home and went straight to the church where they were greeted by Father Paul Cooper. He had been over the church for the last ten years, taking the place of Father Donlen, who she grew up watching.

"I'm very sorry for your loss. She truly was a treasure to us all. It really crushed us when she wasn't able to join us for Mass each Sunday." Father Paul said with a grin before turning his attention to her companion. "And this is?"

"Jake." He said, putting his hand out for a polite shake, which wasn't returned by the Catholic germaphobe it was presented to.

"Father has a thing about handshakes. " Simone informed him, leaning a bit closer and giving him a nudge that told him to drop his arm. Out of instinct, once it returned to his side, she took it into her cold palms.

"But you aren't any less welcome." The clergyman agreed with a nod and allowed his eyes to assess the affectionate action taking place. "Husband, I take it?"

Simone was surprised by the assumption. After she stopped coming when word spread about her and Ericka, it got back to her that her strength against temptations of the flesh and homosexuality was being prayed for. Though she stiffed at the label, Jake was much less phased.

"Boyfriend." He corrected with the more worn-out term and a sure smile.

"Careful with the B word. That’s what got us in trouble in the first place." Marc piped up from inside their shared brain.

After setting up a date and time for the service, Father Paul attempted to sell Simone on the idea of coming back more often and honoring her mother, which she simply said she would think about.

It was the most played-out move in the book. The one who left the church decides to start going again when someone close to them dies. As much as it would make her mom happy for her to attend, she hadn't exactly been in good standing with anything that would make her or God proud. That, and if the Catholic community was going to peg her as a no-good homosexual, good riddance.

The second they got back to the house, Simone changed into her sleepwear and ordered a pizza. If they were going to be making phone calls for the next few hours, she at least wanted to be comfortable.

“Could you throw together a list for me? Names and numbers?” Jake asked from down the hall as she changed in her bedroom. She had left the door open and for the sake of her privacy, he kept his eyes on a bowl full of colorful stones on a shelf.

“Yeah.” She confirmed as her shirt slipped over her head. Out of curiosity, she leaned over the doorway for a moment to see what Jake was up to. He wasn't paying her any mind and she wondered if that was because of Marc or if it was because of her.

Let it go, Fredrick. Names and numbers. She told herself, flipping through a mental book of faces she hadn't seen in a long time. One in particular stuck to her thoughts like gum and made her more nervous than the rest.

Wendy Spector. She hadn't seen Wendy since Randall's service. Simone promised to keep in touch, but of course, that was another white lie. After everything, she felt strange about making a short phone call just to see how Wendy was doing. That was before Marc, and now that he was around again, Simone felt terrible.

Simone thought it best to forget about the old pack of Winston cigarettes in her jewelry box for years but there was a reason she kept it instead of throwing it away. Sometimes she just needed to feel the burn in the back of her throat, and since she wasn't ready to get that from the gift Phoebe bestowed just yet, she retrieved the pack and retreated to her back patio.

It tasted like burnt woodchips and reeked to high heaven but the sting cut through the cold. The porch light reflected off the snow on the ground and even with the temperature in the low twenties, she kept her coat unzipped and her gloves tucked away. It was strangely comforting.

The backdoor opened and closed behind her, signaling someone decided to join her. There was a feeling of embarrassment that came with being caught with a dart between her fingers like she would be scolded for doing something so obviously terrible for her health.

Lately, I've been pretty cozy with things that are supposed to be bad for me.

A gentle hand rested on the middle of her back and that gave away that it was still Jake. Marc would have gone further, maybe hugging her from behind or putting the hand much lower depending on if he felt like expressing love at that moment. She doubted Steven would have stepped out at all, more likely to open the door and ask her to come back in.

"Catch a cold out here. " Jake stated, motioning for her to hand over the cigarette with an extended right hand. With a sigh, she passed it over, barely taking puffs from it anyway. She expected him to put it out and lead her back inside where it was toasty, but instead, he placed the yellow end between his lips and took a long drag. Having grown up in a generation that romanticized smoking, she couldn't help but find it sexy even if it was an abnormal sight.

“You don’t smoke.” She said with an inquisitive stare, studying the side of the face she had gotten to know so well. He looked back at her and ticked an eyebrow up, seeing right through her.

“ You don’t either.”

She only nodded in response, shifting her focus back to the sparkling snow. It felt like the world's longest day even though she had spent a bit of it napping. She was sure if it went on much longer, she would surely collapse but it wasn't all bad. The company made it worthwhile.

“So Wendy?” She finally asked, feeling like her throat would close up upon uttering her name. She couldn't imagine her not making the trip for the service but time kept moving whether Simone liked it or not. Sometimes travel isn't in the cards for people Wendy's age, much like Estie.

“We're flyin' her in Friday. She'll be there.” Jake replied, having already thought about that. Hearing it was like a tremendous weight had been lifted from her shoulders. There was still so much to do, and yet it felt like so little now.

“She’s welcome to stay here if need be.” Simone offered as a courtesy. He waved his hand at this,

“Nah, we got her a hotel.”

Her only response was to nod again. That was another item she didn't have to worry about and through all of this, she realized she hadn't expressed how grateful she was. She remembered how stressful it was for her mom to have to take care of her dad's arrangements without help. Though, that was by design. Estie wasn't big on accepting assistance from others. In many ways, Simone was the same.

“Thank you for everything." She muttered softly, feeling the breeze cut clean through her layers and sending a chill along her skin. That gratitude extended to Marc but she hoped that when without saying.

“Don’t mention it.” He told her, and as another gust blew through, he felt her body shift a bit closer as if to steal what heat she could from what radiated off of him. He truly adored this woman, finding her to be strikingly strong through this even if he felt weird saying it.

Strength didn't mean she had to torture herself in the cold, though. As much as he wanted to stick by her side, he didn't enjoy standing out here hiding the chatter of his teeth. He turned in her direction with the intention of convincing her to go back in but noticed she was wearing an ancient Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles shirt. “The hell is this?”

“What do you mean?” She asked, looking down at where he was pointing with playful exasperation.

“This shirt looks like it predates Y2K.”

“Because it does.” She admitted, knowing that much as a fact. Hearing that only made Jake groan, and she couldn't contain her giggle. “It’s comfortable! I only wear my cute PJs when I'm showing off. Right now, I’m lounging.”

“I didn’t say it ain’t cute.” He corrected and quickly realized he was on the fast track to getting a pissed-off voice in his head telling him to watch it. Surprisingly even to himself, he found he didn't care much. If Steven could do it, so could he. Simone's already winter-reddened cheeks seemed to deepen as a grin cracked along her lips.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were hitting on me, Lockley.”

“And if I was?”

“The other guy might not be too happy about that.” She pointed out, looking down at her snow boots that were nervously stepping in place. It felt good to be picked on, and Jake deserved to know that. “I’m flattered, though. Even if the mustache weirds me out a smidge.”

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t sit on it.” He murmured before he could even choke it back. He had enough awareness to know that she found the face he happened to wear attractive and overall, he was just a nicer guy than Marc. Though he didn't get a rise out of his host at the comment, Simone's jaw was on the floor and she was stammering like the truth was far too absurd to be spoken aloud.

“You’re really pushing it tonight.” She uttered through her gasp. If she had pearls, she would be clutching them at how forward the comment was. From Marc, it was one thing, but from Jake, it was like being put on the spot. Still, she didn't confirm or deny it even if it had her buzzing.

There was a long break in conversation where she expected a lot more lip, but got none. She thought if she looked directly at him, it would be akin to an invitation. That would be bad. More than bad, even. Along the lines of World War 3.

That's a bit dramatic. Even if I'm making headway with Marc, it isn't like he's trying to collar me. She thought to herself, feeling guilty for even getting such an idea still. After everything he did for you today, would you really repay him by entertaining conflict within his system? Don't be dumb.

"Feels like I licked an ashtray.” He finally spoke up, but the change of accent told her either Jake backed out or Marc took over. That tickled feeling was back. There was a chance he didn't like where this was going and chose to put a stop to it. This forced her to bring her face back up to his, the mustache having already vanished. "Get inside before I have to carry you in. It's too cold to be standing out here."

About halfway through the calls, it was clear Moni was tired of repeating the same thing over and over again.

'Estie passed away. It was in her sleep, peacefully. We're hoping you'll join us for her service.'

Marc had to convince her to take a break, and she agreed against her instinct to push forward until the task was complete. They could always pick back up tomorrow, and aside from her falling asleep earlier, she had been on 'go' all day long.

It hadn't dawned on him that this was the longest he spent in her presence without having sex with her and that felt like a small victory. Of course, he hadn't really tried because of the circumstances, but he felt like he could keep the ball rolling and support her.

What concerned him; however, was how aside from the planning, she hadn't spoken about it. There was a brief mention at Estie's house when she brought up the color yellow and he thought the floodgates were ready to open, but that didn't happen. She kept it together, and he wasn't sure how healthy that was.

Moni was lying on the couch with the back of her hand over her eyes. She ate half a piece of pizza before her head started to pound again and choked down two ibuprofen with a full glass of water.

Everything felt upside down and backward. Her whole routine was thrown for a loop and only in part by the bad news. From the moment she woke up, Marc had been around, and it became easy to forget herself. He didn't need to stick around, he didn't need to take pity on her, and with all of his obligations and responsibilities, she felt she was taking up too much space.

"Don't bite my head off but I switched the load over so it wouldn't stink." Marc said as he entered the living room. She wanted to tell him he didn't have to worry about that, but she had fully put the laundry out of her mind since starting the washing machine. His footsteps stopped, and she felt him take her legs and lift them only to place them back into his lap when he sat down.

It's a big couch. You could have sat anywhere else and you chose right there. She thought, elated for a moment before feeling a wave of disappointment. This would be over soon. Once the initial sorrow began to wear off, Marc's sudden clinginess would, as well. She couldn't get her hopes up.

Through the fabric of her socks, she began to feel the tips of his fingers dig into the arches of her feet and roam over her heels and back up to her toes. She had only been joking about the foot rub the night before and normally didn't care to have her toes fondled in any way, but whatever he was doing was just what the doctor ordered.

A soft whine left her nostrils as he pushed the knuckle of his thumb deeper into the lowest point of her right arch and his other thumb smoothed over the top, the closest point to her ankle. He repeated this on her left foot, and her eyes started to tear up as the tension along her inner legs melted away. “You wanna talk about it?” He spoke up again.

Trying to buy my cooperation, I see. She thought as she felt his strong hands work their way up her ankles and slowly to her meaty calves.

“I’d rather not.” She sighed as his digits pinched into her tissue so hard it hurt before it felt good. Another small sound left her lips that was nearly a moan until she caught it and bit it back.

“Funny. I thought your whole thing was talking things through.”

“That doesn’t always mean you have to.”

She was right about that much. It wasn't like she was obligated to share her feelings and thoughts, but he figured he would try. The massage was just to sweeten the pot and she seemed to be enjoying herself. Even though he was slow and maintained focus on certain points with a lot of tension, he would run out of leg real estate soon. Before he could try to get her to speak her mind again, she piped back up. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“About Estie?”

“Well, no, but you’ve lost people. Your dad, Rand… I feel bad that you’re here for me but you had to go through that alone.”

He became aware of the trick here. She was attempting an 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours' type of conversation. If he opened up, she would do the same. Then, as he considered it, he understood that it was her taking the attention off of herself once more.

She just lost her mom and she's worried about me. Again. He thought. Why does she do this to herself?

“I wasn’t entirely alone, but no, I don’t wanna discuss that either.” He replied, applying pressure to the back of her knees and then sweeping his palms back over her calves. It was clear these muscles went underappreciated and overworked.

“Fair enough.” She said with a breathy sigh. Now done with the feet and calves, that left the thighs. A zone he worshipped with his eyes much more than his hands. To get a better reach, he moved to sit sideways on the couch between her legs, facing her, and slid his palms into the left sleeve of her baggy pajama pants.

A long groan expelled through her teeth as his thumbs pressed lines into the skin of her hamstrings. He barely applied pressure before that beautiful song graced his ears. She seemed to be in another quadrant of her brain; one without loss. It made him wonder if he could tell her the things he didn't want her to know on the off-chance that she wouldn't overthink it.

“ Actually, I do think maybe I should tell you-“ He started to speak, but found his mouth closing before he finished the sentence. Surely, the piece of information he had in mind would ruin this relaxing moment for her.

“Go ahead.” She whispered. Marc never opened up to her. If there was something he wanted her to know, she wanted him to be out with it. His hands continued to perform miracles on her left thigh as he pondered his next words.

“I just don’t think it’s the best time.”

There literally has never been a better time. She thought.

“If it gets my mind off of my mom, I’m open to hearing it.” She said instead.

“Even if it changes your mind about me being here?”

“I don’t think that’s possible. I wouldn’t have been able to get through any of this without you.”

As Moni told him this, he rested her right ankle on his shoulder and repeated what he did on the left on this one. Now that he brought it up, she wouldn't let it go and he was oddly touched by her proclamation. He moved forward, hesitantly.

“It's about Rand. He hurt and killed people that I cared about, so...“

“You killed him.” Moni finished where he trailed off and said so bluntly he could have been fooled into believing he had already told her. His hands froze, caressing either side of the highest point before reaching her hip.

“I did. ” Marc confirmed with a hint of surprise in his voice that she guessed correctly. In her mind, it was a no-brainer once he explained that Rand was doing terrible things. What filled her mind now was the fact that he was willing to tell her.

“Okay.” She opened her eyes and looked at him for the first time since he sat down. The shock in his voice was reflected in his expression.

“That’s it? No questions, no yelling, no kicking me out?”

“I think you were justified. He would have kept hurting people, right?”

“Right. That’s right.” He repeated, studying her relaxed demeanor as if he were looking at a totally different person. Then he remembered the conversation about her patient's parents. She understood much more than he gave her credit for.

In the silence between them, Moni couldn't help but notice that he stopped his massage and still had her leg in his grip. It certainly did look best over his shoulder to some degree but even admiring the view wasn't distracting her from missing the previous action. To remind him of what he had been doing, she scooted her butt down slightly, and he proceeded.

“I’m sorry for not taking you seriously about beefing things up around here. Now that I know it was too close to home for you with those you lost...” She started to apologize, having gotten only hints at the horrors he had witnessed. His protectiveness of her was warranted. “I’m open to suggestions now.”

As if this was what he needed to hear, his eyes lit up and his knuckles rolled harder over her quad.

“Firstly, you could do with an actual security system. The doorbell is a good start but I know you did that to be cute, not because you wanted it. I’m talking alarms, cameras on every corner of your house, window locks, and—I swear to god if I come here again and that kitchen window is unlatched, I’ll…”

“You’ll what?”

Spank you until your ass is so raw you won't be able to sit for a few days.

“Maybe you won’t have to find out.” He chuckled, then continued his list. “Start driving to work. You have a car, use it. Take some self-defense classes because even if you live on a nicer side of Chicago, it’s still Chicago. Buy a gun, learn how to use it.”

“I have a gun, and I know how to use it.” She informed, and his hand movements stopped again as more awe filled his irises.

“ You have a gun?”

“Had it for years.”

“Show me.” He insisted, not believing her. Now, he knew Estie and Anton kept a couple of firearms but it seemed so out of character for Moni to have one. Then again, it seemed out of character for her to be cool about a lot of the things she'd heard, witnessed, done, or had done to her since they reconnected.

Looking to fulfill his request, she got up and went to her shelf and pulled a thick yellow brick of a book labeled '50 States, 5000 Ideas' out from between a collection of Stephen King novels. That hunk of text could have been a weapon on its own, but it proved to not be a book at all. Upon her flipping the front cover, she revealed it was a lockbox.

“Keeps the kids away from it.” She said with a shrug at his inquisitive stare. That only made him more curious.

“Kids?”

“Jude and Rocky. Phoebe’s kids.” She clarified and turned the inside toward herself to enter the combination.

Not even letting me see what the code is. Smart. He thought to himself, knowing he would be just nosey enough to try to memorize it as she moved the dials. A slight pop followed, and she placed the box back down in front of her. Inside the hidden safe was the gun and a small box of ammunition.

He had expected something small like a .22 or even Anton's old revolver, but this took him by surprise. It was a 9mm Sig Sauer with the holster attached. She gestured for him to get a better look and he took it out of the box. It was a thoughtful piece. The fact that she had the holster on it told him she knew it didn’t have a safety.

"Either you believe you could shoot someone without hesitation or you don’t want a safety getting in the way in case you aren’t given a choice.”

“Can ‘I like the way it looked’ be a reasonable answer?” She giggled, eyeing him as he removed the holster and opened the clip. It was loaded, and further inspection showed there was one in the chamber.

“It obviously isn’t that." He spoke as if he had just found out a secret about her. In a way, he had. "Are you afraid for your life on this side of town?”

“Let’s just say I’ve seen some gnarly and unsettling things regardless of where I am.”

Of course, my mistake. I should have assumed you were an undercover badass by the way you're a walking ray of sunshine. He thought, then found himself re-evaluating everything he knew about her. She watched her dad die at eight, her uncle was a predator, she grew up in a not-so-great neighborhood, and now she takes care of kids with similar struggles.

That, and her mother went through the same thing, maybe even worse, and did what many other parents fail to do: she protected her kid from it. That didn't mean Moni was soft, and all at once he realized he had her all wrong. All that sunshine is for other people. The people who needed her to be their light. People like Marc.

"Wanna see a trick?" He asked, wanting to get an idea of how much she knew, and handed the gun back to her. She took it and shrugged.

"Sure."

Marc had her stand up and positioned her to where her back was to the couch. From there, he backed up a bit.

"Point it at me." He requested, which was granted a laugh.

"No."

"It's okay. I trust you."

The reassurance seemed to be enough, and she did as he asked. She held the gun out just enough to where she had control over it and made it harder for someone to take it from her unsuspecting grasp. She also exhibited perfect trigger discipline. It was a good look on her.

Unfortunately, because she wasn't paying enough attention to him, he managed to get the firearm out of her hands and into his own. With that, he pointed it at her for only a second and then brought it back down to his side. "Bang. You shouldn't have let me do that."

"What was I supposed to do? Shoot you?" She asked with an eye roll.

"There was no resistance to letting me take it."

"Because I trust you." She used his previous remark against him in her defense. The crazy part was, it was beyond trust. In that split-second he had the pistol pointed at her, she felt her blood run hot. It wasn't meant to be a sexy sight, but there certainly were worse things than seeing his large hands caress the weapon as he did her legs moments before.

That look in her eyes was one Marc had come to know well. How her gaze flicked between his lips, his hands, and the jeans he had now been wearing for two days straight. The way her lower lip slipped between her teeth. All of the frustration she had built throughout the day had to be released somehow and it seemed her sights were set.

As badly as he wanted to toe that line, he had to keep in mind that her mother just died, and not even an hour before she was liable to break. She was far too vulnerable for him to feel good about sleeping with her. On top of that, he hadn't showered and he respected her too much to put her through whatever scents or oils collected on his skin during the day.

"You think you could throw together something for me to change into?" Marc broke the brief eye-fucking and watched her pupils shrink back to normal at the question. Moni physically shook away the fog and flashed a grin at told him she wasn't offended by his resistance.

"Do you prefer Power Rangers or Jurassic Park?"

Notes:

Fun fact: I had smut planned for this chapter but it was already 10k words and I didn't think it fit tonally, so instead, you get angst and semi-domestic fluff.

Chapter 21: In Between

Summary:

Tags have been updated to reflect the events of this chapter. I'm not great at writing fluff, hence why this chapter skips around most of the soft stuff.

" Already got me sayin'
Baby, I got no patience
Give me one conversation
I can be soft, you can behave "
-"In Between" by 6LACK

 

The highlight of the night was that Marc agreed to stay in bed with Simone until she fell asleep. It didn't take a lot of convincing, after all, he asked her if there was anything she needed him to do before he went to the guest room and she was honest.

The very fact that Marc insisted on sleeping in the other room got under her skin. After the cuddle from earlier that day, it seemed like he was just separating himself from her to be stubborn. Still, once her head was nuzzled into his chest, she couldn't complain.

"What's one thing you really want?" He asked as his fingers ran through her strands. It was comforting being here again and the last thing she wanted was to end it so soon regardless of her exhaustion level.

"In what sense?"

"Any."

For you to be mine. She thought but knew she couldn't say that. Flitting through the other things she couldn't have, she came to another conclusion.

"I miss my cat."

"Oh yeah?" He started, thinking about the picture on her phone and in her hallway. White fur, green eyes. It wasn't exactly the answer he was hoping for, even if he knew the answer he wanted would complicate things, but he knew well that it can get lonely being on your own. The cat was the reasonable response. "What was its name again?"

"Uncle Fester." She said softly, followed by a high-pitched yawn that sounded like the screech of a baby dinosaur.

"Like the Addams Family?"

"Yeah. We call him Unc or Fester. He answers to both."

"That's sweet. I like that."

I could get her that cat back. It wouldn't be hard. He thought to himself, knowing it would be done by illegal means but tracking down where Ericka lived would be the difficult part of the process. There was also the possibility that Moni would get pissed off about it.

"What if I got you your cat, Moni?" He asked her, trying to make it sound hypothetical. There was a long stretch of silence that was only broken by soft breaths. "Moni? Did I lose you?"

It became clear quickly that she had dozed off. To be on the safe side, he decided to stick around for a moment to be sure that she was fully conked before he tried to get up. His chest had become her pillow, his arm was trapped under her torso, and she had one leg stretched over his hips.

You just had to be a cuddler, didn't you? He thought. It was comfortable, just like it had been earlier, but this time it left a different feeling in the pit of his stomach. Before, it was about providing her with security, making sure she knew she wasn't alone. This time, he was a bit more selfish about it. He wanted to be here. He wanted to stay until morning.

It was so tender and tooth-achingly sweet that he almost felt like he could tear up. This moment was never supposed to happen but no matter how strong-willed he was about staying away, something within her never gave up on him. Not like everyone else did. The sad truth was, it was only a matter of time.

Roughly thirty minutes passed like this before he realized he would end up falling asleep here if he didn't move. Thankfully, Moni slept like a rock, and shimmying out from under her wasn't a problem. He had considered the possibility that she was faking it, but now that he had been around her while she slept a few times, he noticed a pattern in her breaths. Call it a hobby.

He stepped softly to her bedroom door but his feet felt glued at the threshold. Even though he was just going to the room next door, something felt wrong about this , like he was missing something important. What that was, he didn't know right away. Moni was covered up to her ears, her ceiling fan was on, and her windows were shut and latched.

Did I forget to tell her something? He wondered, knowing there were a lot of things he wanted to say to her but didn't. That never gave him pause, though. Some things weren't meant for her ears. It occurred to him that there was one thing she said that he didn't say back, and it sat in the back of his mind ever since.

"I love you." Was what she had mumbled the night before. Then there was a harsh reminder of mortality and how short life was. He always came back, of course, but when it came to Moni, like her mother and his father and brother, she could go at any time—even thinking such a thing twisted his heart wrong.

As he stood there at her bedroom door, he realized some things were meant for her ears. No matter the circumstances or the standing of their relationship, he knew the regret that would follow him forever if he didn't just tell her. Even if she was asleep and couldn't hear it, he knew it needed to be said before he could leave this room again.

"I love you." He whispered into the air, eyes locked to her shadowed form on the bed. All he could hope was that she felt it and it would be enough.

 

In an effort to continue with her normal life, Simone went for her morning run and convinced Marc to go with her. They jogged side-by-side through the cold morning along the mostly thawed sidewalk, sharing her wireless earbuds.

At first, Marc was a bit alarmed by the running playlist, the first song to start on the shuffle being 'God Loves You' from the collaboration album of JPEGMAFIA and Danny Brown. He thought it was gospel music until the beat dropped.

Back at the house, Simone decided she wanted a smoothie for breakfast, and in the spirit of still trying to get her to settle into her grief, Marc insisted he would make it. A brief argument ensued, but they finally agreed he could get the stuff out of the fridge.

"You have a lot of frozen fruit." Marc pointed out as he dug around for the bag of strawberry and banana mix that she requested. "Very berry, green mix, tropical blend..."

"I would say most of my breakfasts include fruit." She reflected aloud as she added water to her blender. "Good for the body's ecosystem."

"Well, clearly." He complimented.

"Clearly?"

"You know what they say about pineapples and all that."

"I'm pretty sure that's a myth."

"Pretty sure it isn't."

"Based on what?" She turned in his direction with an eyebrow ticked and eyes that normally would have him all but hovering to her. He still held the same opinion as he did the night before; though, and decided not to answer. Instead, he chuckled and passed the frozen fruit she requested over to her.

Why is he being so weird with me right now? She thought to herself. She adored the attention she was getting from him, but she still wondered when it would end. Appreciating his time and effort only didn't mean deluding herself. Things would go back to their standard eventually. She figured she could attempt to sway him. "Alright, how about I chug this and you tell me in a couple of hours."

"We have a lot to do today."

"And the day just started. You think we'll be so wrapped up that we won't find a spare hour to fool around?"

I cannot believe I'm saying this. He thought, growing frustrated with her frustration.

"I just don't want you to feel taken advantage of."

Simone's smoothie-making came to a halt and she couldn't help but question if this was a hill she wanted to die on. He was finally proving to her that it wasn't just about sex for him but she wasn't sure if it was for her sake or his own. They had been pretty consistent in taking advantage of each other lately, why stop now?

"You're kidding, right?" She asked with an unbelieving snicker. Marc knew how ridiculous it sounded, but that didn't change the fact that he felt like she wanted to pick up a nasty habit of trying to fuck her problems away. It was a slippery slope, and if she kept that up, she would never lose that sad look he kept seeing peak through her eyes.

" This is different." He replied as a way to tell her that he knew what she was getting at. There was only one difference she could think of. The one thing that has kept him here for this long without question.

"I wish you would stop treating me like my mom just died." She spoke defensively with her hands braced on the counter, not looking at him. It sounded beyond ridiculous, and she knew that, but her feelings continued to try to bubble over no matter how rotten she felt because of it. Marc had tried the gentle approach, but if she wanted to condescend him, he would do it back.

"Your mom did just die! What would you prefer? That I go home and let you sulk by yourself?"

I'm starting to believe you can't wait to get out of here. Moni thought to herself but managed to keep her mouth shut with the exception of a frustrated exhale. What am I even doing? I'm making myself crazy enough as it is without picking a fight.

In her mental judgment of herself, she began to recognize this feeling. Through the many, many years she was friends with Marc, she only ever believed he loved her beyond a platonic capacity when they first had sex. It didn't help that he left after that. His leaving felt like rejection. That was the feeling she had right then and he hadn't even walked out yet.

As she thought it over, a tender hand met her lower back, and his towering form grew closer. His eyes traced around the side of her face and she began mentally measuring the distance between his lips and hers. Turning into his body and kissing him would be so easy, but his mouth began to move before she could.

"Here's how I see this going: I fuck you, and then you go shower and you sit in the tub and cry by yourself." He explained with a soft, honied rasp. That was exactly the plan, as the shower seemed to be the only place in this house where she could fully get away from him long enough to cut loose. It was prime crying time.

Moni didn't respond with words to confirm that he was correct but he didn't need her to. She had shut herself off emotionally, the one exception being this slight tantrum. He knew his presence was the reason she worked so hard to bat away the tears and he couldn't help but question why. "Are you ashamed to cry around me?"

"I made a damn fool of myself yesterday."

"You reacted how anyone else would in your situation. It seemed like you needed a good breakdown."

"Nothing in the world is normal for me right now so why do you insist that you can't be normal too?" She finally looked at him as she said this, still holding back. He was bothered by the fact that she considered stringless sex to be their normal. That reflected poorly on him, and the longer he stood staring at her silently, it seemed she started to gather that. "Unless you just don't want to. If that's the case, just say that. Don't play me."

It wasn't that he didn't want to. Hell, under different circumstances, he would likely have had her at least twice by now but every time they ended up here, the memory of that quaking howl in the hallway replayed and instead of being turned on, he just felt remorse.

He could tell that fighting it was taking a lot more effort and exhausting her even faster. The worst thing he could think to do was make her cry, but there were ways to do that that didn't involve just simply being an asshole.

She's gonna hate it, but therapy is her thing, not mine.

Marc pulled out a dining chair and sat on its edge, holding the stoic expression of a man with a plan. What that plan was, Simone wasn't sure. A brief once-over proved that he wasn't hot and bothered to any degree, but his body language reflected that of what he held a few times before; calculation, intimidation, and determination.

"Come here. Pants off, keep your panties on." He said in his 'that wasn't a suggestion' voice, telling her she was either about to be in for a good time or a terrible one but she did as he asked and dropped her fleece-lined joggers. As she approached with a bit of caution, he patted his right leg. "Sit."

A shakey breath of relief coaxed from her lungs as she realized he wasn't meaning to bend her over his knee. Still, this was a course of action that she was unfamiliar with. All she could think to do was take the Santa Claus approach and go to sit sideways.

Before her ass so much as hovered over him, his hands came up to her hips and fixed her positioning to where she was facing him. He was still buttoned up, which left her with zero conclusions to draw from but the first step in this process was to straddle his thigh.

Whether it was the pressure applied to her core or just the fact that it was his leg didn't seem to matter much to her body as an instant flood of arousal coursed through her veins. His bulging, taut muscle seemed to contour between her legs perfectly. Before she could question the object of this exercise, the hands on her hips pushed downward and forced her to roll within their power. "Grind on it."

" Really ?" She asked with raised eyebrows.

"You wanna come so bad, do it yourself."

She suddenly began to break a sweat. If the mutual masturbation over the phone felt embarrassing, this was just downright uncomfortable. He was asking her to use him to get herself off without assistance or gratification on his part. That thought alone was nearly enough to make her shy away, but once friction was achieved, it was hard not to continue.

The more Simone rutted, the more damp her underwear grew. As her bliss bloomed, she found it easier to push away the humiliation that previously came with the idea of being so desperate that she would settle for riding Marc's thigh if she couldn't have his cock. It was still a piece of him, and she cherished it as much as the rest.

Yeah. This is doing it for me. Marc thought shamefully as he watched her gyrate her hips along the denim. He wanted to touch her, grip her hips more, squeeze her tits, but that wasn't the point of this. Moni was doing perfectly on her own , the quiet whines gracing his ears proving that much. All he needed to do was sit back, enjoy the show, and watch for her tells, which was easier when he got her talking a bit. "Is that what you wanted, baby?"

"You know this isn't what I wanted." She uttered through her heavy breaths. He thought it was amusing, seeing as he wasn't making her do it. His hands were on the arms of the chair and hers were hanging onto his shoulders. A snicker escaped his loosened lips.

"If you're gonna get an attitude, you can always stop."

They both knew she could have just as easily executed this on her own . Be it with her hands or a pillow, it wouldn't have been the same. There wouldn't be the same warmth or feeling of reverse-voyeurism that came with his eyes glancing over her as she showed him devotion in such a feral manner. His baritone only had her climbing the mountain faster. "That's what I thought. Keep rubbing your needy pussy on my thigh."

It was almost torturous for him, the sensation of the moistening patch under the spot she seemed to favor and her sweet coos. He supposed he was lucky her eyes were closed this time because it would only take a quick glance down for her to find out what this was doing to him.

"Almost." She murmured, her hands clasping tighter over his shoulders. As proud as he was of her for warning him, she wasn't close enough.

"I know, baby, keep going."

Marc caught it right on the nose. Her eyes began to flutter, she started to hold her breath, and her legs grew shaky. This was normally what he looked for when he wanted her to climax, but this wasn't an ordinary session, to begin with.

Just as she was on the brink, his hands grasped her hips and lifted her from his leg. It was as if the roof had collapsed in on her, her eyes snapping open and assessing him with nothing short of panic. In his eyes, she only found that same calculation from before. "I changed my mind. I actually don't want you to come yet."

"Nononono, please ." She pleaded, sliding her hands from his shirted shoulders to the bare skin on the back of his neck as if more contact could convince him not to do this to her. No matter how hard she tried to squat back down, she couldn't overpower him, and she couldn't squeeze her legs close enough together to find relief.

"Not quite. You've been so spoiled lately that you don't know how to be patient. We're gonna do this until I feel like you learned your lesson, okay?" He spoke in a manner that sounded gentle like he was truly doing this for her benefit. It was a convincing ruse but regardless of the sweet nature, she still felt trifled with. "I really hate to have to do this to you but I want you to show me you earned it. Can you do that?"

It would have been offputting if not for the coldness in his irises shifting to kindness. Either he was truly certain that this would help her or he was far better at manipulating her than she realized. At that moment; though, it didn't matter. It felt like her only option was to comply and hope she could deceive him. She nodded to confirm she understood his terms, and he pulled her back down onto his leg. "Let's try again."

She could have thanked the stars that she hadn't been up in the air long enough to completely kill the sensation she had worked up to . In a perfect world, it would have taken just a few rolls of her hips to completely spill over , and though her plan was to keep her mouth shut this time to not tip him off, he somehow caught her again in the exact same place.

" Motherfucker. " She groaned as dissatisfaction put her body into a tremble. It occurred to her that the same man who took pride in providing her with several orgasms was denying her of one altogether at a time when she so desperately felt she needed one, nonetheless.

"That wasn't very nice. " Marc said with a hint of whimsy. She wanted to scream, ask him if this was funny to him, ask if he felt proud of himself for edging her like this, but she couldn't. Her anger was nullified by distress and a thirst that needed to the quenched .

"I'm sorry." She whimpered, biting back her dignity and staring directly into his pupils in hopes of reaching his soul. "Please let me finish."

There was a method to his madness. He could pass it off as another lesson and she would believe it. In her current state, she was fit to take anything he said as gospel. In truth, Moni owed a debt to herself and he was trying to help her satisfy it. Unfortunately, she wasn't quite willing to pay yet.

"We'll see." He answered honestly with a shrug to match. Even if his dick throbbed, he could do this all day or until she got pissed off enough to pull back and finish the job herself. That didn't seem to be the direction she wanted to go either.

The process repeated itself once more. Frantic movements of Moni's lower half along Marc's thigh, she tried everything she could to hide the fact that she was about to finish, and he would yank her away from the peak the second she felt like she could taste it.

" Oh , my god, please ."

" Maybe . I'll let you try again."

No matter how many times she swore under her breath, stomped her foot, or had a shimmer in her eye that told him she wanted to hit him, she kept letting him tug at her until she finally felt something within her snap. With that, hot tears began to flow down her face.

"I can be patient, Marc, just please let me have this one." She begged. It was unfair and cruel. It felt like she was being punished for moving forward with her life; the only thing she knew how to do in times like this. Her head couldn't fathom what she could have possibly done to deserve such treatment.

"Keep going." He said in the same soft tone as before and allowed her cunt to drop back down to his leg. As she continued her relentless motions, her tears didn't stop falling. The anticipation was right over her shoulder, she was preparing to be denied again, and for what? For trying to have a good day? For making the most of the time she took from work?

All she wanted to do was spend that time with Marc but she just had to be greedy. She just had to question his intentions, had to make herself look like the cockwhipped slut that she was, and now look at what had become of her. In her kitchen without pants on, sobbing pathetically as she finally came, and all because her mother was dead.

My mother is dead. She thought as every rancid inch of emotion came pouring out through her eyes and mouth, sending tremors through her entire being that weren't just the fault of the backed-up climax recently released.

Marc's hands finally came up and caressed the middle of her back as she fell forward. Her face buried into the crook of his neck as he rubbed circles under her shirt. It was mission accomplished. An unorthodox method of pushing her toward a good cry but it worked. "That's it. Let it out."

"You asshole . You tricked me." She mumbled through her weeps. She was never good at this part—the part where you have to show vulnerability. No matter how in tune with her feelings she thought she was, Marc was nothing if not consistent in making her realize how wrong she could be.

"Yeah, well, at least you aren't in the shower, right?"

" Fuck off. " She tried to sound prickly again but continued to melt into his embrace.

"You don't mean that."

She really didn't. If anything, she felt like she could stay here for the rest of her life. Never in her lengthy existence had she ever felt so powerless, and for once, she was okay with that. It made her think back to when she let the L-word slip a couple of days before and she pondered if this was a more appropriate time to say it.

"No." She said aloud and nearly retched at how effortlessly she let her thoughts slip again. Thankfully, it could have been mistaken for a response to what he said before and he took it as much. Even if she felt a bit better having done this, she couldn't bear the thought of the nasty wake-up call that would follow speaking that truth just yet.

They sat like that for a long while, Marc's rough hands moving up and down her back, as the hitches in her breath grew further and further apart. He even pressed kisses to the side of her head a few times. His erection was killed the second she started to fall apart on him, which he took as a testament to how little sex truly weighed on this relationship or lack thereof.

At the start of all this, he didn't want to be her friend. Then he only wanted to be her friend. What followed that was the benefits, and as lovely as those were, he hated to know that she thought that was all he wanted. While with her, his priority was her happiness. He only wished she could see it that way. Until she did, he would work to bridge where she cut off her emotional needs.

"Do you want your smoothie or should I draw you a bath first?" He whispered, then planted another light kiss on the top of her ear. For the first time in what felt like hours, he heard a little laugh.

"I'm not eighty. I can run my own bathwater."

"I'd like to see you try to even stand up right now after all that."

To prove him wrong, she attempted to gather herself on legs that felt entirely too weak to be her own. From the run to the lack of sustenance to the edging of a lifetime, she was exhausted past her limits. It was a wonder she hadn't passed out instead of bawling.

Then came to headrush that sent her crashing right back into his lap, and she thought that was the blackout catching up to her before her vision came back and the spins ceased. In true Marc Spector fashion, he didn't miss the opportunity to make fun of her. "What did I tell you?"

"How was I supposed to know my faculties were completely useless right now, smartass?"

"Because I warned you, you dork." He jested, preparing to have to carry her as her forehead came back to his shoulder but not preparing for her to make an argument.

" No , you said you'd like to see me try . I took it as a challenge."

Why did I expect anything less? You can make her legs stop working but she'll still run her mouth. Will take sarcasm as a dare but won't let me run some tap water into the tub as a courtesy. Maybe that's what I'm doing wrong.

"Yeah? I'd challenge you to shut up for ten minutes while I take care of you but I think your head might explode if you try." He uttered more to himself than he did directly to her. She lifted her face back to where he could see her and her mouth opened, likely to give him more lip before it closed again in a straight line.

Sucker. He nearly said but kept it to himself as he stood, lifting her up and using his hands to support her rear.

 

Marc understood he would have to leave soon. The Mission was still his responsibility, and leaving it in the hands of Hunter's Moon and Reese might not have been the worst thing in the world but it was still only a temporary setup until Moni was situated.

Just one more night to help move things along here and then I'll go back home and return for the service. He told himself, but was quickly reminded that Phoebe would be attending and she now knew his face, sans mustache and accent, in connection to Jake.

Jake was going to accompany Moni in his place, but with that hiccup in mind, Marc realized he would have to skip out. It wasn't an easy conversation to have, but she took it well and understood. He reassured her that he would be around; though, and planned on being here when things wrapped up.

That just left one order of business: making the rest of the day and night as headache-free as possible. They finished their phone calls and planning, ordered out to avoid doing the dishes, and played some Super Smash Bros. Overall, it was a fun day once they got past the sad things.

There came a point when Moni disappeared off to her room, presumably to gather something comfortable to wear, and Marc found himself reflecting on what Jake and Steven were trying to tell him. Everything about these last few days only seemed to serve to open his eyes to the fact that they were correct.

Am I, by definition, her boyfriend?

The idea both unsettled and elated him. Obviously, there were a lot of extra steps that had to be taken for that sort of thing, but it felt nice that there was a chance—the most microscopic possibility—that maybe those could be bypassed. No tough conversations, no labels, nothing complicated, and if those were a necessity , they would occur naturally like everything else seemed to.

Had things happened naturally, though? He considered as stretched out on the sofa and stared at the Spanish lace ceiling. He had to admit that a lot that led up to this was of his own design. He wanted her all to himself, and he got that, but what did it cost? Would he ever be satisfied? It wasn't like back in the day. The world would never know that she was Spector's girl because Spector was gone.

She knows. He thought to himself with a bit of pride, reminiscing on what she said in the video, then the L-bomb on the kitchen counter, and then—as if his mind meant to sabotage him—what happened after. That moment of doubt and self-hatred caused his physical restraint to flip on its head. He had harmed this beautiful, sweet woman who wanted nothing more than to see him happy.

And she fucking loved it. He re-evaluated that act and had to remind himself of the one thing he felt had to have been a fluke but it wasn't. He had pulled her arm so far up her back that if he hadn't stopped where he did, a nasty pop would have followed. That sensation made her come unglued, and taking the time to relive it was making him hard again.

Relax. This isn't about me. He had to tell himself as he grew a bit restless. Moni would be back in soon enough and the last thing he wanted was for her to see him bricked up on her couch waiting for her. It wouldn't be the end of the world, but it was still making an effort to do this right and do right by her. Then he realized she had been away for quite some time.

Simone couldn't have asked for a better person to tag-team all of this with, but she couldn't keep herself from feeling bad about hogging him from the rest of the world. Dramatic, yes, but as she opened social media while getting her pajamas on, she realized that was exactly what she had been doing.

A brief peruse of the MKSpottings page showed her that. No new videos since the night before he crawled through her window but the sister account dedicated to Hunter's Moon sightings was popping off. As interesting as he seemed, she found herself clicking right back over to the Moon Knight page and watched a few of the older clips.

What was meant to be a brief scroll turned into fifteen minutes without her noticing that time had passed. It went by so fast that when Marc opened her bedroom door to find her on her stomach on the bed with her phone in her hand, she was almost confused by his concern. Then she was reminded of what was on her screen and scrambled to hide it.

“What’re you doing?” Marc asked with a tilted head as he stood in her doorway. Though she knew there were worse ways to be found, she still didn't prefer this. Embarrassed, tried to get him to drop it.

“None of your business.”

Well, that's comforting. He thought as an eyebrow crept up his forehead. There were a million things she could have been doing, and very few she wouldn't give a direct answer for. All he saw when he came in was her lying with her feet in the air and her phone in her hand. Then the phone disappeared when she sat up. Seems awfully suspicious to not be my business.

“You looking at porn?” He interrogated with a smirk as he approached. It didn't seem fitting after what happened earlier, but he assumed she had a decent sex drive in her. Studying her expression, he watched her eyes go wide at the question and her butt shifted slightly.

“Uh, yeah.” She agreed, but her tone was off. It was a forced, nonchalant 'duh' fashion and he was suddenly convinced that it wasn't porn. But, if she wanted him to believe it was, he could play along.

“Let me see it.”

“No way!” She exclaimed with a nervous laugh as her chest filled with panic. It seemed like such a small thing to be weird about until times like this, and why she felt like doing anything else was better was lost on her. Her disagreement didn't stop Marc from knee-walking on the bed, though.

"I know what I said earlier but you could've just left this room and sat on my face if you wanted to get off again, Moni." He said softly in the same way he had earlier. Temperate but dripping with intention. She didn't think it would be possible to get turned on again for the rest of the night he just loved proving her wrong.

This was different, though. The way he prowled up her body, eyes locked on like she would be his next meal until they disappeared into her neck and the sensation of his lips and tongue danced along that delicate skin.

Soon she was on her back and his clothed—and fully erect, by the feel of it—cock pressed against her core that once again ached with desire. This felt far more sensual than normal. More intimate. She certainly couldn't complain. She couldn't even question why now and not earlier. All she could mumble was—

" Fuck me. "

His considerable hands traveled between their bodies, from her breasts to her hips, and thighs, until his right snuck between their pelvises and into her fleece Christmas Tree bottoms. The other trailed under her, and the vibration of his chuckle against her skin shot straight to where his fingers explored between her legs.

"Oh, baby, you're in no position to make demands." His voice swam through her ears. "But we can try whatever it was that you were watching."

There wasn't a spare second to stop him from finding and retrieving her phone from under her butt. It was easy enough to admit defeat when she had let herself be distracted and tricked in such an uncreative manner, but disappointment pooled in her stomach as she began to miss the feeling of his lips on her skin. It almost overtook the terror of Marc having her phone in his palm.

"That was so mean." She stated cooly before making a half-assed effort to take the device back only to have it pulled out of her reach with his impressive wingspan.

“I know it was, and I'll get back to you in a sec but I gotta know what you’re checking out.” He said with a triumphant grin. The way she saw it, this could go one of two ways: she could fake offense and demand her phone back to avoid the massive invasion of her privacy, but she feared that would only make this ten times worse.

Her other option was to sit back, twiddle her thumbs, and watch Marc's face go from childish delight that he had all of her secrets between his fingers to confusion and maybe concern that she lied about the porn only to truly be consuming videos of him punching bad guys.

God, I'm about to look like a fucking psycho either way. She thought as her heart pounded loudly in her ribcage. This was one of those times where she wished she used faceID to unlock her phone instead of a PIN because the very first thing Marc tried was 1029 and gained access immediately.

"Your password is your birthday. Too easy." He commented, looking at her homescreen full of organized apps and a wallpaper photo of Jude and Rocky on a swingset at the playground. He didn't seem to pay that any mind, though. "What will I find when I open your background apps, I wonder. Raunchy clips? Photos of Michelle Pfeiffer? Maybe a text thread between yourself and someone I'm not supposed to know about?"

"None of those." She boldly admitted before the need to ask why that last point mattered beat against her skull. He wanted non-exclusivity, so he had it.

Tell that to his possessive personality. Or my heart, for that matter.

“Wait, that’s me.” He murmured, sitting back on his calves and scrolling through the numerous videos of Moon Knight smacking villains. “This is way stranger than dirty videos.”

“I know.” She agreed with an air of chagrin, her eyes focused on her heart-patterned socks.

“So, you stalk social media to stalk me ?” That wasn't what he was expecting at all and though it flooded him with a bit of relief, he couldn't wrap his head around why she felt the need to conceal it. If anything, he found it oddly cute.

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

“I’m not laughing." He darted his gaze back to her frown. He knew he had no place to judge her even if he considered it peculiar. Her doe eyes came back up to meet his and the corner of her mouth perked up at his understanding. Now that was out of the way, he needed to pick on her a little for it. "You’re a fan?”

“It isn't like I can watch you in live action. Keeping up with me on the internet used to be your thing, also.” She poked back, referencing his admission to 'looking into her' during their first meeting at the Mission. He didn't elaborate, so she was right to assume it was just online.

"If there was ever a time to tell her the whole truth, it would be now. " Steven called out from the void. Marc wanted to ignore it, but his alters had been correct about a lot of other things so far when it came to Moni. He figured it wouldn't hurt.

“A lot more than that , actually .” He said as he got back up from the bed. She squinted at him, not following.

“Pardon?”

He found himself biting his tongue halfway through again. How does someone tell the person they abandoned that they've engaged in some light to moderate stalking ever since? What would come of such a revelation? He had to remind himself of how she reacted to what he told her about Diatrice and Randall.

“There have been times when I’ve flown in just to watch you walk down West Ave.” He spoke in a way that almost seemed like he was reminiscing, and he was. Memorizing the route she used to take to get to the station, stopping at the same corner store every morning to get an egg biscuit with a little packet of Texas Pete because they didn't offer an alternative. When he saw her in New York, it was as if he had stepped back into it. His eyes had trained themselves to recognize her from so far away.

“So you stalked me first!” She responded with excitement at this news, springing up from her spot on the bed. “For how long?”

“A long time. ” Marc told her emptily. Regardless of her delight, he seemed cautious. There was a hint in his eyes and the way he kept looking away. Either there was more to it, or he had said too much already. Then she started to think over his confession.

By 'West Ave', he means Western Avenue, the street I used to walk to get to the station from my cruddy job at the bakery. She thought, but once that dot was connected, another was raised.

“UChicago?” Moni questioned, now glaring so hard he was certain she could peer into his soul. She switched quickly, not necessarily seeming upset but more so preparing to be. The change gave him pause and all he could hope was that his silence was answer enough. By the way her arms crossed over her chest, that wasn't satisfactory. “Fine. Don’t tell me.”

“If you mean when you came stumbling out of a sorority house drunk and you tripped and ate shit? Yeah, I was there.” He told, wishing he had shut his mouth the second he opened it. The more he said, the more he watched the color drain from her face and her gaze flick between his pupils in search of a lie despite how impossible it would be.

“You’re kidding me." She breathed, but that statement held no water. He wasn't kidding, and she knew it because only one other person on the planet knew about what she saw that night and even she assumed she was delusional.

Moni began to stammer in the same fashion she had before. The words would pop into her brain and they would fall through her teeth like liquid. "I thought I imagined that! All these years, I thought I made that u-“

Marc grabbed both sides of her face and cut off her stream of consciousness with a kiss but it wasn't like the ones they had shared previously. It was soft and should have tasted like honey. If it were a novel, rain would be pouring down around them and it would be the most perfect kiss that she had ever dreamt of.

If only she hadn't kept thinking. Her brain had already entered overdrive and once there, it was hard to stop but this was just like the moment they shared only minutes ago. This was just another distraction. He wasn't willing to get her head off of her mom and the funeral for a little while but if it involved him , he was happy to volunteer.

I cannot believe I'm doing this. She thought as her hands found his chest and pushed him back. He looked delirious with that dumbfounded concussed look like his whole world had just been shaken in the exact opposite way hers had. It wasn't fair, and the lump in her throat didn't catch the rambling. “No, no, don’t distract me! I thought I was having a bad trip or lost my fucking mind! And then I thought you died!”

“Moni, I hear you, bu-“

“I called out to you!”

“You know why I couldn’t answer.”

It was as if everything had caught up to her all at once. The feeling of losing her best friend, the feeling of being left behind, the realization that he had been a mere 800 miles away from her, and the brand new sensation of figuring out that she had been right. Altogether it just made her nauseous and the part of her who wanted peace wanted to know if that was the only time it was truly him. Maybe that would help.  

“Where else did that happen, Marc?”

“There was one other time." He started, and the can of worms that contained every instance where she swore she saw him and brushed it off as a trick of the mind opened. Crowds, train stations, walking down the street, and sometimes in the dark of her room. She didn't have to ask him to continue this time, though. "After Rand’s funeral. You were at your dad’s headstone and you looked over and I disappeared.”

That one hadn't even come to mind. It was the one instance when she could have been fooled into believing she saw a ghost. The timing and location were too perfect and it was fun to assume apparitions existed until then. She let her eyes wander the cemetery for two seconds and there he was. Then she just had to blink, and like always, he was gone.

“You sure did.” She croaked, not meaning for it to sound as harsh as it did but for the last nineteen years she had been living with a ghost following her around. The sting of guilt from within her over feeling as upset as she did was overshadowed by the immense and dark reality that this entire time she could have been sharper and wisened up to the fact that she could have turned a street corner at any moment to run head-first into him long before she ever stepped onto Earth-928.

With that came the justifications for the big lie. All of this could have been avoided if Marc had just thought to reach out to her. She wondered if he felt bad for that now that he knew she could keep his secret and that the sneaking around on her was needless. If the glass forming in his eyes told her anything, he was at least beginning to.

“Moni.” He spoke his nickname for her as if uttering it would solve everything. It nearly did. She wanted it to, maybe even more than he did. Nobody had been allowed to utter that name since Marc's alleged passing and the power it held over her still rang true to this day but things were different now. She had lived her entire adult life as Simone, not Moni. While Moni might have been quick to let it drop, Simone just wanted to be alone.

“Don’t Moni me. Just…”

Marc felt his heart plummet what felt like 200 feet into his stomach. He knew this had to come out eventually, but he had hoped they were in a good enough place for it to not matter . He thought she would be willing to put it behind her because regardless of how you slice it, he believed he did the right thing.

Sometimes the right thing for one person had the other hiding their trembling hands under their arms. That was something he would have to live with. He made sacrifices, pissed off a lot of people, and sat on rooftops in the dead of winter just to make sure Moni was living the life she was meant to live but as she kept her eyes glued to the floor he realized she didn't know the half of it and wasn't in the mood for him to explain.

“You want me to leave.” Marc assumed with a blank stare.

No. All you ever do is leave. She thought but the words stuck to the roof of her mouth and refused to move. 'No' would have been easy. It would have been a way to dig out of this place they've found themselves. The second part; however, was bound to sneak through with it. The rational part of her mind thought it better to hold the entire line.

"I don't know." She replied in a mousey voice. It was harder to tell him to leave her alone because, in her experience, he might just take that and run all the way home with it. Telling him to stay; however, would teach him nothing. Everything she knew about communication was gone. All she could do was repeat herself once more.

The standing in silence didn't last long before Marc understood that there wasn't much left for him to do. There was no last-ditch effort to turn that 'I don't know' into 'I'll give you a few minutes to convince me' . As much as he wanted to fight, Moni had enough going on without him being there to distress her further.

It felt like her split with Ericka all over again, but in reverse. Simone stood in speechlessness watching as Marc gathered the few things he brought. She was awash with the need to say something to keep him from walking out but it happened faster than she could form a coherent sentence.

As the front door closed behind him, her feet moved without her permission to follow, subconsciously trying to correct the mistake she made before in not setting off to track him down. Right when her hand gripped the knob; however, it moved under her palm just a hair as if it were being turned from the other side with hesitation.

Is he coming back in? She wondered, not moving or breathing.

Marc didn't know Moni was on the other end of that knob as he held it, staring at the porch light as if it held all the answers.

"Just go back in and tell her you're sorry. Haven't tried that one yet." Jake spoke up from inside his head. Marc didn't even know what he would be apologizing for. His stance was still as stone as it was before; he didn't regret doing what he did and he didn't think he should seek forgiveness.

What solidified this was the knob jerking a bit in his hand and the sound of the lock on the other side clicking, then the deadbolt. His knee-jerk response was to lift his fist, readying to pound on the door and prompt her to reconsider now that she had made the final motion. All he could bring himself to do was grin slightly and look into her doorbell camera.

"Smart girl." He spoke just loud enough to where the microphone could pick it up and lingered for a second to see if there was a sign that she was watching in real time.

Simone had left her phone on her bed and only locked the door because she was sure the feeling she got was in her head and he would be halfway down the driveway by then. When she got to the device, she saw the social media page was still open and frowned.

Yeah, I spotted MK, too. She thought as she shut down the app to be met with a notification of activity at her front door. That's probably from him leaving.

But the timestamp on the pop-up showed 'now' instead of two minutes ago. Thinking it was a long shot that he was still actually out there, she tapped it just to be sure. It took her to the activity log and, as expected, it was the recording of him walking out. What she hadn't expected to see was him still standing for a moment, taking a deep breath, and turning back around to grab the doorknob.

So he did think about coming back in. She thought as a beat of alarm shook her. Then followed the sound of the door locking, just as she did it. For a moment, it looked like he went to knock but his fist fell back to his side and in true Spector fashion, he looked into her camera as if staring into her soul.

"Smart girl." He whispered with a smirk that suddenly reminded her of his efforts to distract her. Why they were suddenly okay , she could only blame the short passage of time and being completely dicknotized. She started walking before she could even check the live feed, unlocked everything, and swung the entrance open.

All she saw was the empty street ahead. The cold wind whooshed through her clothes but she was utterly frozen, doing mental math to calculate the amount of time it would take for him to be fully out of sight from this vantage point. Unless he ran, there was no way.

Is this some kind of sick joke? She thought to herself as the air dried out her eyes. Trying to show me one more time that you can evaporate into thin fucking air?

"Fuck." She groaned into the empty doorway and brought her phone back up to watch the rest of the recording. After he spoke, he stood for a moment as if banking on her watching. About thirty seconds passed where Marc rocked on the balls of his feet, then he started to take off but not down her driveway, and the very same second he was out of the camera's view, it showed her opening the door again.

The chill was biting the skin of her cheeks now, and rather than look like an idiot with her door open anymore, she stepped back and closed it again. A buzz from her phone signaled an incoming text even though she knew exactly who it would be, she wasn't prepared for what it said.

Marc: What did I tell you about the kitchen window?

Her eyes flicked up to the window in question, and just as she had before, she scurried over to it for signs of life. As soon as she got to it, her phone buzzed again.

Marc: See you Saturday.

"Motherfucker." She groaned again, now fully aware she had been toyed with. Knowing Marc, he was likely watching her scamper through her house as he predicted. The pane was unlocked, as it always was. Rather than latch it like he told her, she held up her middle finger and pushed the back of her hand against the glass.

Try me.

Notes:

I'm not sure what I was on when I wrote this one but there were a few choices made here for style. I hope you enjoyed the ride because it only really gets weirder from here and I refuse to be apologetic about that.

Chapter 22: Western Nights

Summary:

I normally make an effort to upload a present-time chapter alongside a flashback chapter but I've been busier this week due to the holiday and work, so for now, a flashback is all I can post for a few days while I finish up the present chapter. To rectify this, it's a bit longer of a flashback. I really like it.

Also, there is a homophobic slur used repeatedly in this chapter. Keep in mind, this takes place in the early 2000s and the use of this word, though very derogatory in its use, was much looser. I also touch on a few struggles as a youth of color and immigrant parents. I hope you enjoy.

" I'm never gonna leave you baby
Even if you lose what's left of your mind
'Cause you know I'll be right there beside you
Riding through all these western nights"
-"Western Nights" by Ethel Cain

 

I hate it here. Was the first thought Moni had upon stepping foot on school property the Monday after Marc went missing. So far, all they knew was that he left the Durango in Missouri and even if he was still in that state, there wasn't a single clue as to where he went from there.

As she passed her peers in the halls, she already knew that word had spread to each and every one of them by the way they whispered to each other and eyed her like she had egg on her face. It was easy to become hyperaware of how many of them stared as she walked to class alone.

"I heard he went back to juvie."

"He wasn't at the camping party because he snuck into Kiebler's instead. My sister saw him."

"Did Spector really just ditch town? That's what my dad said."

Moni was overwhelmed by the chatter, growing dizzy and nauseated the more corners she turned just to find another set of pupils trained on her like their parents didn't teach them that it was rude to stare. She foresaw this happening just as it had after Marc was sent to Putnam.

"Simone Fredrick, you're needed in the office, please. Simone Fredrick, come to the office." The intercom buzzed overhead from speakers scattered around the school and everyone surrounding her suddenly hushed. This part was the worst. Now that everyone knew exactly where she would be, the flock drew themselves there like ants to candy on the sidewalk. Everyone wanted a piece of information but god forbid they ask her to her face.

"Do you think she's going goth now that Spector's gone?"

"So Simone's single now? Were they even together?"

"I'm pretty sure Javi told me that Simone gave him a handy one time and that's why he got decked at his own party by Marc."

At least it was quiet in the principal's office. Quiet enough to hear a pin drop, but that was only the waiting portion until the middle-aged man they called their principal looked up from his desk to spot her entering. Scott Sizemore was a gruff-looking man with a receding hairline and green eyes that struck fear into troublemakers the school over. Simone wasn't one of those.

"Good morning, Miss Fredrick. Please have a seat." He greeted her and gestured to one of the upholstered wood chairs in front of his desk. "You're probably wondering why you're here, especially since the day just started."

"Yes, sir." She responded sheepishly as she pulled one of the chairs back a bit to sit down. She didn't scoot it back up, uneasy at the thought of getting too close. Principal Sizemore waited patiently for her to sit before he spoke.

"Well, I won't hold you for long. I wanted to speak to you about Marc Spector. I understand you two were close."

Were? Simone questioned the use of the word in her mind. It didn't make the topic of this meeting any easier and put her on the defensive.

"We are ." She replied, not meaning for it to sound like a correction as much as a reiteration. Her voice cracked on the word change as if speaking around the lump that formed in her throat. She thought they were close. Sizemore eyed her over the rim of his golden wire-frame glasses, clearly catching the modification and likely the insecurity.

"I've been asked to get with his friends and try to get an idea of what could be going on with him. You're aware of what happened, I take it?"

"I don't know where he went, sir."

"That much, I've been told. I just want to ensure we have all the facts. What was his mindset the last time you spoke with him? Better yet, when was the last time you spoke with him?"

The principal leaned forward in his seat as he talked as if sizing her up, intimidating her more with his presence and position of authority than his words. If there was anything else to say on the topic, it was fogged over by this. Simone wasn't used to being spoken down to by faculty.

"I already told his parents everything I could." She attempted to explain but found her voice wavering on every other word. It felt like a thousand bees were stinging the inside of her nostrils, her eyes watering with tears that screamed for release. It was bad enough talking to Elias and Wendy about this the night before but she didn't think they would sic the school on her.

"And I expect nothing less from one of our best and brightest but I've been teaching and mentoring teens your age for many years and I know that sometimes certain details tend to be salvaged when you let them think on it for a little while. Nothing else has come up overnight?" Sizemore continued, buttering her up just before returning to the burning question.

The way he looked at her was that of a detective trying to get the perpetrator to confess when they already had the full story. She didn't understand why there was a lamp aimed at her or why she was being treated like she was in trouble for something she had no business in. Being so openly attached to Marc; however, made her the prime co-conspirator.

The gravity of the situation was already heavy, but her eyes drifted to the window to the hall outside of the office. There were two police officers, standing and waiting for something . What that could be, she wasn't sure.

Fuck, Spector. What did you do? She thought before the idea that they were there for her popped into her head. Should I ask for them to call my mom in?  

"I'm going to level with you, Simone. I know you probably think this is all a waste of time. Mr. Spector's eighteen and he is within his rights to leave his parents' house but these circumstances are troubling. He's mentally ill and he vanished without speaking to anyone, that we know of. Not to mention he has a history of violent tendencies. We're all just as worried as you probably are."

"I wish I could help more but this was a shock to me, also." Simone double-down, heat rising in her chest at the tone Sizemore took when listing off his points as if the number one concern wasn't Marc's safety. As if he were a danger to others more than to himself or not out on his own in a world predictably cruel to guys like him.

"His vehicle was recovered in Missouri. Do you have an idea of why he would go as far as to leave the state?"

"No."

"When you spoke to him last, did he seem unsettled? A fight with his parents, his brother, maybe girl troubles?"

"None of those." She answered quickly, mainly kicking from the end of the sentence. There were no girls , it was just her. Now she was sweating, but not because she felt like she was under a microscope anymore. This useless line of questioning was pissing her off. Sizemore seemed to be tipped off to this and leaned back in his chair, flicking his glasses off in frustration.

"I find it hard to believe that he was completely fine just before deciding to run away without mentioning it to you."

There was a weighty shift in the atmosphere. It was accusatory, like the principal had drawn a conclusion that something happened between her and Marc. Maybe a disagreement, maybe a collision, they might have even planned to rob a bank together. Whatever it was, it tied in with his disappearance.

"If only disbelief could alter facts," Simone muttered, making Sizemore's spectacles return to his nose. She knew she needed to relax but she had been on edge all night. This wasn't helping. "I don't know why he left, I don't know what his plan was, and I'm tired of telling everyone that."

"So just tell the truth . Given the nature of your relationship with Marc, I can't imagine he wouldn't at least run this wild idea by you first. Please keep in mind that we're getting closer to graduation and if you're holding anything back, his chance to walk with you and your fellow students is jeopardized."

Is that it? She thought, her stomach doing flips. Nothing about his life being in jeopardy? No 'tell me everything you know or he could die'? A boy just went missing and you're trying to worry me with the prospect that he might not get a high school diploma? All I've heard from you is that he's a headcase who can't go to college now!

It felt like her skin was vibrating from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her fingers felt numb, her vision was spotty, and her mouth was impossibly dry. She never had such an urge to yell before but it seemed worth it if it was in defence of Marc.

Defend him for what? She questioned her own logic, considering her place in all of this. He left me. Everyone knows that. There's nothing I can do to help him now because he chose not to let me help.

The bell for first period finally rang. It felt like she had been sitting there for over an hour, not less than ten minutes. Her back straightened up at the warning to hustle to homeroom even though she had an excuse to be late at the moment. She wasn't sure what was worse: sitting in a class surrounded by people judging her or sitting in this office with a principal who assumed she was just another lying teenager.

"Can I go to class, please?" She asked, her voice dropping back down to a hushed, shakey tone. Sizemore seemed to understand then that he couldn't push her any further. With a nod, he pulled a blue slip of paper from the top drawer of his desk and began to fill it out.

"Before you go," He began to speak as he handed the paper to her. It was an excused tardy slip so she wouldn't get in trouble for being late. "Is there anyone I should add to my list of students to speak with? I have Nicolas Yun, Quentin Jorden, and Bethany Schmidt."

Why is Beth on that list? She thought as she stood up and picked her bag up off the floor. Marc hadn't spoken to Beth in months.

"No. I don't think so." She replied with a shake of her head, clutching the note as if it would get confiscated before she even left the office of the man who gave it to her. Exiting through the heavy wooden door, she brushed past the two vested officers on either side, avoiding eye contact and making a pointed effort to keep herself from breathing too loud.

 

The first part of the day went by slowly. There was nowhere to place her focus besides her teachers or her own mind, and nobody to pass notes to. Before discovering that Marc left, Simone imagined herself walking these halls hand-in-hand with her boyfriend . Now, she could only keep her eyes peeled in case he turned up.

As if this were the place he would go. No doubt he would be admitted the second he got back. She thought, but she still scanned the parking lot for his car as she sat at a table in the courtyard at lunch.

"Hey, girl." A velvety voice spoke up from behind her and a hand rested on her shoulder. She knew who it was before she sat down by her side, not just from her voice but the inviting scent of warm cinnamon and coffee. Ericka, joined by Nick and Quentin who sat on the other side of the table, had arrived with remorse in their eyes. "We just wanted you to know that we're sorry and we hope he turns up soon."

Simone's only response was to nod. Aside from Ericka, who was friends with everyone, they were more Marc's friends than they were hers. With that thought in mind, she couldn't help but wonder if they knew about her and Marc getting together.

"Did any of you talk to him over the weekend at all? Before..." She trailed off, finding it hard to say 'he left' or something to that nature aloud. They all seemed to understand what she was getting at and shook their heads, passing glances at each other as if one or the other had a conflicting answer. While the two boys didn't have a further comment, Ericka spoke up.

"Last I heard from him was after school on Friday when he said you two were going to the party."

"Yeah." Nick agreed before his eyes seemed to fill with understanding. "Speaking of, why didn't you guys show?"

Dumbasses. Substances. Sex. Plenty of reasons not to go. She thought, but bit her tongue as she realized these three in particular were always at those parties.

"We decided not to after what happened at Javi's." She told them, finding it to be as good an excuse as any. Nick and Ericka nodded and Quentin rolled his eyes, forever pissed that he missed that altercation and had to hear about it from everyone who was in the house at the time Marc nearly caved Javi's face in.

There were surprisingly few repercussions after that. It divided the school; half of the student body believed Marc did it because of the kiss and the other half who hadn't seen it believed it was because Simone did something more, the running accusation being a handjob. Aside from the odd mention, that rumor didn't stick as long as she thought it would but did little for her mortification.

"Probably for the best. We got rained out, anyway. Kimmy Wallace didn't check the weather before planning that lame campout." Nick added to the topic in a way that appeared to try to comfort Simone. Her mouth curled a bit as she remembered that she knew about the rain and had the same thought that night before Quentin nudged Nick with his elbow.

"Uh oh. Trouble, three o'clock."

Quentin's three o'clock was Simone's nine, but either way, she looked in the direction he was looking. What she found was Beth between her two friends Sarah DeAngelo and Kristen Wing. Beth had a crumpled tissue in her hand and crocodile tears in her eyes, and from this distance, they could hear her running her mouth about how special Marc was to her.

"She's been doing that since Sizemore pulled her out of second period," Ericka commented, sharing in the group's bewilderment.

"We just spoke on Saturday. We were going to work things out." Beth said tearfully, bringing the tissue up to her eye to catch a tear that very clearly wasn't running. She wore her yellow-blonde highlighted brunette hair pin-straight with a blue headband that matched her eyes. Everyone but the girls in her corner knew she was a habitual liar, and if they knew they didn't seem to care much. Accepting someone lying to your face all the time was a small price to pay for social relevancy, and Beth was nothing if not an attention hog.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Simone groaned with her fists clenched. She had been wavering between a sinking sadness and a sky-high rage a morning. She always made a point not to speak to Beth, especially because Marc never spoke to her after she went around telling people that his parents gave their blessing for them to get married after graduation.

Working things out? She thought, working herself up more and more the longer she stared and listened to Beth babble. Someone needed to tell her to knock it off, and since there were no other volunteers, her legs took it upon themselves to stand and start stomping in Beth's direction.

"Simone, don't." Ericka piped up.

"It's not even worth it." Nick said at the same time.

"I dunno, I'm down to see a good scrap." Quentin disagreed with them once Simone's back was fully to them.

"Shut up, Quentin!" Both Ericka and Nick said in unison. There was a brief moment where she felt Ericka's hand attempt to grab at her wrist, but all she managed was to brush her fingertips along her skin.

"What? You've never wanted to see Simone pull out a chunk of Beth's hair before? I'm surprised it hasn't happened already."

Simone never agreed with Quentin Jorden, but this was a grudge that had been nursed for a while. Even though she wasn't violent, her heart was racing and every devious thought she ever had about standing before Beth and slapping those falsehoods out of her mouth was playing through her head.

I can do it. I know I can do it. Consequences be damned, I want to do it! Marc isn't here to defend himself , I refuse to sit still and let him be slandered anymore!

“I don’t know where you get off lying to everyone.” Simone barked as she came within mere feet of the three girls. It was the loudest and most menacing she had ever sounded in her life, or at least it was in her own ears. It packed a decent enough punch to make Beth sit stark upright and snap her icy gaze onto her.

“ Excuse you?” Beth growled through gritted teeth, her previously watery lids cleared within seconds. Simone had to force herself to breathe but it did little to calm her nerves as her arms came over her chest.

“Marc was done with you.” She snapped at the girl who was still sitting and comically squinting and shrinking away from her as she blew up. It was fake fear, and that only made Simone buzz even more.

“He didn’t have to tell you everything, Simone. You didn’t own him.” She goaded through a sardonic grimace. On her left side, Kristen kept her arm wound tightly over Beth's shoulder and Sarah scooted in a bit closer to the edge of the bench they were crowded on.

Sarah was 5'10, dirty blonde, and on the softball team. If any of these girls could beat Simone into next week, it was her. Kristen was a lot like Simone in the way that neither of them had ever been in a physical fight or ever won a verbal altercation. She was the smallest of this gathering, being no taller than 4'11 and 110 pounds with change in her pockets.

At least with Beth, Simone had a fighting chance from her fury alone. She imagined wailing on the girl, maybe even frightening the others back just long enough to get a few good licks in but what would that mean for her?

Beth would love it if I hit her. She could run around telling everyone I tried to kill her while I served my suspension and by the way Sarah is looking at me, she'll spring up and swing on me the second I even touch Beth.

Simone's irritation began to ebb once again into the mushy pit of her sour stomach. The knot of malice loosened just enough to allow her gloom to seep back through and all at once, he remembered that if Marc were here, he would have stopped her from even getting up from the bench.

"Don't worry about Beth. She'll be onto the next tall-tale tomorrow." He would tell her. Instead, all she heard was Nick speaking to the group she left behind.

"I think she choked. Should we save her?"

I didn't choke. She thought, but as she eyed the three girls in front of her, she realized they were amused. Simone hadn't said anything in response to Beth and exchanged a scathing remark or a beat-down for a stare that went from her best imitation of intimidation to pathetic cowardice. She had, in fact, choked.

"Hey, I have a pack of Shockers in my car. Want some?" She was broken out of her thoughts by Ericka sneaking up to her side with another comforting hand on her upper arm. Simone knew when to pick her battles and accept an out when it was offered, so she nodded and allowed her friend to lead her out of this disaster before she embarrassed herself anymore.

"God, what did Marc even see in her?" Kristen spoke up just as they began to walk away and Beth laughed snobbishly.

"He didn't see anything. She was a charity case who followed him around like a lost puppy."

"I oughta smash her face into a locker and drag. See her try to steal any boyfriends with her face fucked up." Sarah grumbled. To signal she heard it too, Ericka tightened her grip on Simone's arm and sped up a bit. Her dark blue Honda Civic wasn't far, and once they were out of earshot, she finally made a comment.

"If you had punched her, I would've jumped Sarah. Made it even."

"Why couldn't I just-" Simone started but cut herself off, clenching a trembling fist in front of her face to finish for her.

"Because you're nice." Ericka answered, noting her bitterness over the situation just as they reached the driver's side of the car. While Ericka unlocked it, she rested her back against the rear door and started to slide to the concrete into a sit.

"I wish I wasn't."

"You have real friends because you're nice. Unlike Beth, who keeps less-than-quality company." Ericka replied as she leaned into her car and dug around. Simone wasn't sure how to respond. This was the most that she had interacted with Ericka in months, and those she regularly spoke with were mostly friends with Marc.

She supposed she considered herself lucky that Ericka considered her a friend, and that opened the door for Simone to feel the same. It was normal to feel daunted in the presence of Ericka Fatu. They went to the same church and had a few of the same classes but Simone never felt normal around her.

It was a strange feeling. Ericka was tall and wide-legged like her father, who was a built Samoan man, but much like her mother, she held herself with the strength and beauty of a Haitian. She was so perfect it was unreal but Simone often found herself fighting to not stare much like she did with Marc. Only, she had a crush on Marc. With Ericka, she wasn't sure that was right.

"I know you're upset but none of those bitches deserve your time." The girl responded as she held out the small pouch of candy for her to take. As she looked up, she noticed how the golden sun reflected off of Ericka's dark onyx eyes. They were almost a marmalade color when the light hit just right.

"Thanks." Simone responded, nearly coughing as her mouth began to produce too much liquid. The thought of the sour candy that had entered her hand sent her salivary glands into a tizzy. Ericka's hand didn't move once the bag was out of it; however, still holding it out to help her off the ground.

Simone accepted the hand offered and was pulled up faster than she could gather her footing, nearly stumbling forward into Ericka's chest. Even imagining doing so sent a chill up her spine but more than that, an odd warmth in her belly. She was familiar with this feeling.

That can't be right. She thought as they took to walking back to the main building, clutching the Shockers in one hand and locking the other at her side, suddenly becoming too aware of herself. She was stiff along the side that Ericka walked next to, not wanting to brush shoulders, elbows, or hands with the girl. Then she realized the candy wasn't her own, either.

"Y'know, I didn't really want these. I thought it was just to bail me out of that conversation." She spoke nervously and attempted to hand them back once they returned to the crowded hallway.

"Don't worry about it. What better way to feel better than to burn your tastebuds off?"

Just as she tucked the pouch away into the side pocket of her bag, she peered ahead in the hallway. A familiar voice beckoned her attention. It was Kristen, Beth, and Sarah, still talking about her but not noticing she was so close behind.

"I wonder if she'll tail Quentin now that Marc's gone." Kristan clucked.

"She would probably settle for Nicky." Beth corrected. "Quentin won't be interested if she doesn't put out right away, which she won't. She's a virgin."

"Or Ericka ." Sarah suggested. "Little miss Moni might be gay for the stay and Ericka's obviously a fucking dyke."

Simone knew if she could hear that, Ericka could also. By the way her face drained of color, it was clear she had. She felt the shadow of second-hand humiliation for her friend who's eyebrows were growing closer together.

The feeling that arose was more than a carryover from the earlier spat. Simone's eyes stuck to the back of Sarah's head as she felt nothing short of revilement.

She could handle words said about herself, as she had heard them forever. Clingy, virgin, prude, slut, loser, lame, and the like.

She could barely tolerate words about Marc but his being used to it made it easier. Crazy, hothead, jailbird, freak, and the odd antisematist slight.

But right then, after the day she had, hearing those girls talk about Ericka , of all people. Ericka , who had done nothing but show her compassion. Ericka , who was nothing but sweet to her. Ericka , who never did anything to anybody was now a target because she associated herself with Lincoln Park High's current pariah.

"I oughta smash her face into a locker and drag." Sarah had said but clearly didn't see herself in the perfect spot to be snuck up on. She was walking a little bit behind the other two, right next to the passing lockers.

He would stop me. I know he would. Simone thought to herself, feeling the ghost of Marc's hand hold her by that tender, bruised spot on her shoulder. Then her eyes flicked to Ericka. She was abnormally quiet and her gaze was stuck to the floor. But Marc isn't here, is he? He would do it for you. You could do it for Ericka. You know exactly how he would do it, too. Just pretend you're Marc.

Just pretend.

Simone took a big step forward to where she was parallel with Sarah's backpack, cutting off Ericka's footwork to get between them. In one hand, she took the strap of the bag and Sarah's ponytail entered the other. If Sarah hadn't been off her guard, Simone couldn't have been able to move her even an inch, but she was laughing and distracted by her ignorance and didn't even notice she was being jumped until her entire right side and face collided with the lockers in a hallow crash.

It was like the rubberband holding together all of her anger snapped when a sound of surprise and pain left Sarah's lips and Simone just kept shoving, whether it was doing anything or not. While Sarah was still staggering from the initial push, she continued to prod her, forcing her further up the hallway, bumping into other students and doors.

"Don't you ever talk about my friends like that!" She screamed, for a moment fully forgetting that she had picked a fight with this brick wall of a girl. Ericka was behind her, pulling her bag until it was shaken from Simone's shoulders. Onlookers watched with a vested interest, speaking in a language she no longer understood. Beth and Kristen seemed more worried about their own hides and backed up to the other end of the hall.

Before Simone knew it, Sarah was turned around to face her, a large red whelp from the metal she was forced into on her cheek and temple. Her stiff right hand came up from Simone's focus and there was no stretch of time before her teeth rattled, her left ear rang, and her skin stung like holy hell fire.

"Fucking skank!" Sarah yelled before giving her a light shove backward, and her back landed into Ericka's chest. It felt like she couldn't pick her head up from her shoulders, as if the slap Sarah served her gave her whiplash. There was a hush since the brilliant report from the skin-on-skin collision until Mrs. Brewer came rushing out of her classroom adjacent to the scene of the crime.

"Christ almighty! All of you, come with me." The older teacher exclaimed, waving her hands between Kristen, Beth, Sarah, Simone, and even Ericka.

"But, Mrs. Brew-" Beth started, taking the words right out of Simone's mouth before she could come to the defense of Ericka.

"Nope." Mrs. Brewer cut her off, snapping her fingers. "All of you. Now ."

 

Never had there been such a peculiar line-up of girls waiting outside of the principal's office. There were only three chairs, two of which were taken by Beth and Kristen while Sarah took the first meeting due to her swing being the one Mrs. Brewer caught. Simone chose to stand, leaving the empty chair between herself and the other young women, and Ericka stood with her.

While Beth and Kristen yapped amongst themselves, Simone thought about what had taken place. Half of it she could remember vividly, while the rest was a blur. Like she hadn't been herself.

I'm in so much trouble. She thought to herself. Ericka's probably in for worse if I can't convince Sizemore she had nothing to do with it.

Then she remembered how Ericka tried to stop her, and how she fell into her. She felt like she had made a complete fool of herself and now the person who had been there for her would want nothing to do with her ever again. It would serve her right.

"Are you okay?" Simone asked, keeping her head down but her eyes lifted to Ericka. To her surprise, she actually grinned at her.

"I'm fine." She answered, bringing her hand up to Simone's tender cheek. "You're gonna bruise, though."

For a brief moment, the cold fingertips brought a feeling of relief. Not just to her face, but to something deep inside her that had been screaming for help since the night before. She opened her mouth, searching far and wide for something clever but before it came to her, the door to the principal's office opened.

"Miss Fredrick." Mrs. Brewer called for her as Sarah exited with an icepack to the side of her head and glared at her like she had insulted her ancestors. She stayed with her back to the wall until the other girl had fully passed her. She wasn't confident that there was anything she could say to put this behind her but she had to try to get them to let Ericka slide.

“Not often I get a student like you in my office twice in one day." Sizemore said once she was back in the seat she was in that morning. "I understand you’re having a tough time but fighting over a boy is beneath you.”

"I wasn't fighting over a boy." Simone found herself correcting the principal once again, her gaze stuck to her lap.

"That isn't what Miss DeAngelo told me. So, enlighten me."

Of course, Sarah thought this was still about Marc. She pondered, her jaw clenching tightly. Arguing with Sizemore would be more of a headache than she wanted, but it felt absurd to allow him to believe that Marc was truly the reason she picked this fight.

"She was making fun of Ericka so I pushed her into the lockers." She admitted in the clearest speaking voice she could manage. It felt like her face was swelling up already and her ear was still ringing slightly but she refused to make a big deal about it. Sizemore seemed interested in this new information, writing as she spoke.

"Ericka Fatu? What did she say about Miss Fatu?"

"She called her a..." Simone stopped before realizing she would be swearing in front of two faculty members if she didn't alter the phrasing slightly. " Effing dyke. It was a lot meaner when she said it because she used the F-word."

"Miss Fatu can attest to this?"

"Yes, but she didn't do anything wrong here. It was all me and she was just trying to get me to stop."

"And what about Miss Wing and Miss Schmidt?"

"They were also being mean but they weren't involved in the fight."

"And before the fight? Sarah said you tried to start a fight with Beth before that."

"I confronted her but I didn't try to fight her."

"What was this confrontation about? Mr. Spector?"

Because girls can't fight over anything but boys , obviously . Simone felt like her eyes were going to bulge out of her head. Had she nearly clocked Beth before? Yes. But she didn't, and she couldn't figure out why Sizemore kept going back to Marc instead of focusing on the fact that Ericka was being bullied.

" That part was but he had nothing to do with what happened with Sarah."

"So both altercations were unrelated?" Sizemore asked for clarification, still scribbling on yellow lined notebook paper.

"Believe it or not, yes. Beth was lying, so I tried to correct it and Sarah was being nasty simply because Ericka's my friend. I didn't think that was right, but I know I shouldn't have resorted to violence to solve it."

The principal seemed to hear her more this time and peered over his glasses as he stopped writing. The thing was, Simone didn't regret what she did but she knew that taking accountability was part of the process. She had spent enough time with a fighter to know that. All she could hope was that she was convincing enough in her ownership of the responsibility to stay off of Sizemore's shit list.

"I know you're struggling right now, so I'm going to grant you something I don't normally give in situations like these. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. I'll still get a statement from the other three but I believe you about not trying to start anything with Beth, so long as it all adds up."

Sucker. She thought to herself, folding her lips between her teeth to keep a grin from poking through as Sizemore continued.

"But, we have a no-tolerance policy about fighting. You and Miss DeAngelo are going to be suspended for three days starting tomorrow and you'll be serving lunch detention for a week upon your return. I'm going to call your mother to pick you up. Do you need to see the nurse?"

Simone shook her head, her previous arrogance disappearing as she remembered that she wasn't off the hook yet. She still had her mother to contend with. Denying that she needed to see the nurse; however, felt like a small victory over Sarah.

Once Estie arrived, Simone had locked up. She wasn't asked to explain herself as Sizemore did that for her, using the key points he wrote down to tell that her daughter 'Initiated a physical altercation with another student by pushing her into a locker' and that said student was being checked for a concussion.

"And what was this about?" Estie asked, narrowing her eyes at Simone.

"From what we unders-"

"I would like to hear it from Simone." She cut Sizemore off with a perfectly manicured hand in the air. Simone's gaze shot up to the man who had hushed himself. He gestured for her to explain and she realized this was already going better than she thought it would.

"The girl I pushed called Ericka a bad name."

"Widelene's daughter?" Estie wondered, using her friend's first name to confirm. Simone nodded quietly and her mother didn't think for long before she tucked a piece of her girl's springy hair behind her ear to get a better look at the worsening mark on her cheek. "You are not in trouble with me, Niñita."

A brief look at Sizemore told Simone that he wasn't satisfied with Estie's lack of concern. There was a redness rising along his skin, even reaching his hairline.

"Ma'am, I know that we're already handling this within the school but I don't think letting Simone go undisciplined for starting a fight is the best idea."

"In this family, we help our own, Mister Jeff. The Fatu's are our people." Estie said with her chin high, allowing her accent to speak Sizemore's first name in an almost insulting manner for having the nerve to question how she parented her child and for misunderstanding the situation. To Estie, Sarah started the fight the moment she decided to open her mouth about Ericka, a child of immigrants much like her own.

Sizemore put his hands up in surrender at this and Estie ran her thumb over the area of Simone's face that had been slapped. She made sure not to shy away from the test of the skin to not alarm anyone, even though it felt like she was being bitten by a dozen ants. "¿Estás fingiendo o duele de verdad?"

"No duele, mamá."

Notes:

I must confess, this was originally a very short chapter highlighting that first Monday after Marc left but I took the liberty of making Ericka a key player to give everyone a bit more insight into what caused her relationship with Simone to bloom in the first place. I wasn't happy with the chapter I dedicated to their time together. I hope this fills in a few blanks.

Chapter 23: RPG

Summary:

Lore drop. This chapter ended up being so long that I split it into two and rewrote this portion to be able to stand on its own without the rest.

" But now it's to the point where my love is up for debate
And maybe it's too late to shake
I think love is shown , you think love is spoken
And we both comin' from the same place "
-"RPG" by Kehlani

 

“Normally I would support doing crazy shit for some cat but you’re outta your mind for this one.” Jake spoke up as Marc circled the small apartment building, knowing the very window to the very apartment he needed to get into.

It was surprisingly easy to find out where Ericka lived. When it comes to rockstars, they have to be more careful with who they invite over or else the wrong person will decide to put their address out. That wasn't the case for her, but Reese could put it together with a few keystrokes.

“But it'll work.” Marc answered back, realizing he stuck out like a sore thumb in his blindingly white suit at this time of day on this side of town.

“And if it don’t work?”

That was the question on Marc's mind, as well. It wasn't his smartest idea, but if there was ever a time to do something bold for Moni's sake, it was today, and if he couldn't be of assistance any further with the funeral, this would more than make up for that.

“It'll work.”

 

Estefania García Mendez believed that death came in threes. She grew up hearing that but never believed it because, even if three people she knew happened to pass away around the same time, that didn't stop a fourth from eventually going the way they did. It was superstition and not worth stressing over.

She held that belief until after Anton passed. Her husband wasn't the start of that group of three, though. It all began with her best friend Claudia who still lived in Cantel. They grew up together, planned to see the world, and raise their children together. That plan changed when Estie met a beautiful, kind man named Anton Armas Fredrick.

Anton was the first man to be truly sweet and patient with Estie. He was a few years older than her, but not the oldest man she had been involved with at that point. His good nature toward her made their relationship move fast and when Anton told her he wanted to go to the States, she followed.

It wasn't an easy or fast process, but they made it to the other side. Getting married was simpler than the citizenship process and adopting the American custom of taking the last name of your husband, which was Estie's wish. That same custom was passed to the daughter they would have.

First went Claudia due to illness, then Anton in his accident. Estie still didn't believe in threes until Telma, Anton's sister left this world a mere month after they buried him. After that, death always seemed to come in threes.

Of course, Simone didn't agree with that and couldn't write about it in the eulogy. She spent the better part of the week leading up to the service omitting the more morbid bits she wrote down. Halfway through she considered winging it, but given her ineloquence when speaking, she knew better.

Keeping it short, sweet, and truthful felt like the right approach. Speak a little about growing up in Cuba—leaving out the more gruesome details, of course—and her marriage with Anton. Mention her time as a social worker, her creative hobbies, and how she missed her calling as an Algebra teacher with how quick and accurate she was with math. Easy.

It would have been nice if Simone hadn't stumbled over her words while reading off the paper in front of friends and community members who could make it. There were a number of things that made it difficult aside from the fact that this would be the final time she would speak at length about her mother to many of the individuals listening.

Her nerves went through the roof when she realized Ericka had shown up. Not because of her presence alone, but the fact that her parents arrived before she did. From what Simone knew, it had been years since the three of them were in a room together. It was nothing but bad blood and she had banked on Ericka not accepting the invitation on the guarantee that Widelene and Sione would attend to honor the memory of their friend.

After Ericka and Simone got together, Estie only spoke with Ericka's folks in passing. They grew cold with Estie, and blamed her behind her back for Simone's relationship with their daughter, and once the relationship was over, so was the beef.

Then there was the addition of Wendy Spector. In many ways, she was her second mom until Marc's deception. So much had changed since then and speaking to her included a lot of nervous laughs and cheek chewing. It didn't feel right, so the only solution Simone could come up with was to invite her back for dinner.

"I think the first time I ever had this was when Estie made it after your dad's funeral." Wendy said as she sat across the table with her helping of Arroz con pollo. It was a classic dish made to feed a crowd, and in honor of her mother, she had invited the Fatu's and Phoebe's bunch back to eat.

In a strange turn, Ericka's parents declined and said they planned to meet up with their daughter for dinner. In the same vein , Phoebe and Pete had promised Jude they would all go for burgers and a movie that night. That left Simone and Wendy to have their fill of chicken and rice alone. At least, that was the assumption before there was a knock at her door.

Simone wasn't expecting anyone. In fact, she thought if Marc was going to arrive at any point as he said, it would have been much earlier for the sake of getting back to New York before it was too late. She didn't call to check or even text because her mind had been scattered all day.

When she answered the door, there he was with a string of hearts planted in a hanging pot in one hand and a plastic pet carrier in the other. Before she noticed the carrier , she aimed her attention to a fresh bruise on his browbone but she didn't have to ask where it came from because she saw the video of him duking it out with another large fellow.

"I heard we were having dinner." Marc said with a small grin as stepped forward and looked past her at his mother. He had to steel himself from pulling Moni in for a kiss that he would have otherwise let happen if Wendy wasn't around.

She looked devastatingly sexy in the long black dress she wore. It had sleeves and laced up in the front, and if he had to guess, it was the only non-casual funeral-friendly item of clothing she owned.

That was when Simone realized the plant had to have been Wendy's idea, likely as a condolence gift.

"We just plated up. Help yourself." Simone said with a nod. The last time they really spoke was their fight and other than that, the odd text to see how the other was doing. Needless to say, it had been a long few days.

She finally saw the carrier when she stepped out of the way for him to enter and as strange as that was, the prospect of him getting her a small animal of sorts didn't seem that out of place. She remembered him asking about Uncle Fester, and if he wanted to make an effort to get back in her good graces, a new cat was him going above and beyond. "What's this?"

"Just a little something." He said and placed the carrier on the floor before leaning in close to her side and dropping his voice to a whisper. "We'll talk about it later."

For a moment, this confused her and she thought the 'it' in question would be their fight. That was what made the most sense to her, given Wendy's presence, so she brushed it off with a small nod. A united front was the way to go.

Marc kissed his mom on the cheek and placed the plant on the counter next to the various other greenery collected from Estie's as Simone knelt down in front of the carrier to see what she was just signed up for. Beyond the wire gate, there was a set of big green eyes peering at her from the dark and she poked her bottom lip out.

How cute. Just like Unc. She thought and opened the carrier to get a better look. At least I still have all the things I had here for him when I kept him last.

Emerged was a beautiful white Siamese with a little bowtie collar, and she felt herself choking up a bit as she realized the little guy looked exactly like her baby. Then as the cat crawled to her and rubbed his head on her chest with a pleasant purr, she realized this was Uncle Fester.

"Uh, Marc?" She called out with a bit of panic in her voice. Everything in her told her she should be happy, but then logic reared its ugly head. Even if Wendy wasn't there, she didn't need to ask if he stole the cat because it was as plain as that. While Ericka was at the service and then meeting with her family, Marc broke into her apartment and spirited away with Fester.

He was piling rice onto his plate when he heard Moni say his name and suddenly he was afraid she would ignore his request to shelve the topic until his mom left. Burglary and cat theft weren't the worst crimes he had ever committed in a legal sense but he still preferred Wendy not know what he had to do to get this cat here.

" Please tell me you didn't adopt a pet for this poor girl as a gift." His mom spoke up as she spotted the little guy. He stiffly looked into the living room at Moni, waiting to be sold out until he saw her pass a glance between her two houseguests.

"I really wanted a cat, actually." She said, reaching down to give Fester a scratch between the ears. "I appreciate it. Really."

Marc knew that tone. It was irritation covered with fake sunshine and seeping with anxiety. If Wendy had been more acquainted with Moni nowadays, she would have caught it too . Instead, she gave him a low-key thumbs up to signal he did a better job than she expected.

Then came the eating and chatting portion of this visit. At first, it was awkward because the last time they all sat at a table together had to have been long before Marc left town but there was a rather large elephant in the room that Wendy was the one to finally address .

"Well, when Marc told me you two were talking again I was just so happy. You would think the world would end if he approached you the way he spoke about the idea."

You don't say. Simone thought, being very familiar with this. A quick glimpse at Marc mid-chew told her he was hoping she wouldn't bring it up. She could have let the topic die or changed the subject but felt he more than deserved a little picking.

"Oh, there's still time for it to."

" Great ." He responded. "You two are ganging up on me now."

"Payback for all that sneaking around you did when you were young." Wendy said with a chuckle. This turned the good-natured atmosphere on its head and Marc and Simone exchanged sideways glances. Neither of them had ever considered that they might have been terrible at getting past suspicion when they were fresher-faced.

There was a passing of shrugs and confused looks from the pair, both unspokenly refusing to outright admit that they've been made . The unfortunate part was that they were at a small square dining table and there was very little room to put up a smokescreen without Wendy catching their conspiring. There was no hiding facts from a woman who had seen as much as she had. "Cut the crap, you two. I know you weren't just best friends that whole time. There's no way."

She's bluffing. It's a trick to get someone to admit it. No way she knew. Marc thought, squinting at his mother and thinking back to not only every party or time he outright lied about what he and Moni would be getting up to, but also the times he felt put on the spot by the old 'She's cute, right?' or 'You're sure there isn't anything going on between you?' questions. They say a mother always knows. Who the hell were we trying to fool?

"What gave it away?" He asked, still avoiding an outward confession that his mom didn't even need. She rolled her eyes as if it would be easier to list the mundane things that wouldn't have told her they liked each other.

"Well, for starters, we let you two do God only knows what in your bedroom with the door closed."

"Never did anything with that." He corrected, thinking he should at least get some credit for not wanting to make a move with his family in the room over.

"And the time you spent out of the house?"

"Just hanging out."

It was clear Wendy wasn't buying it by the sarcastic 'mhm' sound she made . He looked to Moni for support and she put her hands up as a signal that she was staying out of it.

"You know I'm old but I'm not prehistoric, right? Playing footsie under the table when Simone would come over for dinner, constantly in and out, never spending any time at Estie's because she wouldn't let you get away with half of what we did, not to mention your brief devotion to learning Spanish despite never taking an interest before you were fourteen-"

"Alright, ma, I think we get the picture." He cut off her rambling with an uneasy laugh and she shrugged as an acceptance of victory.

 

Marc took his mom back to the hotel after dinner and all Simone could manage to do during this time was stare at Uncle Fester. Of all the ways he could have attempted to rectify their previous disagreement, this had to have been the more reckless move and led to an overwhelming rush of anxiety for her.

I'm fucked beyond all repair if Ericka calls me asking where the cat is. She thought as she looked from her phone to the Siamese on her coffee table. Maybe I should just take him back but how would I justify having him in the first place? I can't exactly tell her the guy I've been sleeping with made off with him as some grand gesture.

She questioned if she even accepted Fester as a peace offering after the game of hide and seek the last time Marc was in town. She wasn't entirely sure how she felt about that, even then. It ticked her off to know that he was playing in her face, watching as she rushed to her door to let him back in only to be sent to her window like he planned to crawl back through.

It was when he didn't that made her all the more red in the face. Angry with Marc or not, she wanted him to come back. Had heart palpitations at the prospect of him seeing her flip the bird instead of locking the window as he so vehemently insisted she should and marching back over to show her what that kind of attitude got her.

Lesson learned. Middle-finger salutes get you cats, not punishments.

Simone sighed aloud and knelt down to pick the cat up from the coffee table. It was a known fact to herself, Ericka, and anyone who had ever met Fester that he didn't like many people. He merely tolerated his other mom and that was determined simply because he stopped terrorizing her at two years old.

"So, how did Marc fair in getting you here, Unc? Did you break any skin?" She asked, pressing the side of her face into Fester's neck scruff. A long, loud purr was his only response and she couldn't help but chuckle to herself . "I guess I'll know soon enough, huh, buddy?"

That part was a fact as she saw headlights illuminate her living room window, signaling his return. There was a giddy feeling mixed with her nerves about needing to speak and possibly argue over the handling of their situation . Not to mention the conversation they had to have about Fester, which she feared would make her sound ungrateful.

The sound of an engine dying, a car door closing, and the anticipation of the front entrance opening brought on a sea of doubt that there even needed to be a discussion over their previous fight. If Ericka wasn't an issue, she felt she could even put off the catnapping , as well . There was something special about knowing the one person you so direly needed to see would walk into your house.

Once he did that; however, she found herself placing Fester back on the ground as if readying her body to be swept up in whatever fantasy he wanted. Instead, he only grinned at her and peeled his coat away from his shoulders.

"She had a lot to say." He began, skipping the pleasantries to recant bits of the conversation he had with his mother during the ride. On the way back, he had the quiet drive to process all of it , including the more convoluted ideas. Moni cocked her head at this and giggled nervously.

"About what? Me?"

"Oh yeah." He confirmed, striding slowly forward to meet her where she stood. He had intentions but they could wait. "She's convinced you need a baby instead of a cat."

" Jesus , she sounds like my mom." She responded and tried to hide her face in her hands to hide a blush of embarrassment. Every older person she knew had an opinion on her marital status or a thousand and one questions about why she didn't have kids yet.

She certainly had heard enough of that for one day, the major turnout of Estie's service being the elderly . Even Ericka's parents had their questions, to which their daughter was surprisingly the one to come to her rescue by telling them Simone was 'too busy ' , which was a slight coming from her but a save nonetheless.

Simone knew Wendy; though, and if the earlier topic told her anything, it was that Marc no doubt got an earful and a handful of questions regarding his status with her. This knowledge made her curious, but he would be the one to bring it up.

"She might have suggested that I donate to the cause." He said, as predicted, and staring down at her, the space between them now mostly closed. While his mom hadn't outright told him to impregnate Moni, she had a few choice points in her argument.

"Not to overstep, but I feel like she still has a few more healthy reproductive years in her ."

"Ma..."

"I know, her eggs are frozen, I know. But it might not be such a bad idea to create a test tube baby with her. Could even use a surrogate if her body can't handle it but you know we missed out on all those cute baby years with Di. Not your fault, again, I know. I won't pretend that I wouldn't love another grandbaby, though."

"Seriously?" Moni chuckled with wide eyes, playing off of the idea being ridiculous even if it wasn't the worst in the world. A part of her wanted to ask if Marc told her about how close they came to that outcome once but abandoned it when she noted how near he had gotten.

She was taken back to the kiss that nearly made her lose her thoughts. The feeling of his hands cupping her face, the ghostly memory of his tongue tickling the roof of her mouth, how even through lidded eyes the lights in her room seemed so much brighter than normal .

It was a real kiss, unlike the others they had shared since starting this thing that was sexually driven and more about performance than passion. That led to her recalling why he kissed her that way. Could that kind of tenderness be faked for the sake of distraction? She wouldn't know, but the reflection weighed heavy enough on her chest to cause her to break the current tension and turn into her kitchen. "Still funny, after all this time."

"I told her that wasn't in the cards." He spoke with a hint of hesitation in his voice as he watched her pull aluminum foil from a drawer to bag and tag the leftovers from dinner. He knew she wasn't abandoning the topic, but any possibility of an invitation to get fresh with her.

At the beginning of the week, she couldn't get enough of me and now she wants nothing to do with me. Great. He thought before clearing his throat and introducing a change in subject. "How was the service?"

" Hopefully it was everything she could have asked for," Moni answered with a small sigh. That wasn't the right direction, either.

"You don't wanna discuss that, do you?"

"I really, really don't. I would rather know about grand theft gato .”

So, this is about the cat. Marc thought as he tried to hold his snicker at the wordplay. What he couldn't keep down was the smirk.

“He’s your cat.”

“That doesn't make what you did to get him here anything less than stealing. You know when Ericka realizes he’s gone, my place will be the first place she looks.”

“And that’s why I’m taking him back to New York.” He filled her in and took the now-wrapped glass Pyrex baking dish to place in the fridge for her. She watched him do this but wasn't as concerned about this as she was what he said .

I’m so fucking confused. She thought, pondering for a moment and slightly pissed off that he was dancing around his true meaning. There was no reason for Marc to want a cat—particularly her cat—if he could barely stand the idea of having a girlfriend who had the means to care for herself.

Then she understood that he didn't want the cat. He just wanted her to follow him. For a moment, she wondered if this was his weird way of suggesting a living arrangement, but knew better. This was a short-term way to get her back to the penthouse after he spent days in her company here. The cat was just to sweeten the deal.

“You’re using Unc to lure me.” Moni said with bemusement in her voice. “I don’t think you understand how problematic this is. I can’t just leave town whenever you want me to. Take the cat back.”

“Can’t do that. Ericka is probably back by now. I’d say, if she isn’t very perceptive , you have less than an hour to get out of there.” He continued to convince her with a ticked eyebrow and his hands on her shoulders.

He had hoped this would spring her into action, maybe prompt her to throw together a bag so they could head out right away . Instead, she stared at him with disappointment in her walnut eyes.

"She just buried her ma, dumbass. I told you it wouldn't work." Jake spoke up, making a point that none of them had come up with in the throws of the heist. He could see how up and leaving town right after the funeral of a close family member could be seen as disrespectful as a man who comes from people who sit for seven days after a death occurs.

"Leaving doesn't feel right. Not tonight, at least." Moni said softly, confirming his suspicions. In a way, it was only part of the excuse for not wanting to ditch town with him but there were only so many ways she could think of to put her frustration with him into words. With that in mind, where words failed, actions spoke.

She pivoted around again to deflect deepening herself in the pool of his gaze with the intention of getting out of this dress and into something to lounge in but he caught her by the wrist once she took the first few steps. There wasn't a spare second to wonder if he meant to be as aggressive as he was about it before she was twirled around and yanked back into his chest.

"Why do you keep doing that, Moni? Tell me what's wrong." He raspily whispered as he released her arm and his hands found her lower back. It was bitter-sweet, the sweetness coming from his concern and the softness of his eyes. The bitter part was how it made her loins ache. She knew she needed to ignore that feeling and come out with it.

"I don't care to be messed with." She confessed, her voice giving slightly as she felt his hands smooth over his back. Her dress was just thin enough to feel the rougher calloused skin along each individual thread before they rested above the shelf of her bottom again.

Marc could have sworn she was speaking in riddles with how lost he was regarding what she meant. Just before he could ask for clarification, he caught her eyes drifting to the kitchen window behind him and back to his face. That gave him all the answers he needed.

"This is about the..." He trailed off, not exactly sure what to call it but the small nod she gave told him they were on the same frequency again. They had unfinished business. "You know, I planned to resolve this in New York but seeing as we aren't leaving tonight, how should I go about doing that?"

There it was. Somehow, in some way, Moni was never able to stay mad enough at Marc to squirrel out of moments like these. Moments where his eyes would hold her attention and send a surge of seduction through her bloodstream. She knew where that came from, though. It wasn't always lust but a feeling that resided there long before she even knew she was capable of craving his body.

"Depends on what you were planning to do at the penthouse." She said so softly it could have gotten lost in a breath. She blinked and he was no longer looking down at her, his face obscured in the nape of her neck. His lips went to work before there was another split-second to process.

"I was going to write you an apology letter with my tongue." He growled into her skin, the vibrations traveling over her skin as if she had been electrically shocked. Each sentence was broken by an equally tantalizing, wet kiss to her tender skin. "After tying you up, of course." Kiss. "It would have been a long letter." Nibble. "I needed to be sure you got the whole thing," Kiss. "After that little sign you left me in the window."

Any space between their bodies had closed, and she could feel his erection resting against her middle. It was like he knew she had been wet from the moment he walked in her door, her body naturally responding to his face, remembering his touch, his taste, how gentle and rough he could be with her.

If she had anything he could use to achieve this fantasy he set in place , she would be directing him there . Hell, she would accept him taking her right on her kitchen floor , recent foot traffic be damned. She was just glad she didn't have to throw herself at him this time.

"Can't really do that here." She spoke in a way that nearly sounded like a whine. His response was a husky hum and one of his hands glided down to her right buttock, and all at once she felt the need to clarify what she meant before he ceased his actions to ask. "I don't h-have anything for you to subdue me with."

"Then I guess you'll just have to play nice."

She wondered what he meant by that but all at once didn't care when his face reentered her view. "Can you do that for me?"

You could always play extra nice and get on your knees. The deviant within her thought and saliva pooled on her tongue. A visual played in her mind of pushing him to the counter behind him and doing just that. It would prolong her own satisfaction but the last time he was here, he left without getting off.

"Moni." Marc spoke once more in response to her silence. She was so far into her own head she forgot how this worked. The idea played once more but she stayed frozen in place, timid, unable to bring herself to do it for fear of finding herself painfully self-aware. She would be awkward about it, trying to be sexy and jumping in head-first without a single gram of confidence.

Once his dick is in your mouth, he won't give a shit. She thought again. And if he does, would that be so bad?

As if her brain took full control of her limbs, she placed her palms on his chest and took a step forward. Surprisingly, the solid man moved with her and made the second step easier before his back met the same counter he had her on the week before.

The sheepish side of her mind tried to fight back and make her freeze up but the side that got this idea in the first place had her falling to her knees before she could say or do something stupid.

Something flicked in Moni's irises before she went down. Marc couldn't quite put his finger on it, or figure out why he moved when she physically prompted him to. All he knew was this wasn't the direction he saw this going and was trying to figure out if he liked it or not. The plan was to tonguefuck her until she begged him to stop and when she got quiet, he thought she might have decided she was too upset with him to let him do so.

But this struck him as her trying to turn the tables on him, put him in a state of bewilderment long enough for his plans to no longer matter. If she wanted him to think of nothing but her, she clearly didn't know she succeeded long ago without even trying.

"You don't have to do all tha-" His words were long lost as her palm smoothed over the front of his jeans. Those same doe eyes he knew so well were peering up through her thick eyelashes, holding curiosity and greenness still but paired with the smirk at his broken sentence, they spoke of unmistakable desire to see him crumble.

"I think our friend down here disagrees." She said sultrily and his traitorous length twitched under her fingertips. Something about this differed from the other times when she thought he had him on a leash. That everpresent tremble was still in her voice but she knew the hard part was over. From here on, she could easily call the shots.

The button snapped open and she slowly slid the zipper down, each agonizing second testing his willpower. His elbows bent and he gripped the lip of the countertop as if it would keep him from falling over. Her fingers curled into his waistband and she wiggled his pants down just enough to expose the top of his boxers that were considerably tented .

He could have sworn she was evil the way her lips planted long, teasing pecks over his clothed cock. "Your first mistake-" Kiss. "Was telling me you wanted to write-" Kiss. "An apology letter on my bits."

"You say that like you wouldn't have enjoyed it." He said with a shiver and she bunched the fabric of his underwear in her fingers to tug them down, freeing his length from the bothersome material. She gave him that same sweet, sunshine smile she was known so well for, then proceeded to flick her tongue quickly over his sensitive tip. It wasn't much , but it was enough to force a heavy exhale through his nostrils. The tongue movements were short-lived before she capped them with a kiss in the same spot.

"I don't need an apology." She told him, pressing her slightly agape lips to his tip once more. A sparse second passed where he thought he would have to ask what exactly it was she wanted but in that still moment where she stared up with a ticked eyebrow and no longer giving him attention with her mouth, he understood how easily he forgot himself.

Overstimulation and countless orgasms were punishments just as much as they were rewards. That was the purpose of his plan; to get her off as a truce but get her back for the middle finger he spotted from her backyard. Maybe she would even say she was sorry for it between the cries of agony. His gaze flitted back to that same window and lo and behold, it was unlatched.

It's not an apology or a reward she needs. How silly of me to assume a bad girl like her was worthy of a prize. Marc thought to himself as he finally caught on. He was almost proud of her.

Moni watched from below as the gears turned in his head but she knew he understood. Now all that was left was to see if he would utilize the situation she placed herself in or come up with something else. He might have been a bit foolish to start but if she knew him like she thought he did, he wouldn't pass up such a golden opportunity.

"Open your mouth." He said in that tone that got her to do so many things so many times . This time, of course, was no different. Both of his hands met the sides of her face, his fingers trailing through the sides of her hair in an almost comforting fashion, but it was short-lived. He took two fistfuls of her strands as close to the scalp as he could manage and pulled her lips over his thick tip slowly.

He only paced himself because he feared she might not have a grasp on putting her teeth away. The first and only time she gave him head, she had complete reign and did very well, but what she was expecting from him was different and more demanding. The last thing either of them needed was an accidental bite.

From the tip to the middle, it was smooth sailing. A patient gait, introducing a little bit more to coat his cock with saliva, then retreat and repeat. Once he hit the back of her throat; however, it grew a bit tiresome. She couldn't reach the base but that was forgivable and always easier with enough practice. Judging by how her warm, slick mouth felt, there would be plenty of that.

Marc tightened his grip on her hair and started rocking over her tastebuds a bit quicker, each meeting with her tonsils opening the gullet more and more. Before, she was able to get a breath in through her nose. Now, she hardly got a break between gags.

It was hard to tell whether it was his moving her head or his hips or both at this point but her focus on his primal, beastly groans kept her at bay. Her throat was already beginning to feel sore along with her lips and jaw, her eyes watered, viscous drool dribbled down her chin and neck and yet the wet spot in her panties grew.

"You're doing so fucking good, you know that?" He slurred as he pulled her mouth away from him. She gasped desperately for air, wheezing and closing her mouth for a moment to relieve her facial muscles. As if her bit of respite was just long enough for him to enter a different headspace, his thumb ran under her right eye to wipe away a few tears that had collected and his eyes softened. "Had enough?"

The answer could have been 'yes' if she had enough sense not to push herself so soon. There seemed to be a mutual understanding, though. Marc may ask if she's had enough and may seem to be ready to move on to a different activity even though this was her idea, but it was a trick question. She might have had enough, but he hadn't. Still, she found herself entertaining it with a little nod.

A tick passed where she thought she read him wrong. That tender glance remained and his hand stayed caressing the side of her face like a treasured artifact. With that in mind, his straining erection remained aimed at her lips. His delicate demeanor faded into depravity. "Oh, sweet girl. You should've just stuck to the original plan."

The second start-up was abrupt and relentless but she did her best to take it like a champ. It felt like he might rip her hair out but the pain of that was overtaken by the feeling of the merciless beating her uvula was taking. She supposed she considered herself lucky that the constant friction numbed her pout and tongue.

It was happening again and just like before, Marc couldn't stop it. That switch that flipped in his head that told him to destroy her, told him she liked it, made him believe that this moment—though completely selfish—was all for her. Getting her face fucked like this was what she wanted. Losing oxygen for the sake of swallowing the end of his cock over and over was her wish.

Between the muffled hums and the choking that never had a beat to cease , he was gone . The continuous dragging of her bruised lips over the length of his shaft felt stellar. All he could do was mumble.

"God... fuck , Moni." He said through gritted teeth and kept pumping. All the while that quiet part of him whispered, telling him to give her a break, pleading with him to let her stand and breathe.

You're hurting her and you know it. Is this really what you want? To subject her to his? Let her take the sharp end of your violent sexual urges? Get ahold of yourself!

Even then, the other part was far louder. The part that relished her sweet mouth . The part that remembered what it does to her when he bites her or how her walls clamped down on him when he twisted her arm.

She loves this shit. I know she does. How else am I supposed to show her that she's mine?

One final expletive fell from his tongue as he came, which was a surprise for Moni when she felt warmth pool on the back of her tongue. The dense fluid attempted to travel down her overused windpipe as it continued to flow and she coughed it back up, the tiniest bit erupting through the corners of her mouth around his cock.

She wasn't sure what to expect as far as the taste. It was different from female ejaculate, certainly. From what she could gather, it was salty—which was to be expected —but the texture alone was a nightmare. It reminded her of a beaten egg, and there was a lot more of it than she had ever noticed from what would exit her cunt after he came inside of her.

He removed his quickly softening member and stared down at her with a tilted head, likely recognizing the face she was making alongside her heavy panting and gasping. She knew the more common, more impressive thing to do would be to swallow the spend and with that in mind, she gulped it like dry-swallowing a pill before returning to filling her lungs.

The guilt washed over Marc on the comedown, leaning against the cabinetry and watching Moni fall back onto her hands. Her face was red and her hair was in knots, but no matter how much of a mess he made of her, she still held a radiance that nobody could ever compare to.

Post-nut clarity was proving to be very real. He felt like that caged animal had been sedated and left a friendly, gentle giant in its absence. That's how it always was. He never , ever wanted to make this of her but with the right ingredients, they just kept making cake.

"You cool?" He asked as he reached down to help her up. It felt like such a dumb ask, but as her breathing slowed she gave him a nod.

"I'm cool. You?"

They found themselves right back where they started, his arms around her waist and just enough of a gap between them to fit a piece of paper. He felt like she had to have been sugarcoating it. There was no way she was cool , not after all of that. Still, he sensed no lies and received a smile across her quivering, puffy lips.

"Solid." He said with an air of puzzlement, eyes fixed onto her like she deserved the whole world. That wasn't far from the truth in his mind. He may not be able to give that to her, but he could provide something else she no doubt could have used right then. "I love this dress on you but I think you should go take it off."

There was a moment when Moni had to gather her thoughts, looking even more confused than he had a moment ago. Then his words replayed in her head as if it were delayed and a part of her wanted to focus on his compliment more than his request. She had only ever worn it one other time after buying it second-hand for a Morticia Addams costume. That wasn't a conversation meant for this time, though.

She took off to the bedroom, untying the closely secured laces over her cleavage to allow the dress to fall down her body rather than fight her way out of the long tube of fabric from the bottom. Marc followed behind and watched her back become exposed as the garment was abandoned in the hallway.

He couldn't help but chuckle to himself as he noticed the black leggings underneath to combat the cold and the hot pink bra along with the heart-stamped ankle socks she wore with her flats. Once she lost the bottoms, all that remained over her heart-shaped ass was a pair of dark blue bikini-style panties.

Nothing matched, and they didn't need to. The small details that were so easily covered with that dress but each one screamed who she really was. These were all things nobody else saw. Nobody but Marc, at least. He liked it that way.

"So, what now?" Moni asked as she stood with the back of her legs pressed to her bed. It was a good question, one that he knew the answer to even if he was growing turned on all over again at the sight of her. In his mind, there was really only one way this could go to do right by her.

He approached with the same gentleness he held before, not taking his gaze from her for even a second. It always gave her chills when he looked at her this way, proceeding with far more love than lust in his eyes. Her knees and face ached but they only served as a reminder that this was what she did it for. Moments like these, when she truly could forget the world around them.

"Now, you get to lay down and let me take care of you."

Notes:

If you read "Normal People" there was a point where a certain character said something about this timeline being weird. Expect weird soon.

Chapter 24: One Way

Summary:

Sorry this one took so long. Holidays got busy and I found myself inspired to pick up an old work I had on hiatus even before I started 'I Wish you Roses' but this has not been abandoned. I still intend to update at least once a week. Tags have been updated to reflect the events of this chapter.

" You might have to catch a plane for this
You gon' have to say my name for this
'Cause usually, I don't do no flying out
But something feel different this time "
-"One Way" by 6LACK

 

It became clear to Simone that she had no idea what she was doing when it came to packing up Uncle Fester and taking him out of state. At first, the worry came from having to gather the food, catbox, and other needed products to ensure he was cared for but Marc insisted she didn't have to worry about that.

Then came the fact that, despite her being preoccupied for the majority of the night, Ericka never contacted her. There was the possibility that her ex wouldn't reach out over the missing feline—and Marc highlighted this possibility when Simone started to grow frustrated over it—but she had a chip on her shoulder. Ericka would never miss the opportunity to blame her for something. 

This thought very nearly ruined her night, but Simone did her best not to lose sleep over it and chalked it up to Ericka's carelessness. She never wanted a cat in the first place but got one because she was hardly ever home anyway and Simone could handle him. 

Fester took the flight surprisingly well. No yowling and no accidents, which was far better than she could have asked for. It gave her hope for the stay itself but he was no stranger to hanging out in new places on the occasion. Certainly nowhere as nice as Steven's penthouse, which added a different layer to Simone's anxiety. 

"Please, for me, don't fuck up his furniture." She said a quiet plea to the cat as she let him out of his carrier to explore. It was going to be tough having a good time without fear of losing track of him or looking away for a second to find him getting into something he wasn't supposed to, but this was Marc's idea. 

"What was that?" The man himself asked, not fully catching what she said to Unc.

"Oh, nothing. Just hoping this doesn't turn into a complete disaster." She replied with a nervous laugh, wringing her hands. All at once, that edge was gone when her phone began to ring and the caller ID informed her it was Ericka. “Really? It took her this long to realize Fester was gone?" 

Of course, that was an unfair assumption. The more likely reason she waited was for time or maybe her search bared no fruit and Simone was simply the last resort. Either way, her anger flared up slightly at the idea of a delay in contacting her at all . She hit the green button and brought the phone to her ear immediately. "Hello?”

“The cat’s gone and when I went to your place to see if you had him, you were gone too..." Ericka's voice flowed through the speaker, her tone sounding a bit annoyed. "Can you help me look for him?”

She wanted to ask how a cat goes missing from a 4th-floor apartment but decided to keep that to herself. She knew precisely how that would be possible and knew Ericka likely mulled over the idea that her place had been broken into. Simone knew Marc was careful, but there was no telling what suggesting such a thing could push her ex to do. Also, she just didn't feel great about gaslighting her. This led to a different approach.

“I’m not in town right now." Simone said simply. There was a small silence on the other end that resonated with either surprise or judgment. It was a toss-up, as she remembered the comment Ericka made at her mother's service and all the times before that when she would say Simone was a workaholic. It didn't seem like a bad move to give her something else to dwell on. “Decided to take a small vacation.”

“You’re kidding." She responded with genuine shock and a small guffaw. "Who talked you into that one?”

“Someone I’m seeing.” Simone spoke into the phone a bit quieter this time, passing a glance over her shoulder to catch Marc's base reaction to the admission. He was listening to her side of the conversation attentively and dropped his gaze to his shoes at her words.

Welp. Fucked that up. She thought, her heart picking up speed a bit and putting her back on edge. Ericka seemed to be processing all of this new information, the additional silence all around causing Simone's blood to run cold. Then she heard what sounded like a throat clear.

“Whatever. They must be something really special for you to just not be worried about Fester at all.”

You insisted on keeping him. Simone nearly said but bit her tongue. Driving Ericka insane by making her believe this was just the result of bad pet parenting wasn't the move. If anything, she was protective of what she considered to be belongings and even bought a weird nanny camera.

Simone found it while dusting one time. It was made to look like a small clock on their bookshelf. When she asked about it, Ericka told her it was to look after the cat at times when they were both out of the house.

Fuck, the camera! She began to panic, realizing that it would most definitely have caught Marc. The last thing she wanted was to remind her of its existence, but the peace of mind that came from the off-chance that she didn't turn it on would calm her nerves.

“Do you still have that nanny cam?”

“No, I got rid of it after we broke up.”

Relief flooded her, only for it to be quickly dissolved at the convenience of the timing. 

I left, and she kept the cat but not the camera. What sense does that make? She thought but didn't need to think about it for long. The device wasn't to watch the cat. It was to watch her .

“Crazy. The thing you got to watch the cat isn’t there to help you watch the cat. Why is that, Ericka?” Simone condescended, feeling her hands begin to tremble with irritation. It was an unwarranted invasion of privacy. That camera sat on that shelf for years, spying on her while Ericka was on the road. The only response she received to this was the line dropping.  “Fuck, she pisses me off.”

Marc hadn't heard the entire conversation, but he heard enough to concern him. Before the camera caught his attention, the comment about him being someone Moni was ‘seeing’ gave him pause. While it was true in a technical sense, that was typically the phrase used when dating someone. It was the step before entering the relationship and being official.

This hit hard in a few different ways. The first being her use of the phrase, then looking directly at him. It shook him to his core, thinking about whether she meant it or not. He was indecisive about whether he wanted her to. Either way, he could have let it pass before a second reason to take issue with it came to mind.

Why did she want Ericka to think she was seeing anyone in the first place? To make her jealous? Why does she care what her ex thinks? Marc pondered as he tuned out most of the rest of the conversation. He wished it was easy, wished he could rely on that voice in his head that told him Moni was all his, but it wasn’t true. He couldn’t lock her down.

That didn’t halt the yearning. It didn’t quiet the possession or obsession. Even if he couldn’t outwardly call her his, he wanted more than anything for her to consider herself as such. He didn’t want her to think about or look at anyone else and god help the next person who thinks they can touch her. Even the thought of what she did with Nick Yun lit a fire in him these days. 

He knew she would eventually grow tired of the waiting game. At some point, she would get curious. She would ask the big questions: 

‘What are we?’ 

‘What am I to you?’

‘Are we together on the D.L. or is this just sex?’  

And he could have to answer honestly.

‘We’re made for each other.’

‘You’re everything.’

‘This is much more than just sex, but I can’t put you in jeopardy by giving you a reason to move here.’

Until that day, all Marc could do was enjoy her company, her body, and the peace of mind that came with her being so willing to pursue these endeavors with him. That choice of words would stick with him, though. ‘Someone I’m seeing’.

Moni stood with her eyes closed in frustration and her arms crossed. She appeared to be stilling herself from chunking her phone across the room, which wasn’t something he was used to witnessing with her.

“You cool?” He asked patiently, letting his feelings slide for the time being. She gave a small nod and waved it away. If she wanted to hide her anger, she could easily. This was something she couldn’t keep under wraps, which he figured could be of some use. “Need to blow off some steam?”

Moni flicked her eyes to the large sliding door that led to the bedroom then back to Marc. That was a harder question than she would have thought. She was stressed out and felt violated. Her nerves were shot and her brain was scattered. If anything, she wanted to have a nice scream-fest but being thrown around could work as a decent substitute. Even if she was the furthest thing from turned on, he had ways of pressing all the right buttons to get her there.

"Do your worst." She challenged with a ticked eyebrow. It was just like the way she said it at the end of that naughty video she sent to him. He kept it and returned to it more often than he would like to admit. It contributed heavily to his ownership mindset over her and frequently reminded him what his worst truly was. He didn’t want to put her through that.

"I don't know about that." Marc advised hesitantly, expecting protest. As predicted, she snickered.

"Why not? Last night was pretty fun."

"I'm still indifferent about that. My mind still tells me not to harm you because my instinct is to protect you. I can't do both."

"Sure you can. Remember the Masterlock?" She said matter-of-factly, using the fact that he would have kicked the crap out of anyone who tried that on her but it was okay when he did it to prove her point. Marc shook his head at this.

"Totally different circumstance. Not even close to being the same thing."

"Let's dissect that. You put me in the hold and depending on how tight it is, it might hurt. It gets to be too much and I say 'uncle' so you let go…"

"That dumb maneuver was a game. Play wrestling. There's a limit.” He doubled down, vexed by her insistence. For a shy woman, she really loved to argue sometimes. He needed her to understand what he was trying to tell her. “What if I go too far before you get me to stop? What if I seriously hurt you?"

Moni could tell he was getting a bit worked up, inching closer the more she pushed. She remembered how much he seemed to like getting aggressive with her in the sack and the way it contradicted his demeanor with her outside of sex was almost addictive. 

What she wanted him to understand was that she wanted the thrill just as much as he did. She enjoyed that dark depravity he displayed and craved it more after each witness. It was clear he didn't want to view her that way. Whatever mental block he had in place that was so dead-set on protecting her even from himself wasn’t excluding sex. She didn’t want that. She wanted every bit of his authentic self she could get. She tried for one final push to convince him.

"You won't." She said in a tone that almost sounded amused by the idea. Either she wasn’t taking him seriously or she was truly led to believe he was completely harmless to her. No matter how much he wanted to believe he could be, it was so easy to forget himself in the moment. He wanted to yell and tell her she didn’t know what she was talking about, but that wouldn’t work. 

Within a blink of her response, his hand was wrapped around her throat and her back was to the nearest wall. He wasn’t squeezing so hard she was entirely without air, but the knocking sound of her back and head against the wall very well should have been enough of a message. 

Even then, it pained him to do it but Moni didn’t so much as flinch. The purpose was to scare her out of this fantasy but she simply stared at him like a doe in headlights, transfixed on his face with her lips agape. It was curious, but he held his stone expression.

“I’m not scared of you.” She muttered. His face was close enough to feel her warm breath fan his skin. She wasn’t even breaking a sweat.

“You should be.” He replied gruffly, applying a bit more pressure in his palm. As much as he didn’t want to, he was growing turned on by the sight of it. “What is it? Tired of being so safe? You wanna know what it’s like to feel like you’re in danger? Is that it?”

“I don’t think you’re dangerous. Not to me.”

“Tell me to let go.” 

“ No .” She gritted her teeth, brown eyes beaming at him. It was going too far already and he needed to know that she could tell him when to knock it off. He shortened the distance between their noses.

“Do you know how easy it would be to break you?”

“You say that like you wouldn’t fucking love it.”

“What are you trying to prove?”

“I don’t think there’s a thing you could do to make me afraid of you. If you’re trying to prove a point, you’re not doing so well.”

In other words, I’ve never been so wet in my life. She thought to herself. There was a momentary twinkle in his irises that reminded her of that first in-depth conversation they had in her living room. It showed her that he valued her, but didn’t think she meant what she said and if she did mean it, she was naive. 

It had been a long time since someone Marc cared for so much didn’t see him as a monster. Though this wasn’t the first example from her, it hit the hardest. It was what made it so difficult for him to let go, fearful that if he overstepped, there would be no going back. 

That was what made her so scary to him. No matter what she said, he just couldn’t do it to her. Not Moni. Not the last person on Earth that thought so highly of him. Without a second thought, he let go of her neck and turned away.

“If you can’t wrap your head around what I’m telling you then you need to go.” Marc spoke softly, almost sounding disappointed with her and he was. He would rather end this completely before giving himself enough room to full-send into ruining her.

“I think you’re being perfectly clear. You don’t want to tarnish that image you have of me in your head. I grew up, Marc.” 

Please don’t shut me out. She thought to herself as heat rose in her cheeks. She knew he was a tough nut to crack but there was no worse feeling than putting forth so much effort that it breaks entirely. He didn’t respond to her, only stood with his back turned. 

She considered asking if he meant that. If he truly wanted her to leave. It seemed pointless even if the flaring up in her chest made her want to scream and tell him he couldn’t get rid of her or push her away. That was often her biggest mistake, never telling them the whole truth about her feelings. It was easier to dwell on it alone than it was to fight back and risk becoming a bumbling mess.

Thankfully, Unc had gone back into his carrier to nap, so she didn’t have to collect him before closing the gate. She had just shown up only to find herself heading out again, likely to sit on a bench and Google search cat-friendly hotels until she could figure out a plan to get home. She might just drink tonight and drunk-dial to confess later. Maybe that would fix this. Who knows anymore? 

With the carrier in one hand and her suitcase in the other, she moved in silence. Once the door was closed, she was instantly reminded of when she left Ericka and nearly fell out right there in the short hallway to the elevator. She took a deep breath in through her nostrils and released it through her mouth, hoping it would get her to the main entrance at the very least.

She stepped into the elevator and pressed the L button, keeping her face toward the floor, afraid if she looked up for too long, she would snap.

I made it this far. How pathetic would I look if I went knocking now?

The door began to close, but in a strange turn, it started to open again. There was nobody else allowed on this floor unless they were housekeeping or maintenance, so she darted her eyes up to see what the hold-up was. A hand with a long black sleeve had shoved between the doors to keep them from shutting, and they retracted to reveal Marc standing outside of them.

“Step out.” He said in that tone she knew well. Her brief excitement to see him still stuck around and she did as he told her. “Start walking and stop when you get to the door.”

“What’s the point of this?” She asked, thinking it was pretty self-explanatory that she would go back to the penthouse but found herself stopping in front of him to get a read on the situation that had just drastically changed.

“You can do as I say or get back in the elevator, get a different hotel, and we can pretend this never happened.” Marc stared her down, telling her he meant it more with his stone expression than his words. This confused her a bit, considering how he was acting just moments before.

“Do you have a preference?” 

“Depends on how much to trust me.”

She did trust him. That part, she was positive about. Without another word, she complied and began stepping down the hall with him following not far behind. As she stood facing the door, she felt his body pressed to her back and watched as his hand reached forward to the door and opened it with a twist of the knob and a push. “Walk.”

“What’s the purpose of this?” She inquired again, still doing as she was told while remaining concerned with the switch-up in his attitude. Curious or not, it certainly put a bit more pep in her step than was there before.

“You lost your opportunity to ask questions at the elevator.” He told her, placing a palm on her back to guide her where he wanted her so she wouldn’t just be aimlessly stepping. From there, she was quiet, even as he took the bag and carrier from her hands. “Smart girl.”

And there goes those pesky apprehensions. She thought as her bottom lip found its way into her teeth. The command that followed was a simple ‘stop’ in the same voice as she reached the wall next to the bedroom door, then a prompt to remove her shirt, then her pants, and finally her underwear.

“Hands on the wall.” Was his next demand once she was fully nude. A nervous yet elated feeling pooled in her gut, mind flipping through the possibilities of what this could mean as she placed her palms on the surface. With how far away she was stopped, she slightly bent over to reach. 

Marc skirted to her right side and she kept her eyes forward for fear of being clocked for doing anything he didn’t ask. It was intriguing, the way she found himself hanging on his every word, salivating at his voice, twitching ever so slightly in wait for his next move. “Here’s how this is gonna go. Do you know what you did wrong?” 

“No?” Moni said the single word in the form of a question. She truly had no idea. This was immediately met with a swift and hard slap to her right buttock. It felt like a thousand bee stings, tingling yet painful from the skin-to-skin force. It caused a yelp to arise from her throat.

“Try again.” He pushed, still sounding remarkably calm despite the current situation. 

“I walked out?” 

Another louder, more firm spank landed in the same spot as before. She began to well up, her brain’s natural response to unusual discomfort despite her body growing more aroused by the second. “I don’t know, Marc!” She said, voice slightly wavering. Her shoulders tensed up, bracing for another smack that didn’t come. Instead, he cooly leaned closer to her ear.

“You let me put my hand on your throat. You shouldn’t let anyone do that to you, especially me unless I’m inside of you. Understood?”

“Yes.” She breathed, relieved that the answer was provided to her in her fumbling. 

“Now, what will you do if someone does that again?”

“Tell them to stop.” 

His palm connected with her rear again, and she winced.

“What if they don’t?”

“I don’t know!” She repeated, testing to see if he would spoon-feed her once more. This was only met with another clap.

“I need to know you would do better, Moni.”

It came to her right then. This was about conditioning. This was to ensure that she could handle herself, or at least make an effort to. With that in mind, there was only one acceptable answer that was attainable.

“I’d hit them. I’d hit them really fucking hard.” She stammered, squinting and preparing herself to be struck again. Instead, he leaned in once more.

“Good girl. Say it again .”

“If someone tried to choke me I would hit them.”

“Even me?”

“Even you.”

A pause followed as she waited for the unpredictable man’s next move. More questions? More spanking? Maybe a bit of ice for her no-doubt bright red cheek? The possibilities were endless, which put her on edge, but in a way that made her knees weak. She put more weight onto her hands to steady herself and saw Marc skirt around her from the corner of her eye.

“Good girl. Reward time.” 

It felt like she could breathe again but only for a wink before his wrist snaked around her right hip and began to manipulate her swollen clit. She knew she was turned on but she hadn't realized how much she needed to be touched until he started. "So fucking wet after all that?"

It was intense how quickly his flattened fingers moved over her cunt as if working double-time to force an orgasm from her. His denim-clad pelvis rested against her bare ass and it wasn't difficult to tell why. The feeling of his rock-hard erection did a number on her and just as soon as her pleasure began to build, the balloon burst.

Marc continued to rub the sensitive area until Simone began twitching, her nerves fighting to get away from the repetitive friction. A shakey squeal resonated from her throat but his hold on her was too strong. His right arm was locked while his hand put in work, and his left arm wrapped around her ribs tightly. In her ear, his voice vibrated against her eardrum. "Say 'thank you'. "

"Th-thank you." She stuttered weakly as she climaxed again. Through high levels of anxiety, Chicago winters, and loud, unnerving sounds, she couldn't think of a time when her body ever trembled this much. If she hadn't been physically forced to stand, she would have fallen on wobbly knees already.

His hand slid away from her cunt, trailing the juices that collected onto it over her pelvis and hip before his fingertips dug into the meat of her side. Though brief, the respite was desperately needed as her heart pounded from her chest and she took deep, cumbersome breaths through her mouth.

"Gonna fuck that pretty pussy." He growled from behind her, paired with the sound of his belt and fly. If she dared to get mouthy, she would have warned him about language like that and how it might just stroke her ego.

Not that she would have had a spare moment to utter a single word before he roughly shoved his cock into her and grunted like a wild animal. " Fuck , that's good."

From that point, it was constant, hard pounding that made her hands slip and skid along the wall she tried so desperately to hang on to. She thought she knew how barbaric he could be from previous encounters, but this was a different level.

Height difference be damned, he was no doubt bending his knees to achieve such an agonizingly deep angle. Over and over he battered her walls like he could find peace within them through brute power.

Her left breast and right hip were being squeezed as if he meant to embed his fingerprints in her skin. While it seemed he was outwardly out of his own head, there was a looming feeling that he was paying close attention to her sounds and physical cues.

When she came for a third time, Marc brought his hand back to her clit once more, still fucking her and making her body quake again. It was proving to be more than her mind wanted her body to handle, her legs taking initiative and trying to step away from his grasp.

“Don’t run from me, Moni.” He said in a tone that sounded like a careful warning but the pangs of overstimulation caused her to continue to wriggle. Her faculties were at odds, parts fighting to escape while others remained entirely at home, like getting close to a fire knowing you'll burn yourself but being unable to turn away from the warmth.

It seemed Marc wasn't in the mood to give her a second warning as his left hand left her breast and found her hair. Before she knew it, the side of her face and her chest were smashed into the wall in a way that would have been concerning and painful if not for his continuing to fuck her into it. "Don’t you fucking run from me. I want you to come again.”

“I can’t !” The words spilled through her mouth in a voice that wasn't her own . It plead for mercy but at the start of all this, she hadn't wanted mercy and in many ways, still didn't.

“Bullshit. I know you can.” He spat, refusing to let up. The agony turned to bliss and her will to resist diminished, but it was as if there was a block placed somewhere. The climax would begin, but die off before it fully found life. Once Marc noticed this, he stopped and decided to rethink his strategy. “Let’s try something else.”

She watched his hand side open the door beside her and she was scooped up from her tired feet. There came that false feeling of rest again, comforted by being carried in her lover's arms even if it was haphazardly.

It was short-lived; however, when Marc tossed her onto the bed without much regard for placement. Her limbs bounced lifelessly along with her sweaty body, and with the little bit of cognition she could muster, she thought this was genius. Allowing her to relax would help with circulation and no doubt assist in what he wanted from her.

From the dresser by the bathroom, he retrieved two expensive-looking silk ties that had Steven written all over them. She could gather that she wasn't placed here for her benefit, but to more easily restrain her. What she found odd was instead of spreading her legs apart and tying each ankle to the bed, he tied them together along with her wrists.

The entirety of Marc's body weight went into pinning her knees to her chest as he plunged back into her and picked up the same ruthless pace as before. It was clear she would be sore from this later, but that wasn't a concern that she chose to dwell over as his left hand held her cuffed wrists above her hand and his face closed in on hers. "Get loud for me. Show me how good that feels."

That part was easy but forming any other word that wasn't his name was not so. If he wanted her to keep coming, this was a sure-fire way to get her there. His eyes stayed fixed on hers and she knew better than to look away for anything, even when his right hand found its way to her throat.

"Just one more, pretty girl. One more time." He coaxed, but this time it was like a spell. Ecstacy washed over her, and she could breathe again. For a second, she feared he had been bluffing and would expect more from her but he spilled into her as she felt the aftershock with a final deep thrust.

Marc fell back on his knees with an exhausted huff. It had been quite some time since he got down like that. From where he sat, he easily admired Moni with her tied-up limbs, legs curled upward, and fucked-out expression. There was a bright-red handprint on her ass and a bit of his product dripping from her glistening, quivering pussy.

He wondered how she could look so delicate yet entirely unbroken by what he did. Unfortunately, the more he thought about it, the more it didn't sound right. Even if she wasn't wavering much physically, such rough activities could take a mental toll. That was the part that troubled him much more than paining her outwardly.

First, he untied her ankles and she moved them around to relieve any tension, then did the same with her wrists. The longer he spent looking at her the harder it was for him to accept that he went back on his word in such a drastic way.

She wanted to be degraded as a fucktoy, and you gave her was she wanted. Everything told you she enjoyed hersel f. N o need to cry over spilled milk.

It was the part of him that tried to half-console him that convinced him this was a good idea. It spoke much louder as he watched her walk out of the penthouse. It told him there wasn't a reason to keep all of the more dark yet more fun secrets to himself.

But there was that other part again. The part that couldn't stand to see her in such a used, possibly damaged state caused by his own hand. It was so hard to come to terms with how easy it was for him to lose that part. The truth of the matter was, he didn't like how corruptable she became with him and he only had himself to blame.

"What're you thinking about?" Moni asked with sparkling eyes, unmoving from the spot she was in. Her palm lay face-up on the bed but outstretched in a way that signaled to him that she wanted him to hold it. Normally, he would but as time had told him, all that love and trust she put into him only ever landed her back into this position.

He could talk that over with her, just like he tried to before, maybe search for more peace of mind to make him comfortable with taking her hand or giving her kisses like the one they shared in her bedroom. Moni was good at that, but where did unbridled lust end for tender love to begin?

Strangely enough, it was a question he never had to ask before. Past lovers like Layla and Marlene could take a hit and get back up and he loved that about them. One thing never failed, though: even when he didn't want them to take punches, they did anyway. That was why they weren't around anymore. That was why he couldn't take Moni's hand or answer her question. Instead, he cleared his throat and looked away.

"Uh, Steven has this thing he wants you to do with him later. You can wear one of those dresses he got for you." He said soullessly, gesturing to the rack of gowns that remained in the same spot as before . She was readying herself to ask if he was cool, but the words stayed put as he stood up and exited to the living room.

It was fun. It was exciting. Then, she just felt empty. It was an exercise in trust like it was supposed to be, but his walking out after left her feeling dirty and used. No amount of orgasms or praise during the act itself could stop the wave of loneliness that crashed into her as she curled up onto the bed.

Having Marc there through it was different. His gaze upon her face made her feel safe. How he listened to her, checked her for discomfort, and paid attention to how her body reacted through all of it. That made it easy to meld the roughness with the pleasure she felt. All he did was walk into the other room and yet, she felt completely alone now. 

She would have cried if she knew it wouldn't backfire. Her tears after the act would only aid in proving him right. He would never touch her again if he thought he hurt her so bad she started to sob. She could always stomp into the other room and demand he come back but that isn't their arrangement. They hang out like pals and make each other come. 

How could she complain?

Chapter 25: Lose Control

Summary:

This one is just hella drama. We're cooking though.

" The problem is when I’m with you I'm an addict
And I need some relief, my skin in your teeth
Can't see the forest through the trees
Got me down on my knees, darlin', please, oh "
-"Lose Control" by Teddy Swims

 

There was such a thing as a lost cause, but people never fit that category for Simone. Trying to learn how to crochet was a lost cause. Her relationship with Ericka was, also. Marc Spector wasn't a lost cause. Even as she stood in front of the slowly steaming bathroom mirror she thought so.

Marc's not a mind reader. If I don't tell him how I feel then there isn't a way to fix it. I'll just feel this way forever. She thought, sulking. Her ass hurt, along with her boob and the side of her head. No doubt those areas would bruise but her mind was stuck on how he grew cold when it was over. Like he didn't know her or care.

And you're just gonna put up with that? You're fine with being made to feel that your only worth is between your legs?

"It isn't his fault. I pushed him." She whispered back to the thought aloud.

And? You had a good time but he couldn't provide you with a little bit of love after? Go in there and fucking tell him he's a bitch for that!

"I can't."

You need to or else it'll just happen again. He literally fucked you and decided to make you Steven's problem after.

"That's what our relationship is. We have sex. If I go in there and tell him I expected something else, I'll be making a fool of myself."

You know damn well that isn't how that works and if he can't treat you properly, you aren't cut out for whatever your relationship is.

Her anguish started to bleed into anger. The emptiness she felt filled with magma. Marc was experienced and while she chose to go forward, she couldn't help but feel wronged. Dirty. The towel wrapped around her naked, unshowered body quickly and her feet sent her storming from the bathroom.

I'm gonna choke. All this drama. This stomping and making a scene is only going to put me in front of him with nothing to say. She thought to herself as she continued on her trek. That was how it normally went, but then she was face-to-face with him. Only, it wasn't Marc anymore, and she could tell by the look in his eyes.

Somewhere within the time she spent in the bed and the bathroom, Steven had taken over. This put forth a whole slurry of emotions. She was relieved that it wasn't Marc because that could be an easy out but at the same time she was pissed. He couldn't wait to relieve himself of her.

"Do you need help with the rainfall head again?" Steven asked as he buttoned his black dress pants over his white button-up shirt and suddenly, she was frozen with fresh tears clouding her vision.

Steven studied her face for a moment when she didn't answer, her reddening eyes telling him all he needed to know. Something was bothering her and if he had to wager a guess, it was a Marc thing. That was typically how this went, after all. He figured he would take a shot in the dark. "If you have something you need to say to him, I'm sure he's listening and so am I."

As much as she felt like telling him to forget it and walk back to the bathroom without opening that can of worms, she knew this would be on her mind for the rest of the night. She wouldn't be able to escape it and even if she could forget for a little while, it would only come back once Marc returned.

If he isn't listening, I'll just be ranting to Steven and he'll think I'm a total weirdo. She considered as eyes of understanding glanced back at her. She had to get her feelings off her chest and even if it was only Steven attending, it was better than crying in the shower.

"You know I don't see this as a transactional thing, right? Like, I don't see what we're doing is using each other or anything. I meant it when I said I trust you and maybe I'm just being a big crybaby about this but..."

After she uttered the word crybaby , her anger and the feeling of being used began to bubble back up and it felt as if she was filled to the brim with self-hatred. It needed to go somewhere.

“I get to do all these extravagant things and I get you back in my life, you get a reminder that you actually have someone who cares about you that doesn’t work for you or have a biological means to take care of you but you did me so fucking dirty. You instead ran off like I was some one-time fuck. Like you paid me to let you toss me around and tie me up. You should’ve bit the fuckin' bullet and at least cuddled me, Marc. Instead, I came in here to talk to you and you've already ducked away!”

It was like the words that came out would flow before they even popped into her head and disappeared from her memory just as quickly. She felt sick as if everyone important to her had discovered her deepest, darkest secret and she stood trembling, awaiting her reckoning. She couldn't even bring herself to apologize to the man who stood in Marc's place for the earful he didn't deserve. Surprisingly, Steven didn't seem offended in the slightest.

“Well said.” He put it simply with a small nod. Half of his attention turned to their shared headspace, both listening for Marc's response and preparing to be kicked out of the driver's seat. There was no sign of his host as Simone gave him a sheepish shrug, letting her eyes drift to the floor before she pivoted and walked away. Steven waited until he heard the bathroom door close before letting out a sigh of disappointment. “Nothing to say?”

“I need to think.” Marc piped up from inside his head. Steven never understood why Marc did the things he did. How he could feel so much love yet feel so afraid of Simone at once. Why he let that fear consume him. None of it made sense, but it didn't have to. There was a reason Steven had been making more appearances lately.

“Well, while you  think , I’m gonna take her out and lift her spirits.”

 

Simone picked the black dress this time. It draped off of her shoulders and despite the bitter chill outside, the length stopped just above her knees. Steven wanted to make a joke about it being a 'revenge dress' but kept it to himself. Revenge wasn't the right word. Upon his seeing her in it, it felt more like a funeral for any care he had for Marc's feelings.

“I’ve never been to an opera before.” She told him as they pulled up to the venue in the limo. It seemed silly to have all the bells and whistles, but there were a lot of important faces around this night and Steven needed the flare.

“I don’t prefer it but some things like this I have to attend to make a good impression.” He explained as he checked his tie and hair in the mirrored partition. Watching him do so made her begin to overthink her own appearance, questioning if the coral lipstick was too much or if she should have done something with her hair rather than wear it as she normally would.

“Who are you trying to impress?” She questioned with a bit of hesitation. Being on Steven's arm meant she would have to impress, as well. Her being there would likely be the only thing holding him back from doing so. He was charismatic, handsome, and more than capable of going into this alone but for some reason, just like with the gala, he wanted her there.

“Walt Steinfeld. Shareholder. This is his daughter’s show and if I’m seen here, he’ll be happy and more likely to make me happy.” He explained, his eyes flitting from his reflection to her. She truly was a sight and knew it would have been a wasted opportunity to let her stay back at the penthouse to stew over her frustrations. “And I wouldn’t mind impressing you in the process.”

As if you need to try very hard. She thought but didn't say as she felt her mouth attempt to curl into a giddy grin. She pursed her lips to avoid it but it was no use. Steven would have noticed.

“I see. Color me intrigued.”

The difference was like night and day. Steven saw it all the time. With Marc, it appeared Simone was constantly yearning and looking for something more but holding back. This was a completely opposite side of her. He saw it when it was just the two of them at the penthouse and at the gala.

It was times like these that made him wish there weren't other residents in his brain because if this woman wasn't so caught up in Marc, she would want for absolutely nothing. While there were a few tastes he had witnessed that he couldn't accommodate, if it was excitement she was looking for, that could be arranged.

“I hope you don’t mind if I pull out all the stops tonight in an attempt to do so.” He uttered, taking a shot in the dark by being ambiguous and appealing to her colorful imagination. She giggled slightly and ticked up an eyebrow.

“I’m game.”

 

They took their seats, which were strategically placed within view of the box seats where Walt Steinfeld and his family sat. Steven could have gotten a box of his own but with that came the risk of going unseen by the man in question if he didn't stick around long after the show.

There was a stretch of five minutes before the lights dimmed, and that was more than enough time to be spotted in the crowd. He didn't look over, not wanting to give away his intentions in showing up and desperation was never a good look.

Once the dark, dramatic music queued up and the stage lights hit, it was hard to miss the bewilderment on Simone's face. Steven wondered if she had ever been to a theatre that didn't play movies or serve popcorn before but assumed she hadn't. Her hands were in her lap squeezing her clutch purse, watching as the couple on stage sang their lines and all he could focus on was her.

Steven's hand stayed low, moving into her space and resting tenderly on her upper thigh. Her eyes flicked in his direction, curiously. Of all times for Marc to come back and show any sort of affection, this had to have been the weirdest. Only, it was still Steven, completely collected and holding false concentration on the show.

She didn't move his hand or exhibit any discomfort with the action, even as it slowly smoothed closer to the inner portion of her thigh. It sent tingles through her body and even after what happened earlier, it turned her on beyond comprehension.

“What’re you doing?” Marc's voice echoed, but Steven chose to ignore it just like Marc ignored Simone before. “Don’t put your hand there.”

As Marc attempted to get Steven's attention, Simone found herself in a position where she was torn. She could let it continue, and she wanted to, but there was that feeling that lingered. Marc's voice was also in her head, but it was conditioned by her doubt. The thing that spoke to her when Nick kissed her or when she had an opportunity to clear things up with him and didn't.

“Why isn’t she moving it?” Marc chimed in again as Steven's hand moved slowly up Simone's dress, his fingertips dancing over her bare skin. It was soft and warm and he had covered too much ground to pull back now unless there was a sign from her that told him to.

Her lights were still flashing green so bright that her hips shifted down slightly to assist in the maneuverability of her thin underwear. She knew where Steven was going with this from a mile away, which wasn't in character for her. Always being under Marc's watchful eye made it hard to tell these things. The same scrying stare that somehow couldn't see how badly she needed him to love her.

Where is he now? Still hiding from the truth? Still expecting you to make decisions based on this feeling you have that isn't clearly reciprocated? The devil on her should said. This confused Simone because that part of her mind advocated for this casual relationship with Marc. The switch-up was devastating.

But should I allow myself to be used again by someone else? How is that supposed to make me feel better? She attempted to rationalize with the deviant.

Steven isn't using you. He clearly values your presence. He said he was going to pull out all the stops, right? You could always close your thighs back up if you're having doubts, continue living in that box between being Spector's girl and being just the girl he takes pity in. What do you have to lose?

That was the burning question. If she did this, would Marc ever talk to her again? Has anything like this ever happened between him and his system before? She wouldn't know. Sometimes it felt like she barely knew anything about him.

It feels like I have everything to lose.

Funny. The secondary part of her said cynically. If she had to put a face to this part of her, she imagined it being Simone O'Hara. Shoulder-length hair, skin littered with scars and tattoos, sometimes fresh bruises, and scabbed knuckles. She thrived in her darker temptations, didn't care about getting hurt, and felt that regrets were for chumps. That sounds like something Marc has said before about being with you.

That made the decision for her. Rather than snap her knees together, she spread them a bit further apart and pulled her skirt down a bit to conceal what was happening from wandering eyes. It made her nervous, but that felt exhilarating. She had never even so much as made out at the movies before and here she was with Steven's finger rolling over her clit in an opera house.

Steven was surprised to find how wet she was and was even more shocked that she allowed him to continue. Touching her made him feel more grounded against Marc trying to take control, cussing and screaming until eventually, Steven heard one final sentence before his tantrum ceased.

“I can’t watch this.”

 

Even after Simone came there was still plenty of the show left, but neither of them was paying any attention to the story, pondering what would happen after. She had a pretty good idea, given what her hand felt as she let curiosity get the better of her toward the end.

The second the door to the limo slammed shut, she was all over Steven to the point he was falling out of the seat and didn't mind one bit. She kissed him in a way he hadn't quite seen from the inside. It was still lustful and hungry but she let loose.

She kissed his neck and it made the hairs on his arms stand on end. The mirrored partition gave him the perfect view of his lipstick-smeared mouth and the perfect ass that perched in his lap. Whatever button he pushed to pull this out, he needed to make a mental note for next time.

“Great show.” Simone whispered sultrily into his ear before pulling the lobe between her teeth. His hardened length sat under her, begging for attention and who was she to deny it?

“Fantastic.” Steven practically moaned in agreement. There was no push-back, no lip, no attempts to take the reigns. She was in complete control of this situation, and maybe it was just because of what happened earlier, but she was enjoying it more than she thought she would.

Lifting herself on her knees, she worked her way through his belt, button, zipper, and the two garments that kept her from the cock that had cried for the last hour or so but something compelled her to get a bit more out of Steven.

"Is this what you want?" She spoke from somewhere deep within her desires. "You wanna feel that mess you made, hm?"

"Yes." He breathed and really thought he would get it as the tip of his dick ran through her wet folds but it didn't go any further. It was torture.

"You can do better than that, Steven. Tell me more."

"I want to be inside you. Please let me feel you. I'm tired of watching." He begged, and didn't have to do much more convincing before she sank down. It was better than he imagined and he fully understood Marc's addiction now. She was the perfect fit.

Simone rocked her hips like she was fighting to stay on a mechanical bull. Her hands laced into his hair, her mouth latched onto any significant portion of flesh it could, she was leaving marks and he was loving it if the pathetic moans he made were any indication.

There was something about how eager he was that fed something within her she didn't know was starved. Physical appreciation aside, Steven was touching her mind in many ways as he praised her in a more submissive fashion than she was used to.

"Please don't stop. God , that feels so good."

"We've arrived, Mr. Grant." The driver spoke over the intercom system, startling Simone to a halt. They knew it was a short drive to the hotel but they hadn't considered how fast they would get back. Through heavy pants, Steven hit the call button on the roof.

“Take us around the block a few more times, James.”

"Sounds like a plan, sir."

“ ‘Sounds like a plan’. Jesus." Steven chuckled between needy kisses. "I should give him a raise.”

It was like a lever was pulled with how different he was between speaking with his driver and her. He could tell the driver what do to because he was in charge. With Simone, Steven gave it all up. Fuck, it was sexy.

"I guess I better work a little faster, then, huh?" She said as she picked up her rutting. At this pace, he would be drained before the second lap was finished and that was fine by her. His arms wound tightly around her hips as if he feared she would fly away and she didn't just feel desired, but admired.

"If you keep this up, I-"

"Don't hold back for me." She insisted, having already finished on his fingers. "I want you to come."

Steven didn't hesitate to give her what she asked for, her voice combined with her warm, tight cunt around his length finally pushing him over the cliff.

"Fuck, Marl-" He swallowed back that name before it could completely leave his mouth. What started as a satisfying orgasm quickly took a turn for total panic. He didn't mean to say it, wasn't even thinking about Marlene at any point during this, but for whatever reason, his lips wanted to form that word like muscle memory.

Simone came to a dead halt, eyes burrowing into Steven's, slowly widening as she replayed what he said in her mind. We all say things we don't mean sometimes, she knew that for a fact, but what pulled her out of the moment was the fact that he started to speak a name she wasn't familiar with.

"Who?" She asked, seeming more confused than upset by the mixup. All at once, she assessed the position she was in and fell to his side, pulling her skirt back down. "What were you about to say?"

It occurred to Steven only then that Marc hadn't exactly told Simone about Marlene. Not by name, at least. She only knew about the daughter they shared together. He didn't feel particularly qualified to speak on that.

“I apologize if that was a bit unbecoming. I’m not sure what came over me. Marlene was... is ... Diatrice's mother.”

“Oh."

"I know how that sounds. It's been quite some time since I've done this and she was the last, so I think it was just out of habit."

"I get it." She uttered quickly, nodding profusely, saving Steven from further embarrassment as if she wasn't feeling that way, herself. "Don't worry about it."

There was a quiet moment where she could have blinked and missed the switch entirely. One moment Steven sat next to her, huffing and puffing, completely fucked out, and ashamed of his mispeaking.

Then there was Marc. If she wasn't able to tell from the eyes, she could clock it from the way he looked at her, then down at his fully exposed, now flaccid penis and the disheveled man in the reflection before him.

Whether the change was due to Steven's slip-up or Marc's sudden will to shove through, she wasn't sure. As she sat still as a board, she knew this didn't look good and grew more terrified the longer the man took to speak.

Simone knew what she did and recognized the implications and consequences from the start. It wasn't a matter of what would happen after at the time, though. Now, as she waited for Marc's move, she didn't feel guilty for doing it, only worried about what he might do in response.

Marc didn't look at Moni, didn't say anything to her, only tucked himself back into his pants and took off out of the limo the second it pulled in front of the hotel. He wasn't sure what happened but had a pretty good idea from the state he found himself in.

Moni followed after him with her heels in her hand. They entered the elevator together and rode in silence. Of course, the doors were also mirrored and made it more difficult to avoid finding more lipstick and two sloppy hickies on his neck.

It was like waking up the morning after having far too many drinks and very few memories of what happened the night before. It had been quite some time since he felt this way. Even longer since one of the other guys had gone behind his back and conspired against him to fuck someone he loved.

That thought brought on a wave of anger. Remembering how Jake got Marleen pregnant and didn't tell him a goddamn thing until years later. He hadn't expected this heel turn from Steven, though. Even worse, from Moni. His Moni.

He could barely look at her and didn't know what he would say if he did. He considered taking things up with his alter first. After all, if Steven hadn't put the idea in the head she wouldn't have done it. He was positive. That led him through the penthouse and straight to the bathroom.

“I can’t believe you did that, Steven.” He said with disgust once the door was closed behind him.

“I can’t believe I didn’t do it sooner. I’m not just gonna make her feel special for you to tear her down.”

“ Special ? You fingered her in an opera house!”

“And then she rode me in the limo on the way back because at least one of us can make her happy."

"Yeah, like you weren't only thinking about yourself."

"I can tell you who I wasn't thinking about. You or your skewed feelings. Glad you missed that part, though. I doubt she considered you much either."

It was like his worst nightmare. Steven fucked Moni with his body. His fingers. He touched her and he had no control. Worse, Moni didn't stop him or turn him down. It angered him so much that it made his eye twitch.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” Marc barked out as he swung the door open and zeroed in on Moni, who had already changed out of her dress and was halfway through putting on a shirt.

She didn't know what to say. She wasn't even sure if it would come out right if she did. Jealousy-filled rage was expected but as far as how to stop it, there was nothing she could do. The damage had been done. All there was left to do was fight.

Once the shirt fully covered her bare chest, she walked out of the room and into the living space. Unc was sitting on the coffee table, twirling and winding his tail as if watching a movie. Marc stomped not far behind her. “All that talk when it was Steven in my place but nothing to say when I’m right here? Don’t tell me you're scared now.”

“I wanted you to say something. Do something in response to me being upset with you and you just cowered. Don't you dare get mad at me for taking that as a sign.” Moni finally snapped back, spinning to face him.

“So that was to get to me? Well, you got your lick back. Now what? Am I expected to just say ‘oh, you got me. It worked!’ Like I didn't plan on having a conversation with you about your drop when you got back from that show?”

“It should have happened earlier! You knew better than you just leave me there alone!”

“And your first move was to run to Steven. Real mature.”

“I didn’t have to run very far, obviously. He gives a shit enough to actually talk to me and hang out with me instead of using me like some fucktoy and fucking off!”

The disappointing part was that Steven had excused himself. After the sex. After nearly calling out Marlene's name like a prayer. She couldn't bring herself to hold that against him like she did with Marc, though. Not in any way that would have her raving like this.

“You know if you’re into Steven you should give it a shot.” Marc said cynically. What drove Moni nuts was that they were having this discussion as if Steven were his own separate being. She couldn't help but make a face at the suggestion.

“ What? ”

“He’s a great guy, wants to show you the world and show you off. You should go for it.”

She wanted to ask what that would mean for him. How that would make him feel. Surely it would make everything worse, watching from the background as Steven partook in the romance Marc clearly wanted but didn't have the capacity to pursue. Instead, she took a different approach.

“Maybe I should. You’d get everything you want, after all.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You look at me like I’m the ghost of Christmas fucking past! What are you so afraid of?” 

Is she trying to psychoanalyze me? He thought as he stood with his mouth agape, watching her wait for his answer. As much as he hated it, he was becoming increasingly less upset over Steven's involvement. When he came up empty, she sighed and brought her hands to her face in frustration.

“I don’t understand , Marc. You wanted me to put myself out there and you didn’t want a girlfriend so I’m not sure I follow why you’re so mad at me.”

“If you had just thought to discuss that with me, it would have made me feel better about it.”

“I don’t think that’s how the non-exclusive thing works.”

Now she was just set on hurting him. That had to be it. Her aim was to nitpick his reasonings, making him feel foolish or inadequate. The truth was, even if he had made it clear that they weren't a couple, he wasn't the one running around on her. He thought she felt the same way he did.

“That’s not how this works?" He snickered with disbelief. "Alright. I’ll tell you how this works. You go out and be free. Fuck whoever you want, don’t worry about me or how I feel about it since that’s how you want it.”

“That’s how you wanted it! You told me yourself! You didn’t want me but you didn’t want anyone else to have me. That’s so fucking shitty.”

“So, what, you wanna be what? My girlfriend? With all the fucked up shit I bring to the table? You think what we had back then was healthy ? The fact that we went from being friends to fucking in the back of my car three times? The love bombing, the whole thing about us not even discussing if we were together? You think that would have ended well?”

“Even if it ended horribly at least I would have gotten a reason! I didn’t get a reason for nearly twenty years! What does that have to do with you avoiding this now? You didn’t want to be with me and I respected that.”

“You respected the fuck out of it by screwing Steven. Gotcha.”

“That's not fair.”

"It's not fair. Nothing about whatever this is has ever been fair and you wanted it anyway. You want me to love you but that puts you in danger. You tell me you don't care and then I tell you that I do and you still don't care. That's not fair to me ."

"So make a decision, then. I'm either in your life and at risk or I'm neither, since you're so positive ."

Moni hadn't realized she was bearing her teeth or in his face until his body stiffened and he started blinking profusely. It looked like he was fighting a switch, but to who, she didn't know until his posture relaxed and his eyes widened.

“Let's all jus' calm down.” The New York drawl confirmed that Jake had to be the one to attempt to soothe the situation. "Just go to the bedroom and wait this out.”

Moni gave him a small nod and brushed passed him to the room. Jake had seen everything, and while he trusted that Marc wouldn't put his hands on her, the nature of this discussion was starting to worry him. They were pushing each other, so he had to force Marc into time-out.

From his mental walls, Marc was cursing Jake for interfering. Jake knew he would thank him later because Simone was giving him far too much room to take that ultimatum and run with it. Marc would have shut her out.

 

An hour passed in complete silence from all parties. Simone sat in the bed with her knees to her chest, contemplating if she could keep doing this. All she wanted was to have Marc back in her life, and she got that, but the longer this went on, the more at risk she was of losing him again. She couldn't let that happen. Not now, not ever.

Marc emerged in the doorway, hands in the pockets of the dress pants he never got around to taking off. His eyes were low, his stance gentle. It was him again. Once she took notice of him, he finally spoke.

"This is what I'm afraid of." He said as he slowly entered. She didn't ask what he meant by that, only giving him a confused look. "You. I'm fucking terrified of you."

There was no lie. Out of the many conversations they'd had, it appeared to be the most genuine thing he had said to her, even if it was confusing.

“Why?” She wondered as he took a seat on the edge of the bed next to her.

“Because you actually want to be my friend. You don’t want anything from me, you don’t work for me, you just insist on loving me even if I don’t deserve it, and no matter what I do, that always gets people hurt."

"I need you to know that you deserve love just like anyone else and there is nothing special about me that makes me too good for you. Nothing about you makes me want you in my life any less."

He pulled her in for the best hug he could manage in their twisted positions. It was the first real hug he had given her. It wasn't the embrace to calm her down or the one-sided snuggle. It was a comforting, warm hold over her shoulders that was returned by her forearms around his back.

It was almost enough to make him well up. This masterpiece of a woman had to be the work of divine intervention. Something otherworldly picked her up and dropped her back into Marc's lap as if to tell him he wasn't reaching his full potential as a human being. More often than not, he doubted if he even was these days. Not with Moni, though. With her, he was reminded that some roses were worth stopping to smell. 

"I think I have a problem." He mumbled into her hair.

"Are you bringing it up as a way to problem solve or are you just letting me know?"

"I don't think this problem can be solved. It's an issue I've had for a really, really long time, and in my efforts to change it, I think I only made it worse."

"Tell me."

“I don’t like when someone touches what’s mine.”

His. Was that what she was? After this long of avoiding it, was he finally realizing that the fight was fruitless? That being lovers, but not quite together, was a ruse? It was what she wanted, but the harsh reality was that she didn't believe he wanted it as well. Not truly. Not after this.

"Marc. I was serious about a decision being made." She said emptily as she pulled back from the hug. Marc's hands remained on her shoulders, as if letting go would mean certain death. He hadn't remembered what she told him before, so he asked for clarification.

"What are my options?"

"We call this a relationship or we stick to being friends." There was hesitation in her cadence as if she didn't want to have to say it. "No benefits, no longing glances, and no getting pissed off over what the other person is doing."

The answer seemed too easy. He would pick being with Moni, of course. He would have her all to himself.

She knew that too, which was precisely why she spoke up again before he could answer. "The thing is; though, I don't think I trust your judgment to make that decision right now so I'm making it. No more fooling around."

What? He questioned in his mind. After all that, I don't even get the choice?

“If we’re going to be friends then it needs to be done right. It can’t keep going on like this.” She explained further and had to fight herself from regretting it immediately as his eyes started to glaze over.

The decision to be in a relationship needed to be made at a different time. A time when Marc felt less threatened, less apt to jump in with her on the count of keeping her as his. He may never understand that.

 

 

Chapter 26: How Does It Feel?

" And how does it feel to be just like your friends
To catch up on what you missed as simple as you can get
And you still walk out alone "
-"How Does It Feel?" by Citizen

 

Missouri.

Marc swore the whole state was the embodiment of BFE. At least, the parts he drove in. From one cornfield and billboard about Jesus to another on the long stretch of highway, he traveled.

He was of several minds. He wanted to go back, apologize, and acknowledge he made a mistake in leaving, but it was too late. If he so much as crept the Durango back into Chicago, he would be stopped and sent back to Putnam. He was sure of it.

Then there was Moni. No doubt, she knew he was gone by now. They had a date. Maybe she would have it in her heart to forgive him for standing her up one day. That, he wasn't sure of.

Marc listened to her CDs the entire drive, hoping it would make him feel better. Like she were there. It didn't help because no matter what he told himself, his passenger seat was still empty.

He felt empty.

It wasn't like he amounted to much or would be missed by anyone who wasn't Moni. Maybe Rand would miss him for a little while, but the kid would move on. Be a big-shot lawyer. The last thing anyone needed was to stay worried about Marc and what went on in his head.

"It isn't too late to go back and fix this. You don't have to leave."

"I do." He replied aloud.

Another billboard flew by. That one had an advertisement for Coca-Cola on it. Moni always preferred Pepsi.

There really hadn't been much else to think about since he hit the road. He turned up the song that played. He didn't know what it was called but it was from the Amor Prohibido album by Selena. Moni always sang along to this one and she never fell off pitch.

"She deserves everything." He spoke to himself. "I can't give her that."

"Sure you can. You can give her love and protection. That's all she really wanted."

"I can't stay there and she can't leave. Not with me."

There wasn't really a date planned. He had lied to her to ensure she would be in the car. He was going to drive right past every restaurant, movie theater, and anywhere they could have done this date and continued to drive until they were far enough away for him to feel comfortable.

Moni would have hated that. She said she would run away with him but he doubted she meant it. Kidnapping her wouldn't have been right unless the intention was to scare the hell out of her. Once he realized that, he understood he didn't have a choice but to leave her behind.

He took her little souvenir, though. The little yellow panties she left him were tucked into his glovebox. If that and the music were all he had left of her, that would have to suffice.

"Just come back home to me, please."

"No! You can do better."

"Marc..."

Hearing her voice in his head pleading to him made him crank the volume up further. His speakers crackled and the singing was staticy but it drowned her out enough to continue driving forward.

He passed a green sign that told him St. Louis wasn't too far now. He knew he would have to ditch the Durango eventually, maybe catch a bus with what money he had.

For a moment, he thought he saw her in the rearview mirror changing her shirt just as she had on the camping trip and he nearly pounded the break peddle before blinking and she was gone.

Of course, it would be his own delusions that got him killed . As if she would really be back there. He would have stopped a long time ago if she was.

What if she is, though? What if she saw this coming and she stashed herself in the cargo bay? Moni's a smart girl and knows me well. Knows I wanted to leave.

He drove a few more miles with that thought in mind before pulling into a service plaza and opening the back hatch to be sure. Empty. No Moni.

That did leave him with another serious issue, though. The thought of what he would have done if she was there. God, he would have kissed her so hard his cheeks would hurt. Unfortunately, that made other things hurt, as well. His heart and his now inflated member.

"Told you you should have gone home. Now all you have is that underwear."

"No, that's fucking weird." He said aloud, garnering the attention of a couple in a red Corvette in the car next to his. Looking like an insane punk killed the boner for him.

He got back in the car and made a break for it. It was possible the couple could have gotten word of a missing Jewish kid who made off with a Durango in his father's name.

He drove like a bat out of hell before he landed in a small township just outside of St. Louis, taking only his bag and the underwear and leaving the keys in the ignition. If it got stolen, it wasn't his problem anymore.

Chapter 27: I Don't Smoke

Summary:

Well, it's been a month. I know, I know, that isn't very consistent but lemme tell you something about this chapter, brother. (see notes after you read for the explanation)

" I'm what's left of when we swam under the moon
Now the rest of my days are just waiting for when
You've calmed down and tell me, 'I was meant for you'
Baby, being with you makes the flame burn good "
-"I Don't Smoke" by Mitski

 

It was a quiet couple of days. Simone stayed for the remainder of the night at the penthouse before going home with Uncle Fester in tow. Needless to say, things were awkward after she made it clear she didn't want to be sexually involved anymore. It hurt, but it had to be done if things were to get any better between them.

She went right back to work and proceeded to do things as she normally would before her mother passed. It wasn't hard to get back into her usual groove. Fester hardly made much of an impact on her day-to-day, aside from lifting her spirits here and there.

Late at night the day after she returned home, she had trouble sleeping. It was a rough few hours of tossing and turning followed by another hour of scrolling her phone to kill another thirty minutes. Before she knew it, it was two in the morning but not so silent when she heard rustling from her kitchen.

"Damnit, Unc." She whispered into the air and stood up from her bed to collect her cat from whatever mischief he was getting into. An audible meow once again confirmed that he was responsible as she opened her bedroom door. A set of green eyes peered at her from the end of the hallway before his form took off in the direction of the kitchen.

At least he'll own up to it. Simone thought to herself as her bare feet padded against the floor to follow in unison with the tippy-tap of claws. She watched as Unc gracefully lept onto her breakfast bar and slowly twirled his tail.

"What'd you do, buddy?" She said softly as she approached to rub the cat's back. His hair was standing on end like he had been startled. That would have put her on edge if she hadn't known Unc to be a clumsy guy who was prone to knocking things over and scaring himself in the process.

Fester meowed loudly once more and made Simone question if her long separation from the animal made her forget how he communicated. Even in the dark, she could make out a full bowl of water . He even had a bit of food left over from dinner. What she didn't find was anything strange or out of place as she scanned the kitchen. Then her vision shifted to the dining table.

“Don’t scream.” A familiar baritone said as she spotted an intruder sitting in one of the chairs like he had been invited. She nearly did the opposite of what they suggested until she focused on what she could see of their features illuminated only by the dull light from her window . Long-ish face-framing dark hair, strong Latin model-esc facial structure, and red ruby irises.

" Miguel? " She asked dumbly, less confirming it was him and more showing that she recognized him. He needed no introductions, seeing as the first time she made his acquaintance he was cuddled underneath a different version of her, and the final time he saw her off through a star-shaped dimensional rift.

She was relieved it wasn't a stranger, but it was strange nonetheless and put her in a position where her husband in another life was hanging out in her house during the dark hours of the morning. At least she could breathe. “Jesus. I’m really tired of people breaking into my house, now.”

“I didn't really break in. I actually portaled in." Miguel informed her before gesturing to Unc. "Freaked your cat out."

"I can tell." She replied with a nervous laugh and stroked the cat's back to calm him down. When he decided to drop in, he hadn't realized it would be this early in the morning . A kink he needed to work out in his new system.

That, and precise locations. He meant to pop up outside, not directly in her house. He imagined that would have made a difference as lurking in the dark at her dinner table wasn't the plan until he heard her coming down the hall. Not his smoothest move.

Once he got a good look at her; though, he nearly phased out right there. The woman who looked just like his wife, who was his reason for this venture. It was enough to make a guy lose his mind.

“It’s good to see you. ” Miguel spoke up within the silence. He meant it in a couple of different ways. One was because they had lived together for a short time and he considered her someone he cared about and the other was that it was like seeing his Simone again. The latter was more selfish.

“Yeah? What brings you around? I thought you were told to go back to your time and never traverse the multiverse again.” She asked, remembering what his wife had told her about their situation. Simone herself had been an anomaly in their timeline caused by Miguel's hopping around. Though it was a glum topic for him, he lightly chuckled.

“I did go back for a while but I’ve found myself doing more research into interdimensional travel. The only reason I can cross over here is because your version of Doctor Strange is off the reservation.”

“And that brings you here ?”

“The short and fast of it is I need your blood.”

It took everything she had not to crack a joke about vampires, given his particularly pointy smile and red eyes. She was glad her brain was still working overtime to avoid the possibly offensive subject. Instead, it took her somewhere else.

“ A least take a gal out for dinner first.”

Wow. Real smooth, stupid.

“That was a joke.” She attempted to clear up as quickly as she could manage, ashamed that her way of avoiding vampirism comments was to suggest a married man take her on a date. Rather than take it as a dig, he nodded at her with a close-mouthed grin.

“I know. Could I get a sample, though?”

“I suppose I have plenty to spare. Could I ask what for?”

“I’m developing an identification system like what Strange did to figure out where you came from.”

“Color me intrigued.”

Miguel had a bag with him that draped from his left shoulder and he dug around in it as Simone turned on the light and took the seat caddy-corner to him. She had never had a blood draw performed in her house before or by someone who wasn't a medical professional.

From his bag emerged an odd plastic tube with a button on one side and a metal piece that came to a point on the other. It didn't look like a syringe or any needle she had ever seen before . “That’s different.”

In Miguel's distraction, he hadn't realized how close Fredrick was until she spoke. He suddenly became hyper-aware of himself, wondering if he should have showered or popped a mint before getting up close and personal like this. He knew it didn't matter much, he likely wouldn't be returning after this, but to leave her with a bad impression would be undesirable.

“Technology of my time. It takes a bit longer but it’s safe, sanitary, sterile, and much easier to transport.” He explained. In other words, a toddler could use it if they managed to get their hands on it. She gave him a small nod and he proceeded to gently maneuver her left forearm over the table .

Miguel was thankful she had good veins otherwise this might have been a bit harder. He pressed the metal end to her skin and pushed the button on the opposite side. A near-silent suction function began to slowly pull blood into the clear plastic tube .

It was painless but weirdly uncomfortable. If Simone focused on it too hard, it almost tickled. She had to let her concentration drift elsewhere to avoid jerking her arm at the sensation.

“So, how is your me?” She asked, curious to know how the woman she aptly called O'Hara had been doing since she arrived back on her Earth. Miguel seemed to make a face at her verbiage.

“The last time I saw her, she was in jail.”

“I hate to say I’m not surprised. What for?”

“A long, complex story about evil gods, possession, and finding sand in places unimaginable for weeks.”

“Okay, Anakin.” She snickered at his disdain for sand before questioning if he would understand that reference. “That’s from-“

“I know where it’s from. She made me watch those with her.”

Another beat of quiet followed as he reminisced fondly on the marathons he joined simply to experience them with her, widening the void he had felt since being forced to go home. To get his mind off of her, he decided to turn his focus to the Simone next to him. “How’s your Spector hunt?”

“Hunt completed.”

“Mission successful?”

God, what was the mission in the first place? No matter what, I seem to have messed it up royally. She thought.

“That’s complicated.” She uttered instead.

“Sounds like a ‘Marc and Moni’ relationship if I’ve ever heard of one.” He said with a touch of contempt. He wasn't sure where it was coming from, knowing he sent this Simone to find her Marc, gave her a description to follow in order to find his Mission, even.

More than that, he left his wife in the care of the version of Marc she loved and he couldn't stop himself from dispising. Did he trust the guy to look out for her? Of course, but that didn't make them pals . Especially because he would do a whole lot more than simply watch her back.

This didn't seem like the case for this Simone, however. Complicated might have been the correct word, but it seemed to be for different reasons entirely. The biggest factor was that the man wasn't around ready to knock his teeth in for showing up here.

The tube was about half-full at this point but Miguel's mind had gotten away from him. Fredrick was embracing the premature graying like his wife and he couldn't help but stare. On top of that, something she was wearing or washed with brought him right back home. Without thinking, he opened his mouth. “You smell just like her.”

“Oh-”

“ Wow ." He winced the moment he realized what he said. "I’m sorry. I just-“

“Oh, no, don’t be- “

“I just really miss her and-“

“You’re fine. I get it.” She stopped his uncharacteristic fumbling with a soft, sympathetic smile and kind eyes. “I miss her too, oddly enough.”

“For someone who tries to make it hard to miss her, it’s far too easy to accomplish.” He agreed. Simone was a mess, but he found an abnormal comfort in knowing she had been his mess. She was mean-spirited, occasionally violent, and probably a nymphomaniac, but her heart was in the right place. The corner of Fredrick's mouth twitched at his words.

“Is that why you’re doing this? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I did some digging... wanted to see how her future turned out. She’s pregnant right now.”

She was taken aback by this information, unable to comprehend her clone slowing down for even a moment to start a family before she remembered the tiny pink urn the police pulled out of a box in O'Hara's apartment. She had come close before. It seemed she would find success this time.

Good for her.

“Yours?” She wondered, once against remembering a huge detail they shared. The remains in that urn were that of Marc's daughter in that timeline. Miguel took a breath and shrugged at the single-worded yet loaded question.

“It’s hard to say but I’ve seen the daughter she would have’s name in a few old documents and the pictures I’ve seen… it’s a gray area. She looks too much like her mom in them.” He explained thoughtfully. "Monica Spector, they called her."

Monica was a pretty name. No doubt Marc came up with it, playing off of their shared nickname. Fredrick often wondered what the one they lost was called. She never asked, and they never told. This thought put her back to when she learned about Marlene.

Did O'Hara's Marc have a Marlene? Did he have a Diatrice he didn't know about? That's awfully confusing .

“And on the off chance that she’s my daughter, I want to meet her one day.” Miguel continued, pulling her back to her Earth and causing them both to look at the now full tube. “Well, it looks like this is all done.”

He pressed the button once more and the tingly feeling ceased. There was a small red dot where it had been resting to prove it had been there at all. “This was a favor.”

“Call us square. " Simone said with a soft smile. He helped her find Marc. Regardless of how that turned out, Miguel still did his part and owed her nothing at all .

He felt the warm, crimson-filled tube in his hand, knowing he should put it away and get going but stayed stark still. Her presence was comforting and it felt like a much-needed break. Ever since returning to his time, he had been on 'go' , drowning in work and personal research as well as Spider-Man activities.

It all kept him from missing his wife. Any spare second he had that wasn't spent doing something with his mind was back in the years he had with her. He couldn't even escape in his sleep, bombarded by dreams of her laugh, the occasional wet fantasy, but often couldn't help but think of her lips.

What he wouldn't give to kiss her one more time. As much as he hated even considering it, the very same, but not the same all at once, lips were maybe a foot and a half away. He would be the dick of the next millennium if he did something with that. No matter how much it made his chest ache.

"I should head back." Miguel made sure to speak into existence before acting irrationally. Fredrick's eyebrows shifted from relaxed to rising on her forehead as she blinked several times like awakening from a trance.

He put the sample back in his back and gathered himself to his feet, to which she followed politely with a sheepish laugh. Miguel wasn't sure how to say goodbye here. It seemed like a handshake was the way to go but that also struck him as too formal. Even if she wasn't his wife, leaving all over again was proving to be difficult. "I'm... not sure what to do h-"

Miguel was abruptly cut off by Fredrick all but flying into his chest. Her arms wrapped his torso tightly and her head rested under his neck. It was tooth-rottingly sweet, yet he felt his eyes begin to burn once he gave into the embrace and hugged her back.

Simone wasn't sure what prompted it. Maybe it was the fact that he was hurting and very clearly needed a hug. Maybe it was that she was never any good at goodbyes, herself. As she thought about it, she understood that it had to have been painful for him to go through this again and again .

A hug was the very least she could do to comfort him.

"Don't be a stranger, okay? Come by anytime you're able. To talk. To get another hug. I don't mind." She spoke against his shirt as he felt her arms tighten ever so slightly. Everything about her was so warm. It was pleasant and likely exactly what the doctor ordered. "Preferably during the daylight hours, if you can swing it."

"I'll see what I can do." He chuckled richly with a grin that flashed his long canine teeth. She couldn't hold herself from looking at them as she pulled her face up, maybe even admiring them, and his lips closed and flattened as if he noticed her eyes trained on his maw.

It killed her that he found insecurity in something she saw as a stand-out physical feature. Not that the rest of him wasn't impressive, but fangs always filled her with a bit of morbid interest. She wondered if that was the same for his wife.

His wife. God, why does that make my chest feel tight? She thought, reflecting on the photos she saw around their apartment. This stunning man, side-by-side with a woman who could have been her. Why do I feel jealous?

 

Marc spent a lot of time reflecting on what happened and came to one undeniable conclusion: even if he felt like he wanted Moni, it just wasn't going to happen. Couldn't happen . Never in his wildest dreams.

Steven thought it was the most ridiculous deduction his host could have taken from what happened and what Simone said. It didn't seem to matter much what Steven had to say, though. Marc wasn't prepared to listen to him or his advice after he slept with her.

"You know she only made that choice because she knew you were jealous. Just give it time and-"

"No, Steven. I'm not having this conversation again. If Moni wants to stay friends; fine. We can be friends." Marc said aloud from his olive green chair in his office at the Mission. "And don't think for a second that you , most of all, can speak for how she feels or why she does the things she does."

" Actually, I agree with Grant. The gal didn't want you makin' any rash decisions about your relationship." Jake chimed in, causing Marc to want to bash his head against the nearest wall.

"Enough. If you want to debate this further, do it on your own time ."

By that, Marc meant the time outside of the suit. After Moni went back home, he realized he just wanted to be anyone but himself for a while. Jake took the wheel after that, then switched back once nightfall was upon them.

Once the sun gracing the morning sky, Steven traded out until it was time to get in some much-needed sleep. Rinse, repeat. It was sort of like how they used to operate back in the day before they made a deal for Marc to maintain control to save face.

The harsh reality was he felt like Moni liked Steven and Jake more. He had that thought at one time or another with most of the people in his life, but he couldn't fight it when it came to her.

They certainly treated her better than he could. After all, Jake was her friendly and capable 'boyfriend' , Steven was suddenly her rich and doting lover, Mr. Knight was a Fist of Khonshu and the moon god's knight, and Marc was dead. There was no changing that.

 

That visit put Simone in a much better mood for work the next day. So much so that even Joan noticed a difference, slightly prying for a bit more personal details, assuming she was glowing due to passionate sex and romance. To not ruin Joan's excitement, she let it slide. Then she returned home and she was hit with a wave of depression.

Is this what I'm doomed for? Being a lonely cat lady who is nothing but a crutch for the men in my life? There has to be more.

She wished she could talk to her mom. She wished she could talk to Phoebe. If Phoebe could understand any of it, that would make all the difference. Unfortunately, she believed Marc was dead, Simone's troubles lay with a man named Jake, and the only universe was the one they lived in.

Eventually, she cracked open the bag of pot Phoebe gave her on a whim. It felt like the right circumstance to get a little high but it had been so long since she smoked that it hit a bit harder. On the bright side, she felt better.

Then there was a knock at the front door, which was peculiar. It felt like it had been so long since she heard the proper way to gain entry to her house that she almost wasn't sure that it actually happened until it was repeated.

Upon checking the doorbell app, she found an interesting sight. It was Marc. He wasn't climbing through her window or simply striding through the entrance like he owned the place. But, as she noticed the straight posture along with the dark blue suit and black tie, she understood why.

"Hey." Steven greeted her with a charming smile that would have sent her reeling if not for the slightly spinning world around her. She did her best to return it, and he continued. "I wanted to come by and speak to you."

"You could've called. " Simone communicated bluntly but stepped out of the way for him to enter. It was then that she understood that the pot didn't make her feel better as much as it had numbed her feelings entirely.

Steven stepped inside, scanning the place with eyes that were his own now. Against Marc's wishes, he had hopped on the jet to come here. His host had made it clear that it was a bad idea, but he wanted to make things right with Simone. That felt nearly impossible to accomplish at a distance.

"Would you have answered?" He questioned as she closed the door behind him. It felt weird being in the driver's seat here, after seeing this place so many times from the inside of their head.

He turned to look at Simone when he didn't receive a direct answer, to which she simply looked down at her black and white striped socks. Her eyes were red and there was a slight sway about her.

She's stoned. He thought to himself. I'll have to power through that.

"After what happened..." He began to speak but trailed off, allowing her a second to understand what he was referring to. High or not, she didn't seem to need the pause.

"Tell it like it is, Steven. We slept together."

" Okay ." He replied, pondering for a moment why she seemed so monotone and cold, supposing this was why he came in the first place. "After we slept together , I wanted to apologize but didn't think the time was right, with the ordeal with Marc happening."

"Apologize?" She questioned, gesturing to her couch for him to take a seat. He did so, and she followed, sitting sideways with her feet tucked under her thighs. The fact that she had to ask was a comfort, at least. It showed that she might not have been as upset with him as he thought. Still, he started this and intended to proceed.

"Marlene."

The utterance of the name took Simone back to when she first heard it from Steven's mouth. For a brief moment, she thought he was referring to her by that name, and a sickly, sludgy feeling bubbled up in her gut.

Thankfully, she was able to judge from the sympathetic look on his face that he didn't mean it that way and was only trying to remind her of what he was referring to.

"I told you I didn't have an issue with that." She said, unsure if it was a lie or not. She had said that before, and at the time, she knew what had happened. Now; however, it was hard to ignore the way the name made her want to curl up into a ball. Steven gave her a nod,

"Maybe not, but it would be irresponsible of me not to make you aware of why all of this is such a big deal. I hoped Marc would bring that up but he has been M.I.A. since you left."

"You mean you've been in control this whole time?"

"And Jake, depending on the time of day." He corrected. Simone was surprisingly cognisant for someone who looked like they smoked enough weed to reach the Land of Nod.

While he didn't want to veer too far off the subject of his being here, he felt like he could explain what was going on to her. If anyone would understand, it was Simone. "Marc only really comes forward to handle the Mission and then he goes right back into our head."

To her, it sounded like Marc was avoiding his problems by staying in a constant state of retreat. It made her feel terrible until she caught on to the fact that his doing that was what got them to this state in the first place.

"If you're trying to vouch for him, I'm not entirely sure we're in the right space to settle things at the moment ." She confessed, the words sounding more harsh than intended in her own ears.

"I understand that, and I don't think he's in any shape to listen, either." He explained before backtracking, not wanting to sound like he was making excuses for Marc. "You're a psychiatrist, so you tell me what you make of our condition."

"It's far from any textbook D.I.D. that I've seen or heard of. You don't seem to have a barrier between your identities, able to talk to one another and witness what happens while another takes over." She attempted to speak without allowing herself to ramble.

She thought back on the times when they would chat with one of the others as if they had a Bluetooth earpiece. She also thought about what Steven had said in the limo.

"I'm tired of watching" He had whined. Curiously, the memory caused heat to rise in her skin despite her nose and fingers feeling chilled to the touch . He seemed so far from the begging type but even as she tried to think about it as little as possible, it still turned her on.

Yet, if Steven could do that, it had to have worked both ways. That brought on that wan sensation again. Marc had been offended by what happened, and she couldn't help but wonder if it was worse than she thought. "Marc didn't watch what happened in the limo, did he?"

"Well, no. There is a way to close the curtains, so to speak. Blocking out the things we choose not to witness or hear. It used to be different. One would take over and the others would go back to their inactive state, unaware of the happenings on the outside."

As Steven explained, Simone began to feel more panicked. It all seemed so bazaar, like gaining the knowledge that someone was standing outside of your bedroom window while you were changing but being compelled to continue like you don't notice them.

Before she knew it, Steven went quiet and she was afraid she missed a question or something he expected a response to. His soft brown eyes fixed on her and it was easy to get lost in that glance. Then, he opened his mouth to speak once more. "That's how Diatrice happened. Jake went behind Marc's back."

"Shit. I had no idea." She muttered, unable to keep herself from wondering why he went forward with pursuing her with that knowledge. If sharing wasn't on the table, why not respect that?

It seems we all know how much Marc doesn't like sharing. She thought, finding it to be a bit convoluted, considering they were all in the same body and all technically a piece of Marc's psyche.

Considering how heartbreaking it must have been to find out he had a daughter without his knowledge made her reanalyze that rationalization. Perhaps she was being too harsh. "How does Marc feel about you telling me this?"

"Radio silence. He's closed off."

When I said I wanted to be his friend, I didn't think he would try to disappear completely. Not again. She thought, staring at the face of someone she was being told wasn't there.

Something in her head wondered if there was anything she could do to get his attention and try to have this conversation with him, instead. The conclusions she came up with would only piss him off. That wasn't the goal.

Her phone vibrated against her leg, the haptic pattern telling her someone was here again. She quickly navigated to the app and pulled the live feed to find Phoebe approaching the front door wearing her tan trenchcoat and kitten heels. It looked like she had just left the school, and she had a colorful box in her hand.

"Fuck. Phoebe's here." Simone grumbled, assessing the man before her that her friend knew as Jake, who was actually Marc, but in the flavor of Steven. That only confused her profusely. "Act natural."

"And by that , you mean?"

" Like, not rich Steven Gr-" She was promptly cut off by the front door opening, and all ability to act natural was gone at the sight of her friend. "Ah-Hey, Phoebs!"

"Hey, I wanted to see if you wanted to buy a chocolate bar for Jude's fundraiser for school. Pete had to pick him up early because he had a fever or he would be here." Phoebe said before her eyes clapped to the man next to Simone on the sofa. "Hey, Jake. Nice duds."

Steven gave Phoebe a silent nod and a closed-lipped grin. Simone appeared tense and stiff with her arm angled above her head and pinned to the top of the couch. 'Acting natural' wasn't achievable for her, either.

"Uh, sure. I'll buy a few of them. My purse is in the kitchen." She replied in a higher pitch than her normal speaking voice as she stood up to lead Phoebe in that direction. The redhead stayed trained on Steven, waving the box.

"What about you? You like candy?"

"He's watching his figure." Simone said before he got a chance to answer and took Phoebe's arm. If this was her effort to keep her unsuspecting, it was incredibly unnerving. All it would take was for Steven to act like Marc pretending to be Jake, but that was easier said than done.

As for Simone, she was trying too hard, and that seemed apparent to Phoebe, who laughed loudly at the excuse. As if this man who was built like a shit-brick house needed to watch his figure . Simone sighed with a hint of frustration and attempted to lead her once more . " Kitchen , Phoebe, please ."

Phoebe went along with it, understanding this strange need for privacy and allowing herself to be yanked away. Steven could still hear them from where he sat, but he knew his exclusion from the conversation was meant to keep eyes off of him. Less time looking meant less time speculating and asking questions.

"Something up with you two?" Phoebe questioned as quietly as she could muster. She was a naturally loud woman, so Simone appreciated the effort. Then she zeroed in on Simone's eyes. "Are you baked right now?"

"I don't even know where to begin. I'd rather not get into it." She replied, unintentionally ignoring the second query as she dug around in her bag for her wallet. For someone who had regularly lied as of late, she still hated to do it.

"He didn't propose, did he? Is that why he's dressed like he just rolled out of a particularly stressful board meeting at Goldman Sachs?" Phoebe wondered, and while Simone normally appreciated her sense of humor, the nausea was getting to her.

"No, not even close." She sighed as she pulled three five-dollar bills from her wallet. She was familiar with this fundraiser, being Jude's top buyer last year the first time he sold them. "I only have fifteen cash right now. I'll do two dark and a milk with almonds."

"All yours. " Phoebe said as the cash and the box switched hands. Simone took her pick from the candy, and once the money was tucked away into an envelope, Phoebe popped her head out of the kitchen and stared at the back of Steven's head. "You sure you don't have pockets deep enough for a couple bars, Jakers? You'd make a six-year-old's day."

Steven heard it but hesitated to respond, as it wasn't him that she was referring to. Then he understood that, in this case, he was Jake and had to pull his attention from the lovely coffee table in front of him to the woman behind him.

"Oh, sure, I have..." He trailed off as he shifted to pull his wallet from the pocket of his suit jacket. Inside was his ID, a few debit and business cards, and quite a few big bills. He fished out two twenties and stood up. "What'll forty get me?"

"It's five dollars per bar, so eight. Take your pick." She motions to the box as Steven steps through, forgetting the situation for a moment and walking with his usual swagger.

Simone's eyes drifted to their corners to watch Phoebe analyze Steven. She still looked him over as if checking him out but there was something else that made her think Phoebe was still chewing over where she could have seen his face.

Picking eight random chocolate bars from the box, Steven stood close to Simone now, pressing his arm into her shoulder as if to tell her to relax. More likely than not, she was just high and delusional, and there was nothing for Phoebe to be sussed out about.

The silence was heavy and awkward. The usual chattiness of Simone was nullified by how overwhelming Steven's presence felt. To her, everything was a dead giveaway down to her own behavior towards him versus how she was with Marc before. All she could hope was that Phoebe would assume they were at odds before her arrival.

When his money was in the envelope, she slid it into her purse and looked up at the two. "Alright, I guess I'll be heading out. I have to stop at the Dollar Store to get some kid's Tylenol."

"Hopefully JuJu feels better soon. Give him and Rocky a hug for me." Simone said, giving Phoebe a strangely distant side-hug .

"You know I will." She responded, looking from her back to Steven. "And Jake, thank you for your contribution to the elementary school's breakfast program."

"Who am I to deny kids of the most important meal of the day?" He said in his usual, charismatic way that put Simone back on edge, and when Phoebe chuckled, she followed suit with a howl of her own and interlocked her fingers with Steven's.

They watched as Phoebe walked out, holding their breath until the moment the door closed behind her.

"I don't feel good about that." Simone groaned, wiggling her hand free to run through her hair. Steven shrugged at this.

"I think she bought it."

"I think it had more to do with the fact that you bought eight candy bars."

" Why exactly would I make a completely unconvincing Marc pretending to be Jake?"

"It's hard to explain but you're all distinctly different, and even though she knows Marc to be Jake, she doesn't know Jake and-"

"Who don't I know?" Phoebe's voice seemed to speak out through the ether again as if she hadn't already left. For a moment, Simone thought she was losing her mind until Steven looked in that direction, as well.

Neither of them had noticed her come back in at all , and the doorbell didn't warn her because her phone was on the coffee table. They both beamed at the copper-haired woman as she reached her hand between them to grab the box of chocolate she had left behind before.

Fuck.

"Well, it's..." Simone started to speak, looking to Steven for an answer and finding nothing. If it were Marc, he would have a save for this. All that left her throat was a broken, confused squeak before all she could do was throw her head back and sigh with defeat. "I got nothing. I really don't know what to say. If he were here he would know but I'm not sure what to do."

Steven wasn't used to being this blind-sided and he wasn't sure how to fix any of this, especially now that Simone had let more slip than originally intended. He hoped the fact that she didn't seem to hear her say Marc's name would be a win, but any modicum of control over the situation was gone as Phoebe squinted at her friend.

"What do you mean he ?"

Another long, telling pause clouded the space between them. Both sets of pupils seemed to flick between Steven and each other. Simone hadn't noticed that she was still holding the fast-melting chocolate bars in her right hand. She was sweating now and her mouth was dry.

"You know that guy in New York? The one you say is my sugar daddy?"

"Steven?" Phoebe uttered the name after having to think about it for a moment. Simone's only response was to hold her hands in his direction in an unevental 'ta-da' fashion. Steven, only knowing this as his cue to introduce himself, held his hand out.

"Steven Grant. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Yet another uncomfortable, pregnant silence followed this where Phoebe only glared at the large hand in front of her. "If you're Steven then why was I told you were Jake?"

To Simone, this couldn't get any worse. Not only would she have to explain that she lied, but she would have to explain why , and this had to have been the worst time to try. For Steven, there was only one person who might be able to smooth this over, and for once, it wasn't him.

"I'll give you two a moment." He said, looking at Simone and giving his right temple a tap with his middle figure to tell her what he was up to. She gave him a curt nod, and he stepped out of her back door and onto the porch while Phoebe waited for an answer with her arms crossed.

"Phoebs, I'm gonna explain something, and it might not make much sense," Simone warned, and when her friend continued to wait instead of asking more questions, she continued. "So, that guy is Steven and Jake."

Phoebe blinked slowly and stared blankly, and Simone felt like she might hurl. It certainly didn't make much sense without context and made it sound like it was all some elaborate prank or purposeful yet needless lie.

If this was happening, it needed to be the whole truth. She had to shake away the cobwebs and provide more detail. "He has dissociative identity disorder, and I would've told you that if it wasn't even harder to get into."

While Simone handled Phoebe, Steven braved the biting chill outside as he tried to get Marc to play social savior. At first, there was no answer, but on the second or third try to get a response from his host, he heard him from the recesses of their brain.

"She wouldn't be in this mess if you had stayed home like I told you to."

"What gets fixed with us not coming here and working it out?"

"You didn't come here to fix anything, you came here to fuck her and go home."

"Like you did? No, not even close." Steven slighted the voice before having put his pride aside. Offending Marc might not be the best move right now. "Just make an appearance to help her explain this."

"If I remember correctly, you're the one who cares. You got this, man."

"This is partially your mess, as well."

There was no response to that, telling him that he was alone in his thoughts once more. It was like fighting with a brother. If you wouldn't set aside your differences about one issue to face something together, you were on your own.

With that, he went back inside to try his best. Upon entering, Simone looked in his direction, studying him, searching for Marc Spector. The slight shake of the head told her he wasn't there, and she turned her attention back to Phoebe with disappointment.

"So, let me get this straight. You went to another universe and met another version of yourself whose husband coincidentally knew that Marc Spector was alive and that time you fell off the face of the planet, you quite literally weren't here." Phoebe recited what she could gather from the jumbled string of words Simone had spoken to her . Simone replied in a voice just slightly above a whisper.

"Yeah."

"And that's Marc. " Phoebe said, unbelievingly, gesturing to the man who she knew as Jake, then Steven, rejoining the duo. " Not dead, just mentally ill."

"Marc won't be joining us. He's having a crisis. Happens all the time." Steven chimed in to both inform and talk shit. Neither woman seemed to appreciate the sass and Phoebe brushed off the response, still working everything out with Simone.

"You thought you couldn't tell me any of this? Even if I can't really fathom the multiverse thing, I believe you because why would you lie about that?" As Simone tried to formulate a response, Phoebe allowed an unbelieving chuckle to punch from her throat. " Actually, never mind. You've been lying to me."

"To be fair, Marc insisted she couldn't tell anyone about him being alive. That was the one caveat." Steven piped up again in an effort to save Simone by throwing Marc under the bus. Simone wanted to tell him to knock it off, but Phoebe continued to rant in his direction.

"I don't care what Marc insisted! Dude faked his own death. That comes back to bite you, eventually. Especially when you start screwing around with people from your past. You know, it makes sense. When Quentin asked me about Jake, he said it was scary how consistent your taste in men is, and when I met the guy I thought it was just that you had a type. I knew I knew him from somewhere!"

It was unnerving hearing Phoebe go off the way she was. She was like a sister to Simone, always there to lend a hand or an ear. The more she spoke, the more right she proved to be. It made Simone feel more pathetic than she already did, and the one question on her mind didn't help.

"Are you gonna tell anyone about him?" She asked softly like a child afraid mom would tell dad about something they did. It didn't chill Phoebe's harsh behavior.

"How long did you think you could keep this from me?" Phoebe seemingly ignored the question and redirected. Simone beamed at her with teary eyes,

"It wasn't my business to tell, Phoebs."

"Then it isn't my business to tell anyone. But at least I would have said something to you if I knew he was alive because I love you and respect you. You two deserve each other. Seriously."

Simone struggled to find something to say to that as Phoebe pivoted, clutching the box of chocolate close to her chest and walking back out the door. That was a shitshow, and even if she was of sounder mind, she didn't think she could have saved that.

And now she has to go back home to her sick son and worry about him. Fuck.

The chocolate bars in her hand had become mushy and bent out of shape. She sat them on the breakfast bar and braced the edge to fight the spins. The last thing she wanted was to lose Phoebe, especially after losing Marc.

"Does he really plan to stay away forever?" She asked, voice trembling through the quiet as Steven stood wondering what he could do to remedy any of this. At least he had a decent answer to that question.

"Just because he plans doesn't mean it'll always happen that way. I would argue most of his plans don't work out quite how he wants. He'll be back."

I know how it would go if he were here right now. He would tell me all about how that was bound to happen and all of this was a mistake. Gloat about how he warned me. About his being with me and the secrets and about the front door being unlocked...

"Don't blame yourself, Simone. If anything, I think Marc would aim the brunt of the blame on me. He believes I should've stayed home." He continued to speak as if he had read her thoughts. Woosey, upset, confused, she began to wonder what brought him here in the first place.

"Did you really only come over to talk about Marc and Marlene or was there anything else you needed?"

Steven found himself picking apart her tone. It almost sounded like she was ready for him to leave, likely from annoyance over what had occurred. If that was the case, he assumed it would be best to leave her alone.  

"I suppose that's all." He responded emptily, lingering for a moment at the woman leaning on the bar like she needed it to remain upright. From there, he pivoted to head out.

"Hey, Steven." She spoke up once more and he stopped walking. "You wouldn't happen to know if Marc would come back if I changed my mind, would you?"

It was a reasonable question, but one he wasn't hoping for. While he imagined it would help, his heart sank. After everything that happened, even if she still wanted Marc, he had wished she would accept him and say 'to hell with it' like before.

"I'm not positive. Why? Having second thoughts?" He pried. She started to approach him slowly as she found her words.

"I mean... I dunno. If there's one thing that'll stand the test of time it's Marc's ability to vanish, right?" She said with a crack in her voice. Steven prayed out of everything that had happened within the last hour, Marc would choose now to listen.

"If it's any consolation, we only want what's best for you. Unfortunately, a tragic side-effect is Marc's insecurity and insistence that he isn't that."

A part of Simone felt the urge to double-over and cry at his words. No matter what she said or how many times, no matter what she did, it made zero difference. Marc had it in his mind that what she did and the decision she made for the both of them was because she wanted more than him.

The sad part was, even if all she ever wanted was Marc Spector, the visit from Miguel opened her eyes. Regardless of how comfortable things were or how sweet the highs could be, Marc made it clear he didn't want commitment. After all that time spent lying to him and herself about how she didn't need that from him, in the end, it was all her heart yearned for.

"There's a big difference between laying claim over someone and committing yourself to them. If he truly believes he can't provide that, then maybe he's right. Maybe I've been a fool to believe this could be more than it is... that we could be more than friends."

When she finished speaking, she feared it made more sense in her head than it did coming from her mouth. God, she loved him. It was her reason for sticking true to their 'brand of friendship' in the first place. Now, she wasn't sure she was cut out for this, no matter how much she wanted to be.

"I understand. " Steven responded with a downward glance. There was no word from the inside, no fight to switch out and fix this. He was unaided and ready to get the hell out of Chicago. Hopefully, not for good. "I'll talk to you soon, Simone."

Notes:

It was a bitch from start to finish. I had to have written and erased at least 10k words worth of revisions because I didn't like the original outline or draft OR the second version. The more I went through it, the more it ticked me off and it just wasn't coming together. I considered tossing it entirely because it just didn't want to work, but if there's one thing you should know about me, it's that you won't find me working on a whole chapter for days LET ALONE WEEKS just to not put it up at all.
Then, I had an epiphany. This chapter needed to happen with someone else. What I had before made no sense. It wasn't just out of place, but it was out of touch with the characters and relationships that I had built throughout this story. We needed a better bridge from the last chapter to what I had planned for the next. We didn't need fast forgiveness and reconciliation... we needed consequences for everyone.

Chapter 28: Tiiied

" And baby, it's when you're spillin' your guts
You don't trust me, love me, steady call me a liar
Oh baby, you really hate me, you can't be
You need for somethin' to save you
'Cause, little baby, you tired "
-" Tiiied " by JID

 

Simone's entire body was sore from her shoulders to the balls of her feet. Every morning she woke up these last few months felt like she had gotten hit by a truck and regained consciousness on the sidewalk. Along her arms, back, and sides were fresh bruises. None of this was by accident, though.

Somehow, Simone had convinced Miguel to help her get better at defending herself . Of all the things Marc had said to her, that one was the one that stuck with her the most. She needed to know how to put up a fight, especially now that they weren't on speaking terms.

It wasn't for a lack of trying. About once a week she would call Marc's number to either get a voicemail or an answer from Steven or Jake, depending on the time of day. She often found herself hyper-aware of her surroundings, checking her blindspots and rooftops in case he went back to stalking her from afar. This held no water.

There was nothing like the feeling of losing him again. She could still talk to Steven and Jake, but the longing to hear from Marc never went away . The same went for Phoebe, who only spoke to her when it was time to swing the boys by to spend time with auntie Simmy.

"Even if I'm mad at you, the kids aren't." She would say to excuse the free babysitting. Simone never complained as it was a growing concern for her that she would be cut off from them along with Phoebe. If the boys were all they had in common anymore, she would have to be satisfied with that.

Then, there was work. Each passing day held a new tragedy or sick kid. Thankfully, Simone still loved it. Out of all of her patients, there was one she felt for the most on this day. She was expecting Sebastian to come in as usual, defiant attitude and all, but something was vastly different the second he entered her office.

He wore a white blouse with puffy sleeves and pink embossed flowers all over it and a pair of pink jeans to match. His normally messy, moppy long hair was worn in a French braid.

While Simone would never question the appearance of one of her kids, especially those with dysphoria or questions about their gender or identity, Sebastian normally adorned baggy pants and big graphic tees. He was a classic skater kid. The other dead giveaway was the uncomfortable, saddened demeanor he held.

"I see you're trying something new. What brought this about, Sebastian?" Dr. Fredrick asked, and the child maintained his frown with a shrug.

"Just dressing different. You have to call me Makenna now, though." He said with some resistance. Simone watched as he cracked his knuckles against his palms and bounced his legs. Nothing about this complete 180 sat right with her.

"Could I ask how you feel about that?" She asked, opening the floor for Sebastian's true thoughts. Another shrug followed, but he remained hushed with his eyes in his lap.

Over the course of a minute, she didn't take her eyes away from him, and the longer the quiet elapsed, the more he broke down into a full cry. It was heartwrenching. "Hey, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to. You know how this goes, though. What we say in this room stays here."

"It's just..." Sebastian trailed off, the sentence was broken by a sob before it fully began. Dr. Fredrick sat back but remained attentive and patient as he gathered his thoughts.

"Just take a deep breath. We have plenty of time." She reassured him as he wiped fresh tears away from his eyes with the back of his hands and nodded. When it seemed like he was calmed back down, the moment his mouth opened, the crying ramped up again.

Whatever this is, it's bad . Who knows how hard he had to work to keep all these tears in? She thought, nearly welling up herself as she watched him hide his face in his hands. Finally, after another few breaths, the child seemed to find his voice.

"Ron made a rule that I n-needed to answer to my old name and w-wear stuff like this again. " Sebastian explained with a shakey voice as if uttering it aloud would get him in trouble. That was typically how these things went.

Working in pediatrics, she was a mandated reporter. She has used the information provided by these kids to have their parents arrested and be used in court. Sometimes, it didn't go the way they hoped. There had been a few kids in her time pulled from her care because they had been found out, bringing her methods into question.

The fact that Sebastian was still sitting here told her that Ron, his stepfather, was unaware that Dr. Fredrick abided by Sebastian's wish to go by a masculine name and pronouns. It showed that if he thought anyone could help him, it was her.

"We've spoken in the past about how your mom would contest that and let you wear what you want, at least. What happened?"

"She's scared of him. She's scared he'll hurt me, too."

"Is there something he did to make her believe that?" Simone asked, leaning forward a bit in her seat to close some of the distance, creating the illusion of security and letting him know that she was right there and paying attention. "Did you really fall off your skateboard a few months ago? When you broke your arm?"

Every time she thought back to that session he walked in with a cast, it didn't sit right with her. Sebastian seemed too uneasy and worried to speak too broadly about how he got injured. For that to be Ron's fault would make sense.

Sebastian's gaze shifted back to his lap, hiding the water that crept up, and he shook his head with a sniffle. It felt like her heart plummeted off of a skyscraper. If Ron was laying hands on him and his mother, something needed to be done but at the very same time, he seemed far more concerned about how his mom was reacting.

"I feel so trapped. I don't know what to do if she isn't on my side anymore ." He explained through a trembling voice. Simone continued to write everything down while remaining attentive. "Last week after my session he punched me in the stomach so hard I peed myself."

 

Simone fixated on that for the rest of the day, researching, digging, and finding everything down to the apartment number they lived in and where Ron worked from the patient files. She could do it. She could get in, beat up on Ron, and get out. Ron was a big guy, though. Much bigger than her as far as mass.

That makes him slow. The deviant in her mind rationalized the thinking.

"I have to do this right and call CPS." She dismissed aloud, but her brain wouldn't let up.

And risk Ron getting off scot-free? Risk him pulling Sebastian out of sessions?

"That will only happen if his mom isn't honest with them."

Clearly, his mom is a coward. You know a thing or two about that, huh?

"Sebastian said Ron punched him in the stomach last week. A blow like that is bound to do some damage , right? Leave a bruise?"

What if it's healed? Better yet, what if it's there and Ron and Delanie make up a reason why it's there? Are you willing to wait until Sebastian gets hurt again for solid evidence or do you wanna do this shit right the first time?

She wanted to be wrong about that. Every lesson she learned and every step she took in her education told her the right thing to do was make a report. The violence already happening was bad enough without introducing more into the mix.

Simone wasn't O'Hara or Marc. She wasn't a vigilante. She wasn't the Western justice type. No matter how often she visualized taking these matters into her own hands, there was one factor that never disappeared.

"I'm not ready." She muttered to herself, rolling her aching shoulders to remind her of how hard she was working and why.

And you never will be if you don't take action.

Before she could argue with herself much more, there was a rap at her front door. She wasn't expecting anyone, and from her previous visits from Miguel, he typically flashed in.

Could it be Steven or Jake? She wondered and nearly tripped over her own feet to get to her phone on the charger on the other end of the bedroom. Curiously, none of her guesses were correct.

What the live feed showed her was a dark-haired woman with a red wrap over the base of her head. She wore a punky outfit, as well. Black coat, black crop top, black baggy pants, and combat boots to match. Further investigation of the feed told her one other thing: she had never seen this woman in her life.

When Simone opened the door, she found herself surprised by how tall the woman was. She was also strikingly gorgeous and intimidating. It was almost difficult to look her directly in her wild blue eyes. In a stroke of luck—or maybe, misfortune—she didn't have to look for long before the woman brushed past her and entered her house without so much as a word of greeting first.

"Woah, hey! You can't jus -"

"Where is he?" The woman cut Simone off quickly, whipping around as if unsatisfied by whoever it was she was looking for not being directly in her line of sight.

"I dunno know what you're talking about! Why did you just barge into my house?"

"At ease. I can assure you that I am no more of a threat to you than the one who brought me here. Not yet , anyway."

"Then who exactly are you?" Simone continued to demand answers to her questions, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. Her eyes flicked to her hidden gun safe on the bookshelf, wondering if she would have time to get to it if needed.

"I'm Strange." The woman replied with a stern look. Simone chuckled in disbelief.

"I kinda got that."

"Be advised that I know of your adventures to Earth-928. I was made aware by myself on that plane, who has kept an eye on what goes on over there pretty closely. Seeing as the sorcerer supreme of this time is indisposed, I was called upon to set things right."

The way she spoke showed Simone that she cared little about how freaky it was to enter and search someone's home without permission but what she said told Simone exactly who this woman was. She was Strange, but was she a variant of Stephen Strange? Before that question could be raised, the woman continued. "All you have to do is let me know who's been visiting you and why and I'll be out of your hair."

Strange scanned the vicinity as if she had radar eyes, seeking out something to provide her with answers. This was about Miguel, just as it was before on the other Earth. Simone had a feeling she needed to keep that to herself and played her normal-person card.

"I have no clue who you could be talking about. Nothing's changed on my end. Not since coming back here."

"You understand I have ways to get you to tell me the truth, right?"

"I'm sure you do, but are you willing to cast spells on an innocent civilian just to hear the very same thing I already told you? I feel like it goes without saying that your best bet is to start at the source."

It still didn't feel good to lie, but she owed a lot to Miguel. If it meant protecting him from this, she would do it over and over no matter the cost. Strange; however, seemed to have something up her sleeve like a cop fishing for a confession they didn't need.

"Alright. I'll give you the benefit of the doubt. If this is news to you, I will warn you that you should be alarmed. The individual believed to be popping in may be dangerous, responsible for many incursions throughout the multiverse from doing this very same thing." Strange replied after giving her a once-over, now choosing to play good cop and appeal to her use of the normal card. "In fact, I feel as though it's my duty to provide you protection."

Whatever that meant, it didn't sit right with Simone. Miguel had just visited the day before, as he did twice a week at this point . If popping in again would put him in danger, she needed to prevent that.

But how? She considered as she worked over what she could do in her mind. Even if she didn't know how to handle this, there was one person who might. Unfortunately, that meant taking a flight.

"This isn't going to get in the way of my upcoming trip, is it?" Simone asked in search of what this protection could be. She certainly didn't feel like buying Strange a plane ticket. Without warning, her hands began to glow a bright golden color she had seen once before on the other Earth from the other Strange.

"No. I'm going to put up a barrier around your home that will prevent someone who is not from this timeline from entering within 50 feet. Though , I have my doubts that he just shows up to look at your decor and spirit away with your belongings."

As Strange explained, the same golden shine created a gradient over her walls, slowly disappearing as she waved her palms down toward the floor. Just when Simone thought she had seen it all, something far more weird came out of the woodwork every time.

"My belongings?" She wondered, unsure if that was an assumption or not. When the ritual was complete, Strange pulled a familiar set of large-lensed sunglasses from her jacket pocket and tossed them to her.

They were her sunglasses, alright. The very same set she lent to Miguel a week ago when she accidentally kicked his fancy red-eye cloaking spectacles off of his nose. Though she was aware of them, she had to pretend she hadn't missed them at all with a squint. "Odd."

Odd? You're pretending you just now found out that your house has been invaded by a possibly dangerous multiversal traveler, not responding to finding your keys somewhere you don't remember putting them, idiot.

"All things have a signature. This one tells me when and where it is from, and given your history, I made an educated guess." Strange spoke cockily, which made Simone nervous. Regardless, she kept her expression as Strange proceeded. "But if I find out that you're lying, there will be consequences."

This woman could probably vaporize me at the snap of a finger. Simone thought to herself as she felt her blood pressure rise. Miguel's coming here would be bad for both of them, but his drop-ins were seemingly random. She had no control over the situation, especially with this barrier up.

With limited options, she felt sick to her stomach. Strange was looking at her, seemingly awaiting a response of understanding or a confession. She knew she needed to get ahold of Marc, which felt impossible these days. Would he even help her if she asked? That was something she would have to find out.

"Duly noted." She gulped and cracked a grin over shaky lips. It was only a matter of time before she would feel compelled to drag herself to New York but these circumstances were not what she pictured.

 

It felt like a race against the clock. Between trying to figure out how to help Sebastian, Miguel , and booking a last-minute flight to New York, she may as well have spread herself so thin she was transparent. The random boost of courage she got when she arrived at the Mission was useful in her entry through the large doors.

Reese seemed surprised to see her. After all, the last time Simone was there, she left in a huff. It was a short exchange that saved Simone from having to ask many questions or explain why she was there which ended with her receiving the go-ahead to wait in Marc's office until he returned.

She sat down in the olive green armchair that faced away from the door, sinking into the cushion. The room smelled like coffee, just as it had before. It felt like such a simpler time to her now, before things went too far in every direction imaginable.

God, did she miss Marc. It was a harsh reminder that she wasn't immune to the emotional thoughts of giving in, being the first to apologize so things could go back to normal again. To fix things.

Was there ever a normal? She considered, and her mind went to the days he spent at her house comforting her, spending time with her, and with that came heartache. It ended all too quickly and even with the knowledge that it would, she wasn't ready once it was over.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door opening behind her and a deep humming that sounded tired. Simone froze where she was as if she could go unseen by remaining completely still. She could have been tricked into believing it, as well, as the familiar frame in all white emerged in the corner of her eye.

Simone couldn't think of anything to say to announce her presence. 'Hi' seemed too simple. 'Good evening' seemed too formal. Still, she opened her mouth as if she had any Earthly idea what would come out. This caused an embarrassing squeak to fall from her throat.

Marc hadn't even noticed her until he heard that. For a man who was often hyper-aware of his surroundings, she always had a weird way of sneaking up on him. He was lucky he was wearing the mask or else it would've been all too obvious when he turned around that he was nearly ready to charge.

Then he saw her face and it was just like the last time she was in this Mission. An anxious, childish, love-sick feeling crept over him and weighed heavy on his chest. What boggled him was that he had imagined this, only slightly different. If she was here to make amends, he would hear her out.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment that felt like an eternity. Once again, Simone's reason for being here was lost. It was as if someone had taken a straw to her thoughts and sucked them out of her head. Then she remembered Strange, and Miguel, and the awful things that might be looming in the air.

"I could use your help, if you'll listen." She muttered as strongly as she could manage, sitting upright in the seat she had planted herself in and crossing her right leg over her left. It sounded passive-aggressive in her own ears.

This was even more far-off than he originally thought. Moni wasn't here to make up or talk over what happened, but she still needed him. Outside of the severed friendship, she was a night traveler, and he had a job to do.

"That's what we're all about here. What can I do for you, Dr. Fredrick?" Marc asked in the same tone he would take with others who sat across from him. It was clear this got under her skin as she rolled her eyes and sighed.

"You can start by not treating me like a complete stranger."

Says the one who showed up looking for help and couldn't spare a 'How are you?' or even a smile. He thought to himself before sitting in his chair and clasping his gloved fingers together.

"I'm on the job. You want niceties, contact me between the hours of 6 AM and 6 PM. Now, what is it that you need?"

"Don't start that crap. " Simone said with a bit of dismay. "I've been trying to reach you and someone else answers the phone every time."

" What do you need ?" Marc repeated himself once more through gritted teeth. A fight wasn't on either of their agendas and he had been in a relatively good mood when he arrived back from his session with Dr. Sterman. Moni had started this conversation wanting to get down to brass tacks, from there they would continue.

Even if it was a wonder that he had been eyeing longingly at her lips since he noticed her . He had missed that mouth and the voice that it produced. Not hearing it every day had been cruel to him, and she was right, it was his own fault for not making himself available to her.

That didn't mean rekindling now. Dr. Sterman had said that they were in a fragile place where their priorities weren't aligned. Not speaking only made that fact more apparent, even if it made his heart grow fonder.

"How confident are you in your ability to reach the unreachable?" Simone asked, sounding confused by her own question. She was afraid that Strange was keeping an eye on her somehow, waiting for her to slip up. She had to be cautious, and that made getting through this quickly much more difficult. As predicted, Marc had questions of his own.

"Are you referring to a person, place, or thing?"

"A person, I guess."

Marc noted how on edge she appeared but found himself stuck on the lack of useful facts she had to spare. He had been unreachable to her but if he had to wager a guess, she wasn't referring to him.

"I have ways, but you'll have to give me a bit more." He fished, but she still seemed reluctant and finicky, keeping her voice low as if afraid to be heard.

"It could be a matter of life and death. I'm not entirely sure. The contact can't be made with that person directly , though . It needs to be made to someone close to them and they'll have to figure it out from there."

"Why the middle-man?"

"I have a strange feeling if contact is made from here to who it needs to go to, it'll end badly for me." She admitted alarmingly. He sat up straighter and leaned forward,

"Are you in trouble, Mo-" He started, but stopped himself before he could utter his nickname for her, clearing his throat before correcting himself. "Dr. Fredrick?"

Dwelling on his use of my title will get me nowhere. Simone thought to herself as her annoyance grew. It was difficult to get past the tension but his immediate concern for her was comforting. She still watched her words.

"I don't know. Just a strange feeling."

Her eyes darted from the window to him as if scanning for signs that he was being monitored. He knew paranoia well but wasn't used to seeing it on Moni. She was carefree and sometimes irritatingly so. She needed to know she was safe here within these living walls.

"You can speak freely. Nobody can watch you or follow you here. This Mission protects it's own." He advised. There was an understanding between him and the Mission. It recognized the good within Moni. It sought to keep her safe, as he would. To her, it was just a regular building with his mark on it.

Though she thought of it in a metaphorical sense or personification, she believed it. Perhaps Marc had things in place that would do just that. Maybe these old Egyptian trinkets were charmed. He might even mean to beat the breaks off of Strange if it turned out she was looming over her.

No matter the meaning, there was always a sensation of security when she was around Marc. She wished she could see his face. The idea made her question if that would somehow solve all of her problems. It wasn't true, of course. If anything, it might throw her even further off.

"I believe I was threatened," She said but decided to keep the rest close to her chest for now. "But I don't wanna say more until I know I have your support."

His fist balled up without his consent. The secretive nature of her request shouldn't have extended to him. What could he possibly do if he didn't know what it was that she needed from him? He supposed he was glad she even came to him for this, and that told him it was a task that was out of her range of capabilities.

"I'll do what I can." He said without making any promises. Of course, he would do anything she asked of him, but now was the time to find out what that was. For a moment, Moni mulled over what she needed to say and spoke slowly and carefully.

"I need to tell the other me that her husband is getting himself into some serious shit."

An image manifested in Marc's mind of the blue and red-suited Spider-Man he had met before. The one she explained to him was married to the other version of herself that she needed to reach. The worried crease that formed between her brows made more questions raise in his throat.

"How do you know all this?"

"I was visited by someone named Strange and she told me that his timeline jumping is prohibited." Simone answered, not caring to go into a detailed derailment about this Strange or who she was or where she was from. It felt beside the point and rightfully so as Marc put his hands up as if trying to grasp the anchor in this story.

"Why'd she come to you to tell you this?"

"Because he's been here. He's been training me."

That changed everything. The relaxed, 'ready to assist' demeanor flipped and was replaced with personal grief akin to how he acted over her involvement with Steven. He stood up and placed his hands behind his neck, chuckling in disbelief.

" Even with the knowledge that he shouldn't be?" He asked rhetorically. He remembered Moni telling him that Spider-Man was exiled to his own time. He had been separated from the life he made on an Earth that he couldn't call home. From where Marc stood, it seemed like he was trying to do that again and it wasn't a baseless assumption. "He's an idiot and he's asking to get caught."

"I know how it sounds but you told me to learn how to put up a fight and he's been teaching me how." She defended as calmly as she could.

"It's the kind of risk you take for someone you do more than just train with." Marc finally said the quiet accusation aloud. That wasn't baseless, either. He didn't know this guy very well but he wasn't ignorant to the way men looked at Moni. He had seen it as long as he looked at her that way.

Simone all but leaped from her seat at this, a furrow forming in her thick brows that spoke before she did. Her blood felt hot enough to melt steel.

"What do you know? It isn't like you've been around these past three months." She snapped, pent-up anger from his ignoring her and the rejection that came with it blowing like a cannon.

"I happen to know first-hand that some people will seek solace in someone who shares a face with their comfort person simply because they feel like it. " Marc muttered with his hands on his hips. If she could see his eyes, she would know they were locked on hers, assessing for a sliver of remorse as he proceeded to compare the situations. "You look like his wife. You probably sound like her. Seem familiar?"

She appreciated that Miguel loved his wife and wanted her. He kept himself in check. If there was more than just training, it was laughs between pals.

She wanted to explain that, but the words balled up tightly in the back of her throat. Why did she owe him an explanation? Was it any of his business? Would he even believe her? She didn't know, but now it felt impossible to continue this conversation. It wasn't a fight worth having with him.

"You're a dick." The words rolled off of her tongue viciously and without care. As she turned to leave the office, he spoke up behind her once more.

"Are you able to go home?"

Even upset, he had the capacity to dwell on the fact that she didn't feel safe. He was prepared to give her the key to the penthouse if she was afraid. If that wasn't good enough, he meant what he said before: the Mission protects its own.

"I'll be fine." She replied, clutching her bag close to her side as she left the room. It didn't sound confident, which was a given since these were otherworldly forces playing in her face.

"You know what I'm gonna say." Jake piped up, thinking the same thing he was. This was a job that required calling in a favor.

Notes:

Trying something new with the formatting to easier distinguish the "deviant" part of Simone. If I like it, I'll go back and edit the previous chapters to match. If not, or if you let me know you don't like it, or if it's an eyesore on mobile, I'll just edit this chapter back to normal.

Chapter 29: Dark Red

" What if she's fine?
It's my mind that's wrong
And I just let bad thoughts
Linger for far too long "
-"Dark Red" by Steve Lacy

 

After Moni left the Mission, Marc made off for Bleeker Street to seek assistance from Wong. It was known knowledge in the community that Doctor Strange ran off and left him to guard the Sanctum alone.

It was no easy feat, but Marc managed to convince Wong to help him get to Earth-928. Once he established that it could keep the multiversal traveler who evaded him the year before away for good, Wong allowed him a couple of hours to do his business.

This kind of sorcery was frowned upon and if Stephen were present, he most certainly would deny this request and go off to settle this on his own. If it weren't for Wong's duty to remain at the Sanctum, he would follow suit.

After the mandatory guidelines for going to another reality were provided and Marc showed him a picture he had of Moni and a name to pinpoint where he would be going, Wong did his cosmic fairy dust thing and opened a portal.

Once Marc passed through, he found himself in a living room. There was a couch, a TV, and upwards of twenty framed photos just in the immediate line of vision. The place was quiet, almost eerily so. Before he could turn and start looking around for signs of life, his attention was fixed on one of the photos on the wall.

It was a simple picture of himself and Moni holding up fishing rods with his dad standing between them. They had to have been twelve years old, but this wasn't a memory that he himself held.

After evaluating this image for a moment, his distraction was promptly broken by a blunt pain blooming in the back of his head with a loud thunk that was followed by the sound of metal clattering to the floor behind him. He pivoted swiftly, not expecting the ambush and hoping to find the culprit within grabbing distance.

Several feet away looming in a dimly-lit hallway was a familiar face. She emerged slowly with a truncheon braced back in her right hand and a momentary glace down told him the twin was what had been launched at his skull.

It was Moni, only, not even close. The facial structure was right but there were scars along every patch of visible skin. Each mark looked intentional as if someone had attempted to kill her via a thousand cuts rather than an accident.

Her dark hair was shorter, trimmed messily at her shoulders and each tousel appeared uncombed for the day. The chunky streaks of gray had grown out entirely, whereas the Moni he knew only recently stopped dying over them.

She looked more built than he was used to seeing, with more defined muscles along her arms and legs. The tattoos were probably the most daunting part, both arms covered in black-shaded designs.

Clearly, she wasn't expecting company, from the fact that she wore a black ribbed tank top and red fabric shorts. If he had to guess, he would say she just got out of bed at the sound of commotion.

Now that I think about it, maybe dropping into her apartment wasn't my smartest move. Marc thought to himself as he remembered what Moni had told him about this woman:

"928's Simone is Moon Knight and she was a lot scarier than you."

He could see why Moni would feel that way. This version of her had a seriously menacing resting face and bullish presence. To Moni , she would be intimidating. To him, she may as well be another punk.

"Who the fuck are you supposed to be?" The woman asked punchily, drilling holes through his white mask with her dark brown orbs. Her voice was a bit deeper and slightly grittier, as well. She was approaching and circling slowly, white-knuckling the stick in her hand as if she was prepared to swing.

"I'm not here to fight you." Marc attempted to defuse with his hands up, but she retorted quickly.

" Lucky you. I'm not repeating myself."

"I'm Mr. Knight." He introduced himself with the monicker he used for everyone he didn't know or care to know. It was clear this Simone wasn't one to be reasoned with as she glared at him still, flitting her eyes over his body as if assessing him for weak points.

That much, she most certainly was doing. Imposters weren't a new thing around here, and last she checked, Mr. Knight was on patrol in Greenwich Village. The voice was undeniable, but she'd had a run-in with a Life-Model Decoy before. Still grasping the truncheon over her shoulder, she nodded her head up.

"Take that off." She said in a tone that told Marc that wasn't a request, referring to his mask. He shook his head and placed his hands on his hips,

"Better if I didn't."

"Why? Because you're not Mr. Knight?"

"Because you might not like what you see. Or you will . Doesn't matter." He spoke with an uncaring tone. He didn't have time for the back-and-forth. "I think we both know the chances are high that I am who I say I am, Moni."

" You don't get to call me that." Simone snipped, but her eyes told him of a different reaction. She believed him and she wasn't surprised in the slightest.

"I always have."

Not you. She thought to herself , bringing the stick back down to her side but not letting the grip loosen. Not an LMD, not some rando in disguise, so that leaves one explanation.

"I thought I was done with the multiverse phase of my life. Wanna explain why you popped up in my living room?"

This took Marc by surprise. He was expecting to provide more explanation for who he was before he had to discuss the why. But, given who this woman was and the sparse details he had on her, it was clear she had seen enough. Before he spoke, he kicked the truncheon in front of him in her direction and she halted its sliding with the ball of her socked left foot.

"I'm here on behalf of Simone Fredrick from my Earth." Marc paused, waiting for her to pick the stick up. When she didn't, he continued. "I believe she stayed here for a time."

So, she found him. Simone thought to herself. She thought about Fredrick a lot, often wishing she knew the answer to that very question. It brought her comfort to be sure, but also worry.

"How is she?" She questioned, posture softening slightly at the mention of his Moni. Her face manifested in his mind just as it always had; golden skin, espresso irises, sweet smile, banging body...

She had been right there. He pondered with a bit of disappointment. Right there in The Mission, and I blew it again.

That thought brought on what he had said to her and the heated envy and anger rose once more . He had nothing to be sorry for and needed to stick to the plan.

"Beside the point. I need you to get in touch with your husband." He skipped straight to the point, unable to hide the disdain in his voice. A sarcastic chuckle erupted from Simone's throat as she caught it.

"Number one, that's impossible. Number two, you can drop the cold act, killer. I thought we were on the same side."

"You need to reach out to him and tell him to stay in his own time on his own Earth." Marc ignored both of her points and proceeded back to his business.

He could appeal to her and express that it was to keep Spider-Man out of trouble, but he wasn't doing this for Spider-Man's sake. He couldn't even guarantee it was fully for Moni's safety, either.

"Well, no shit. He knows that already." Simone said with an eye roll, clearly misunderstanding him.

"It took him a matter of months to break the rules and for some reason, my Moni cares enough to take the long way to keep him safe instead of giving him up to Strange."

"She's no snitch and he helped her find you. It's about principle."

"And you aren't concerned that he's been trespassing to see her?"

"About the traveling? Yes, I am concerned. The fact that he goes to see her , though? No. Not really."

"He's your husband." Marc darted the words harshly, completely lost as to how she showed so little care over the situation. The reasonable response to finding out that your spouse is dropping in on another woman would usually be outrage, disgust, fear, anything but the attitude that Simone was giving him.

"And he isn't here, is he?" She condescended, feeling the need to spell it out for him. When Miguel had to go back, she was devastated, but there was nothing she could reasonably do about it. It was a hard pill to swallow but he had to move on with his life. Find a purpose beyond her.

Was it odd to hear that he might have simply hopped from one Simone to another? Absolutely. It felt rotten, but it wasn't any of her business what he did anymore. The more she considered it, the more she realized what this really was: a jealous man seeking an alliance with a jilted woman with nothing but scraps of assumption to provide.

"The fact that this is even happening and you haven't specifically told me that he's fucking her tells me you don't know that for sure. That also tells me that you aren't with her, either." She called it as she saw it, having played this game with similar players in the past . It was clear she could run circles around him with just how much experience she had in this topic.

"Not that it's any of your business, but we did recently have a falling out. " Marc uttered and immediately regretted it once it fell through his teeth by the expression that grew over Simone's face. The knowing half-grin, the squinted eyes, the confidence that she could imagine the face he made under the fabric obscuring him.

"Taking a shot in the dark here..." She began, barely taking a moment to pretend to think about it. "Was it Jake ?"

" Absolutely not." Marc nearly coughed in shock. She was on the right track but god, Jake would have been so much worse. Even the idea brought on a roll of him flinging his body off of a building just for the sake of killing Lockley along with him. All the while, Simone just giggled away, showing no sympathy.

"So that just leaves one. That's interesting. She liked my Stevie, too."

Glad you find my turmoil amusing. He thought to himself, wondering how the fuck—beyond the dangerously attractive exterior—this universe's version of himself could stand to even hang around her, let alone be with her.

"I did what I came to do." He said, making a move to go for the door and escort himself out of this situation and away from this sociopath. He was suddenly glad his Moni was the way she was if this was the other outcome. Her laugh was halted by an audible groan.

"Oh, c'mon , man. You're tellin' me you'll pass up the opportunity to talk to someone who knows Fredrick better than you do?" She wondered, causing him to stop his leaving.

Apparently, this fuck-stick doesn't have a sense of humor. She thought to herself as she breathed away her giggle fit. It was obvious the careful, sensitive, soft-spoken Fredrick she had met months ago hadn't put this guy in his place yet. That was something Simone was more than happy to help with. "Why don't you just take the bag off your head and we can chat."

"I'm all set."

"That alone tells me everything I need to know. My man was just like that once. Not willing to look at a future beyond the shroud."

"And I don't suppose you know what that's like, do you?" Marc asked, confused. He was under the belief that he was talking to this Earth's Moon Knight, from what he had been told. She shrugged at this.

"Not really. When I held the mantle, I didn't want it. I was swindled by that damn bird but it was all I had because my Marc died for two years and my husband disappeared."

Former Moon Knight, then. Didn't know you could retire from this and still be walking, let alone laughing like a hyena. He pondered before his retort.

"You know nothing about me."

"Maybe not, but I know that Fredrick loves you." She told him with surety in her voice, slowly kneeling down to pick the second truncheon up. She took care to not take her eyes off of him as she did, relying on feeling alone.

Her words put a knot in his stomach. Moni still loved him long before she proclaimed it in the kitchen or before she ever tracked him down, and this Simone didn't seem to hold a single doubt about that. Perhaps it was worth his time to speak with her about this, after all.

"How'd you know it had something to do with my system?" He asked, returning to her 'shot in the dark' .

"Because my Marc crashed out hard when he found out Jake was interested in me."

"If he's anything like my Jake, that's understandable. He has a track record for this sort of thing."

"Buddy, you know you can't have all of her if you don't give her all of you, right?" Simone advised, once again holding that knowing stare from before and seeing straight through his mask. He had never given all of himself to anyone before. Maybe this was a good place to start.

Marc's gloved hand found the top of his mask and pulled it off in a downward motion . The slight chill of the room cooled the freshly exposed skin in a flash. He couldn't help but wonder how she was standing there wearing barely anything at all in these conditions.

Simone wished she hadn't been surprised with what was underneath that cloth. He looked just like her man, only a bit more tired, with walnut eyes that contained a lot more pain. His hair was a mess of knotted curls and there was a steri-strip holding together a cut above his eyebrow.

He's just too damn pretty. She thought to herself, having had the same thought about her often beat-up old man many, many times.

"Got a lot of miles on you, huh, killer?" She asked rhetorically. It was clear as a cloudless day that this one had seen and done some shit that likely made her Marc look like the patron saint of kindness and mercy.

"I could say the same for you." He replied, momentarily forgetting that he was no longer obscured as he gave her a look up and down. "I was under the impression you would try to jump me the second I came in."

"Normally, that would've been the move but I'm in a delicate situation right now and have to abstain from most forms of violence." She explained and he couldn't stop himself from giving her another once-over.

"You don't look injured."

"I'm on probation. One call to the cops from a good samaritan neighbor and I'm toast." She cracked. "I'm also pregnant, so no gut shots."

Maybe it was the lighting or the positions they stood in but he hadn't noticed the barely-there baby bump at all before she mentioned it. What followed was a needless feeling of crushing panic and impending doom, as if she had been carrying his child before he shook that away to listen to her speak up again. "I'll see what I can do as far as my husband. It isn't guaranteed, but I have a favor to ask."

There was a shadow of disappointment that weighed on his chest as it became clear that Simone was looking to wrap this up so soon. He still felt like he had a million questions, even if none of them were present in his mind. Rather than dwell, he motioned for her to proceed, and she did. " In case I can't reach him, please don't let him get caught."

She capped this request off with a subconscious caress of her belly and Marc suddenly understood a lot more than he intended to. She wanted to see that the father of her child didn't get locked away in some pocket dimension, never to be seen again.

"How much leeway are you willing to give me to accomplish that?" He asked, wondering what she could have in mind.

"By any means accept killing him yourself ."

"I don't do that."

"Until what ?" Simone questioned with another knowing glance, this one much more grave than the others. He wasn't surprised that she understood how easily that threshold could be moved. "Like I said. Lotta miles."

Notes:

I know this one was short but it was fun to write. I missed writing for Simone O'Hara ugh <3 My traumatized lil jerk. This is probably going to be the only instance we see her ever again, so I wanted to make it count.

Chapter 30: Worst Luck

Summary:

I'm late to update again, I know. I had to refine a few things and I got sidetracked on a different story I'm writing on here. We're getting back on track, though! I hope you enjoy the spice!

" So why you wanna love me so bad?
Why you wanna love me so bad ?
Haven't you heard about my miserable past
Critical past, pitiful past?
I swear no matter what I touch it breaks
So I no longer wanna see your face "
-"Worst Luck" by 6LACK

 

There were very few instances where Simone felt like she had no control. At best, she can choose when to give it up. The bedroom was better suited for that. Then, there was how she felt as she sat in her kitchen staring blankly at a wall, feeling like she had eyes on her.

It wasn't the same feeling as knowing Marc was watching. At least with that, she knew the worst that could happen. With Strange or Miguel possibly able to pop in at any given moment, that prospect was unimaginable. Now, she had no Marc. Now, she had no way to tell Miguel not to show up. Now, she had no right to steer.

"I happen to know first-hand that some people will seek solace in someone who shares a face with their comfort person simply because they feel like it." Marc had said. It was a scathing reminder that he didn't forgive her and that she was right to cut him off. If she had kept it up, it wouldn't have solved anything.

So why did her heart still leap from her chest every time she heard her phone ring? Why did she hold reservations about not giving in while she was at the Mission, obvious disrespect, be damned? Why did it feel like the sky was falling each passing day when the only time she saw Marc's face was in her mind?

The answer was so simple it was stupid: she was in love and there was no cure for that. She could admit when she was wrong but she didn't feel wrong for the choice she made. Being upfront with Marc about that seemed like a losing battle and the image of being pushy, clingy, and just plain toxic kept playing in her head instead of the conversation they needed to have.

Once Jake called her to check in; however, it was tempting to squeeze in a few hints on the off-chance that Marc was taking a peek behind the curtain. Maybe things would go smoother next time they spoke. After a while, Jake caught on. It never did take long for him.

"Ya wanna tell me how you're really feelin' or do I gotta use my mind-readin' powers?"

"Mind reading only works with face-to-face contact. It's, like, a rule or something." Simone laughed it off, the nail on her thumb finding its way between her teeth. While she hoped he would leave it at that, she knew better.

On the other end of the line, Jake sat at his favorite diner with a cup of coffee in front of him. He didn't understand why the other two found it so impossible to speak with her.

Marc was in a weird space between angry and depressed while Steven feared the awkward but inevitable conversation about whether their shacking up actually meant anything to her or not.

Meanwhile, Jake was clear on all sides. He could mediate if anyone other than Simone listened to him worth a damn. Each time he spoke with her; though, there was a prickly tingle in the back of his mind that—even if he disapproved—Marc had his listening ears on.

"I know a couple mind readers and that ain't true." Jake chuckled between sips.

"In Dungeons and Dragons, it is.."

"Don't they call this deflectin' in your line'a work?"

There was a brief pause so silent he had to pull the phone back to check that she hadn't disconnected. Before he could ask if she was still there, she simply sighed.

“What do you think I should do? Be honest with me.”

The question needed no further elaboration. They both knew the issue that loomed over them but neither knew just how to solve it. His eyes swam over the surface of his beverage and he looked back at himself in the reflection.

What good is being the protector if I don't fuckin' use it?

“Truly, you should wait it out. It might take a while but trust me, sweetheart. Just keep coming around like you do. Call and check in. Even if he doesn’t answer, he knows he can’t push you away.” He advised, feeling like he was giving up a trade secret of sorts.

It was the blueprint of exactly what Marc wanted her to do. Pathetic as it seemed to him, Marc had an issue where he thought Simone might like his alters better than him. Even when Jake suggested that Marc share with her what he had done to handle the Spider-Man business, he was met with push-back.

"I don't know, Jake... it's been months and after how things went at the Mission, I-"

"Darlin', listen to me. The guy doesn't wanna lose you now but he isn't sure how to say it. It'll come to him eventually."

Every time Marc showed her that as of late it was under the more dire circumstances. She hated to seem ungrateful, knowing this was what she wanted all along only to hit the eject button right then it seemed to be reciprocated.

She had hoped Jake would tell her to fight for him, as crazy as it seemed in her own head. At least it would seem less foolish when backed by someone other than herself.

She often imagined letting her thoughts go during one of the many instances where she got his voicemail box. Telling him he needed to stop shutting her out and that she refused to lose him after getting him back again. That felt unnecessary. Marc knew how she felt, that much seemed obvious. There was no way this wasn't another one of his tests.

"I need the mind games to end, Jake." She muttered into the phone, unconvinced that time was what Marc really required. If he wanted Simone to beg, it was on the cusp of working.

This was precisely why Jake advised against the manipulations from the start. Of course, she would assume it was all a test. It was hard to pinpoint an instance where there wasn't some grand plan or method to Marc's madness with Simone. Defending him was off the table, and all he could do was sigh.

"I hear ya."

Without another word, the line dropped for real this time. He knew she didn't do it to be rude and it struck him as just her being tired of saying goodbye. With that, he left a twenty on the table, waved to the waitress, and began walking back to his cab, mumbling. “You get all that?”

“ Yeah. " Marc replied from inside his head. "I think I should go see her.”

“That’s the spirit! When?”

“Tonight.”

 

Jake assumed that meant he would fly through to talk and patch things up, but he should have known better. This was Marc Spector, the man who would rather stalk Simone for years than simply go talk to her like a normal person.

Marc was in a rental car, tucked away across the street from her house with a pair of binoculars trained at her living room window. Moni was on her couch scrolling on her phone, blissfully unaware of his presence.

She seemed fine without him. Better than fine. She was safe. Nothing unusual, no monsters disguised as people waiting in the shadows. It made cutting ties worth it.

His gaze flicked to each corner of her house, where fancy white security cameras caught various angles of her yard. She had taken his advice, and that made him feel warm inside.

I bet her kitchen window's still unlatched. He pondered as the tendrils of sick curiosity crept over him. It would spell disaster if he went to check. No doubt, the cameras would catch his movements around the house. Of course, his insistence would come back to bite him in the ass.

The more he imagined it, the more he felt that being caught was part of the fun. He could get out of this car, jog over, test the window as he always had, and see which would come first: his near-inconsolable appetite for Moni making him slip through or Moni's ability to make it to her gun safe.

She would know it was me. He considered further, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as the fantasy played out in his head, making something in his stomach stir and his jeans a bit tighter. She would know it was him and act oblivious for the sake of the game.

Maybe she would pretend to be asleep or make a run for the shower, something to play off the idea that she couldn't have known. Maybe she would be frightened at first, wondering if her home had been breached, only to see him and find that raging lust she always did when he caught her by surprise.

This was why he never came here. This was why he never took the risk anymore. It was like lighting a cigarette in front of someone on their third day of quitting just to watch them desperately squirm. If he wanted to touch her again, he would have to break.

Fuck this. He thought as his hand wrapped around the door handle with full intention to exit the vehicle but the universe always had a funny way of telling him people to stop.

Before he could pull the door open, a bright flash of green light illuminated Moni's face. Her eyes went wide, her lips parted, and as soon as Marc assumed it might have been from her TV, the light was gone, and into view from his vantage point stepped a man he wasn't familiar with.

“What’re you doing here?” Simone asked as panic washed over her at the sight of Miguel popping in. While she wasn't sure how Strange's barrier worked, she knew things were about to get sticky.

“I'm here for your training.” He replied with a shrug, showing her he was either clueless or didn't care.

“You can’t! If Strange sees you…” She trailed off, not entirely sure what would happen if Strange saw him. That was a mystery to her. Still, he showed little regard as he looked the place over.

“So she did come here. I figured she would.”

Simone was dumbfounded by how nonchalant he was acting. She assumed this news would strike fear into his heart and have him jumping back into his portal.

From afar, Marc continued to watch and attempted to read their lips. It almost looked like Moni was yelling at the man, talking with her hands while he stepped calmly. Marc kept his fingers wrapped around the handle, ready to run if needed.

The longer he watched, the more it appeared she was toning it down as the man showed her something on his wrist. Marc wished he could be a fly on the wall so he could understand what the hell was going on there and figure out who this guy was.

He seemed to almost laugh at her concern with the situation. Whatever worried Moni amused the man. In his half-grin, Marc was able to make out a particularly sharp set of canine teeth and do a double-take. Behind his glasses sat a set of brown eyes, not red.

So not a vampire. Marc nearly sighed with relief but didn't cease his spectating.

“Did you really think Strange was constantly watching this place? She’s too busy." Miguel chuckled, gesturing to the recent upgrade on his wrist. "To make a long explanation short, This cloaks my signature. No incersions, no glitches, and the only way she would know I was here is if she popped it right now and saw me with her own eyes.”

“So that means you can go back to your Simone!” She said excitedly, her hands gripping his as if the sudden jolt of joy forced her to hang onto something.

“That was the original intention, but there’s one thing it can’t do.” He started, gently snaking his fingers away and returning his arms to his side with a solemn glance. Simone tilted her head at this, her previous delight rinsed away at the sight of his not sharing in it.

He looked blue to the core. She always hated it when she accidentally reminded him of what he lost, but she was so sure he would get it all back now. Her gaze probed for him to continue, and he did. “It can’t take away the fact that my wife is in love with another man. That won’t change just because I show up again.”

“So that’s it? You aren’t going to even try?”

“Despite my gluttony for punishment and willingness to take a beating, I would prefer to avoid the disappointment.”

Marc couldn't get a read on either of them. There were too many mood shifts and the hand-holding made him feel sick. Moni cared about this person, and the more they eyed the tech on his arm, the more it became clear who he was. That was Spider-Man, sans suit. The other-Earthly invader. His wife must not have been able to reach him.

Or she did, and he just didn't care. Marc thought to himself, his hands slightly moistening around the door handle and the binoculars. He could only imagine the soft, kind tone Moni was using on this man right now as he expressed what appeared to be grief. She could just be doing her psychology-mumbo on him.

Then, her arms stretched up and wrapped tightly over the man's neck. He didn't look dishearted this time like he had about the sudden touchy-feely hand grab from before. This time, one corner of his mouth perked up a bit and his arms wrapped around the small of her back, pulling her in tighter.

It felt like the air had been sucked out of Marc's lungs through a hole in his chest. It was a hug. Anyone in their right mind would look at this and just go about their business but he couldn't pull his eyes away and he wasn't sure if he was grateful for that or not.

The way the man's palms rested and where they resided near her sides. His thumbs slowly rubbed up and down as if she was the one who needed consoling. His face found a comfortable spot in the crook of her neck and Marc couldn't help but imagine how good Moni must smell right now with how long the embrace went on. It was just as hard to watch as it was to peel his stare away.

He wanted to hope this was them saying goodbye for good, but that wasn't very comforting, either. That was a hug exchanged between people who would miss each other. The kind of hug Marc felt envious of.

I'm sitting out here watching all of this when that could've been me an hour ago. If I had just gone up and knocked this would be over. He thought with a frown, finally pulling the binoculars from his face and slumping into the driver's seat even further while another man held the woman he loved. Eventually, all he could do was drive away.

 

"Again." Miguel demanded. Simone was breaking a decent sweat before him already as they did what he typically did when he was here. Training. Aggressive, rigorous training.

She did as he instructed and planted another blow to the red mitt over his left hand with her wrapped fist and his elbow wavered slightly as it landed. He appeared impressed by this. "Normally I have to tell you to hit me harder. Something up?"

"A lot." She answered shortly, keeping her burning arms squared up.

"Again." He repeated, and she did the same with her opposite knuckles as he continued. "Spector still off the reservation?"

"Went to see him the other day."

"I take it that didn't go well."

"I don't know. It was certainly interesting." She proceeded to be vague and Miguel lowered the mitts slightly, raising his eyebrows for her to give him more to work with. "He believes something's going on here and with Marc, that mindset's dangerous."

"Dangerous, how?" He pried but before she would answer, she nodded toward the mitts, wordlessly telling him to lift them again. He did just that and watched as she scoped the gym around them, ensuring the few others around were still too occupied to bother with their conversation.

"He will insist that I should be with him, try to lock me down, keep me away from others." She responded and punctuated it with another punch once she was satisfied with the topic staying between the two of them. The gym was practically empty at this time of night and the two or three stragglers had earbuds in. Miguel looked confused by her words, though.

"You don't want to be with him?"

"Not if he only wants me when he's threatened. Buy a ticket to the circus, get the fuckin' clowns." She hit the target again with a huff, but he wasn't as prepared this time for the stiff blow. A thoughtful snicker fell from his lips that made her cock her head. "Something funny?"

"That sounds like something she would say."

"I'm starting to wonder if it's your fault. The more time I spend with you, the more I end up like her."

"I love her but don't lose what makes you different." He said, assessing the mitts on his hands and seemingly making connections. Miguel's eyes grew weary and a half-frown formed on the lower portion of his face. "You know, it's comforting that you aren't like her, right?"

Simone wasn't sure how to feel about that or what it could mean. She had spent a lot of time being envious of Simone O'Hara, wishing she was imbued with the same features that made her a force to be reckoned with.

Simone Fredrick's whole problem was she was used to being walked on, used to be complacent, and trying to be so kind that surely good things could come back to her eventually. That was a rarity, these days.

It might have been a comfort to Miguel that she wasn't an exact mirror of his wife but it was an inconvenience to Simone. Ever since she met this bunch on the other Earth, she understood she wasn't good enough. She wasn't trying to prove to Miguel that she was capable of being like the other Simone but to herself.

 

Simone was asleep when the noises began but she knew it wasn't Uncle Fester getting up to mischief this time. It sounded like footsteps and shuffling and whoever it was, they weren't making an active effort to remain quiet.

From her nightstand, her phone told her there was movement detected on her cameras but there was no time to check the playback. They had already made it inside somehow. She had never been more grateful that she moved her gun to her nightstand.

There was a loud yowl from Unc as she pulled out the firearm as quietly as she could. The cat was outside of her room, likely screaming at the intruder. Simone waited to hear a struggle, but when she didn't, that told her whoever was passing through hadn't had the sudden urge to touch her cat and get their skin ripped open.

Or, they had. That only meant the cat knew them well enough to not attack. The possibility that it was Marc dwelled on her brain but what were the odds? Why pull this trick again, after making it so clear that he didn't want to talk to her?

She held the pistol just like Marc showed her and her heart felt like it was pounding so hard it might burst. It was hard to fathom what could be waiting for her outside her bedroom door. Only a crazy person would actually open it instead of locking it and hunkering down to call the cops.

It might just be Marc so calling the cops would be worthless. She thought as she reached for the knob, clocking the footsteps growing closer.

Then why the gun? Are you looking to have it wrestled away from you again? She also considered.

With a deep, wavering breath, she pulled the door open and brought both hands back to the gun. Right in the middle of the hallway, as predicted, Marc stood slowly raising his hands. Even in the dark house, she could make out each and every detail of his face and form and the way he carried himself.

"Spector." She said stiffly, not lowering the weapon but switching hands once more to flick her bedroom light on. Her eyes stayed trained on him, using muscle memory alone to find the switch.

"Moni." He replied softly, unlike the last time they spoke. He used her nickname this time and now she could see his face when he looked at her. There was nothing about it that said 'just business'. It was the glance of a broken man in search of what made him feel whole.

How sweet. She thought, doing her best to keep her face straight.

How pathetic. She also thought.

His breaking in, his sad eyes, and his way of saying her name, seemed to be the recipe to awaken something inside of her. He looked like a mess; unshaven, unkempt hair, tired eyes, and casual clothes. The smart move would have been to tell him to explain the decision he made in coming here. Simone never claimed to be smart.

Marc was waiting for questions about what he was doing here but he really wasn't sure what his answer would be. To say 'I saw that guy phase in earlier while I was watching you and I tried to leave the city after but changed my mind' sounded so miserable.

Moni circled him, hugging her back to the wall of the hallway, and he turned to watch her. He wasn't nervous about the gun directed at him, only confused. He hoped she didn't fear for her life around him but if she was still shaken up by their last sexual encounter, she couldn't blame her.

With the firearm, she motioned for him to back up, stepping closer at a timed pace. His back was to her bedroom now, which left him with very few ideas of where this could be going. He let his mind speak for him as he walked backward.

"I miss you." He muttered.

"You miss my body." She corrected quickly, keeping the same stone stare. Marc wanted to argue. Maybe it was the fact that he was at gunpoint or maybe he just didn't have a good comeback, but he couldn't find it in him to disagree outright. Instead, he continued to let his mouth move.

"That's cold, Moni."

Her foot nudged the door closed behind her just as the back of his legs were stopped by the edge of her bed. There was a slight tremble in her hands that would make it easy to de-escalate this situation. He didn't come here to fight or fuck but this position she had him in was curious and it was hard to deny where he leaned.

There was also no missing the desire that sat in her pupils. He no doubt inadvertently recreated some naughty little fantasy of hers, judging by that same window being unlocked as it always was. It was a dare to try it and she was still challenging him to convince her. “Not hearing your voice each day has been cruel to me."

As he spoke he slowly unbuckled his belt. Presumptuous? Sure, but he’d had wilder ideas in more dangerous situations. Moni stayed silent, the only sounds being clinking metal and likely her own pulse in her ears. The gun remained aimed, which needed to be addressed. "You can put that down. I'd hate to have to take it from you."

"You're not fucking me." She growled through gritted teeth, removing one hand and bringing it down to grip the waistband of his pants. His movements halted, confused, questioning how he could have misread this situation.

Her eyes flitted between his and where her hand was. If she was pissed, she was being incredibly calm about it, gun aside. In her pause, her fingers found the button of his jeans and with a quick motion, she unfastened it. "I'm fucking you ."

Marc almost fought it. Almost found the willpower within himself to turn the tables and make it clear that there was only one way this could go and that didn't involve her taking control but she had wild eyes and managed to catch him off guard just enough to have the upper hand.

Where she faltered was her ability to yank his clothes any lower with one limb. The best she could manage was her warm knuckles continuously brushing his happy trail in her struggle. It was adorable watching her try and he couldn't stop his face from showing his emotions.

"You can do better than that, baby." He encouraged her with a hint of condescension. He certainly was intrigued by this attempt to steal away his role. She didn't appreciate the lip, looking up at him and taking a chance by nudging the cold metal into the middle of his chest.

"Shut up." She barked before pointing the barrel downward slightly. "Drop 'em."

"And if I say no ?" He tested with a cocked head. Her mouth opened, but the spit-fire show she was putting on was dwindling as she looked for a response and only stuttered. "We both know where this is going, so how about you hand me the gun and get on your knees?"

Don't you fucking choke. She told herself. Show him you can do it too. Show him how easy it is. If he wants you so bad, he'll take it.

"No." She responded as if she hadn't nearly tripped over her words a moment before. However, the idea of giving it up was tempting; to feel the chilled gunmetal resting against her scalp as she sucked him off. The answer was still no. "Take your pants off, Marc."

Oh, she's serious. He thought with a bit of amusement, but he was willing to play along a bit longer. Maybe she wanted to feel big and bad for once, maybe she wanted to look tough, or maybe she wanted to get back at him. Whatever she was trying to prove, she was doing surprisingly well despite his mocking.

For a moment, she looked pleased with herself when his jeans and underwear fell to his ankles. If he had to wager a guess, it wasn't because her demand worked as much as it was to see that this encounter had him at a full salute. He had to hand it to her, even after all this time, she still found ways to surprise him.

She gave him a light push and he pretended it knocked him back. He had missed the softness of her sheets but it was what he hoped came next that he pined for more. His eyes followed her as she finally put the gun down on top of the nightstand to lose her pajamas, doing her best to not look eager.

He went ahead and took the liberty of peeling away his shirt, even though she hadn't instructed him to. She seemed unbothered by the action and proceeded to climb over the top of his broad body and kiss him aggressively.

Where normally her lips felt like they melted into his skin, these could've left bruises. It was all teeth, tongues, and no questions. Hands tangled through locks of hair, fingertips leaving indentions, and her cunt resting along the underside of his cock.

He slightly pushed his pelvis upward in hopes of introducing some sort of friction, growing desperate already to be inside of her, but a deep, maniacal chuckle vibrated from her chest and into his mouth. "Tell me how bad you need it."

" You need it just as bad as I do. We wouldn't be here right now if you hadn't pushed me."

"You break into my fucking house and think you get to question how I treat you after?" She spoke harshly, likely doing her best impression of him as she sat all the way up. It was a gorgeous view; her bent thighs, arched back, soft breasts. She could tell him to do whatever she wanted.

But when her hand wrapped around his throat, it made his dick twitch and his breath hitch. She hadn't even squeezed yet and his ability to breathe was hindered. She stared down at him with a sense of authority he never saw from her. He wished he could say he didn't know she had this in her but he saw it that night while eating pizza.

Marc was so preoccupied he hadn't even noticed her lifting her hips until she slowly slid down his length. She didn't even attempt to bite back the groan that reverberated from her throat as she closed around him. Sadly, his own sharp exhale drowned it out.

It felt like it had been too long since he felt this. He would have been fine with just talking upon coming back here but this was infinitely more exciting. Her slow dragging up and down his cock, though heavenly, was calculated. Her weak but firm questioning showed that. "Why'd you come here?"

"Jake said we should t-talk." Marc mumbled, and down came her hips again, this time in a mind-numbing slam. Her nails found purchase in his bare chest and there they remained like tiny dull teeth digging into his muscles.

"Try again."

Another grueling lift-up.

"I wanted to see you."

Slam.

"Why now? Why not while I was in New York?"

Marc's resistance was weakening with every teasing push and pull. He could already feel his hair beginning to stick to his forehead and his vision blurred. It didn't matter what he said, she would take her sweet time torturing him until she couldn't take it anymore. Moni was far past discussions. That didn't make him want to try any less.

"If I had given it to you at the Mission, you wouldn't be taking all your pent-up frustration out on me right now, would you?"

"I'll show you pent-up frustration." She quipped back but it only barely registered before she sped her pace, fucking herself on him alarmingly fast now. It was as if her body had been possessed, her lower half scooping to hit that perfect spot every time.

Where her nails drilled in before, she scratched downward. It was almost impossible for him to contain his gasps and pants and the pain from the scrapes only heightened his pleasure. She was trying to break him and it was working.

He continued to spout expletives and slur her name, sounding like pleads and prayers. It was almost embarrassing how low she had him and even with this perfect body before him, he let his eyes flutter upward in search of something to distract his foggy, nearly fuck-out mind.

On a dark desert highway, cool wind in my h-

" Oh , no." Moni pulled him back to Earth with a stiff grip on his jaw that left his lips ajar. "Keep those eyes on me."

There was no way in hell she was beating him at his own game on her first try. He supposed she had a good teacher, likely meticulously taking mental notes of his moves and words. Even with her pretty, flushed face, she was winning in all categories.

The biggest surprise so far came when she leaned slightly forward. Her tits grazed over his torso and she split into his parted mouth with near-perfect aim. A thin string landed on his upper lip, but she corrected that with a sloppy kiss, smearing the saliva through the caverns of his mouth with her tongue. Any wonder of what could have possibly gotten into her to cause this flip in behavior was nonexistent.

"You missed this pussy? Is that it?" She asked breathlessly upon straightening back up. His hands found her waist, no longer feeling like they needed to stay at his sides. At least there he was able to find a bit of skin that didn't burn to the touch.

" God , yes." He moaned and didn't care how it sounded. She was getting closer to getting off on how he was acting, that much he could feel from the thrum of her cunt. Her right hand left his freshly-reddened chest once again and popped him on the cheek. It didn't hurt, blows rarely did for him anymore, but it was stunning .

The only downside Marc could fathom in this situation was that he couldn't maintain his composure because he couldn't control the pace. She was so hot and tight and how wet and aggressive she was could only set him on one path. He was going to come, and if he did, he was positive he would still be hard enough for her to keep this up until she was through using him.

"Give it back." She said through her breathlessness. It was as if the three simple words hadn't made any sense to him at first, given the context and the frantic movements on top of him. If she was saying what he thought she was, he needed clarification.

"What happened to your terms?"

"I want a struggle."

Marc blinked away the veil of submission and took a brief inventory. She was getting tired, that much was obvious from how semi-lax her hip moments had become and the dewy sheen along her skin. There was also the simple fact that he had fully given in to her whims and now she was ready to return the favor. If she wanted him to fight back, she'd get it.

As quick as a snake, his hand came up and pinched her jaw just as she had to him. Still hanging onto her previous mindset, her hands wrapped around his forearm tightly as if she could free herself. No, she wanted this part. She wanted to get rocked.

Once he had a decent grip, he flipped her onto her back. It was graceless and feisty but like her own experimental moves previously. Struggle, she did, attempting to push up against his body to return to that same frenzied pump from before. His free arm hooked her left knee up to her chest and he began the same slow but punchy gait she had started with.

He was so deep inside of her she felt the familiar dull ache in her gut. As he backed out, dragging his thick tip to her entrance, she was sure she might fall out and cry until the harsh shunt back inside. Each snap of his hips made a loud smacking sound that could only be created by moist skin.

"That enough of a love tap for you?" Marc asked in a near-whisper, feigning compliance and restraint, pretending he was happy to give her what she wanted. It sounded gentle, his face close to hers and his hand still maintaining the vice-grip to her chin.

It was a taunt. Payback from the master himself for the agony. His body pressed heavily into hers, uncaring of how sticky and hot the atmosphere had become. She was beginning to squirm in her daze, and he copied the very same devious chuckle she had earlier. "No, of course not. You want something like this."

The hand that had clamped her face planted a stiff and quick slap along her cheek that was almost as loud as the sparse smacks from their colliding lower halves. The skin where he hit stung but the yelp she let out was that of need, not pain.

As if to say he was sorry, his teeth bit down on her tender jawline, then along her neck, and his thrusts amped up, urging himself against her and somehow folding himself even closer to her. His slick forehead pinned itself to hers, denting the mattress beneath her as his eyes locked onto hers. "How many times do I have to tell you to lock that fucking window, huh?"

She couldn't find a verbal answer for him, the alignment between her mind and mouth knocked entirely off kilter. The only response she could reasonably give was a slightly louder moan than the rest that spilled through her bumbling maw.

He delivered a second firm hand to the same cheek, causing the skin to burn once more. He pushed the knee that had been against her body over, widening her hips and forcing his cock to bombard her at a new angle.

What prompted her to struggle against him again was the pound she felt against her cervix. She cried out and her hips jerked back in reflex, only to be tacked back down by his own. He stared at her, staying like this for a long beat that made tears flow into the edges of her hair. "You think it's cute to leave a way for me to get inside like some little slut begging me to come in and rail you?"

"Oh, god, please ." Simone hollered, slowly losing track of the climax that had been building up for so long. Marc's gaze roamed over her face as he enacted this strange and unusual form of torment. He was present but detached at the same time, studying her.

"Whose is it, Moni?" He questioned calmly as if he knew the answer but needed to know that she did, as well. A small, sheepish sob punched through her dry tonsils instead of words. He responded to this lack of cooperation with another tap to her cheek. "Tell me who this tight cunt belongs to."

" You ." She croaked as a bit of anxiety filled her chest. She had given him exactly what he wanted: confirmation of ownership. That granted her the reward of movement once again. His thrusts picked back up right where they left off and surprisingly, so did her mounting satisfaction.

"Who's about you make you come, baby?"

"You."

"Good fuckin' girl. Show me." He commanded, but she wasn't quite there yet. It was on the tips of her fingers, but something was missing. That diminutive hint of stress was enough to dampen her near-fulfillment. It felt like a missed sneeze, which was odd. She had wanted this. She wanted to belong to him.

The problem was, he didn't belong right back. At least, it didn't feel that way. Marc seemed to note that his power word hadn't done the trick in unraveling her as it normally would, and his hand pressed into her throat. At the same time, he pressed a hungry, needy kiss to her lips.

That did the trick. Simone absolutely gushed around him, legs and toes twitching in place as her eyes lulled back. A trembling moan flowed over his tongue like sweet sap and her nails raked down his back.

He gave it all back to her with interest, weakening his choke on her and hitting her with languid and deep rocks that filled her with his spend in response to her squeezing his dick. In the very same breath, he whispered something harshly.

"Marry me."

If she hadn't been in the throws of such a potent climax, she might have had the gumption to react. She had half a mind to try to shove him off at such an idiotic request but it just felt too damn good to let go of so soon.

Marc was too busy riding out their highs with wavering jaunts to care either way. It had just slipped out, much like other things they've said during sex that probably shouldn't have been. Regardless, he held no regrets. He was coming back down, his slowly deflating cock nestled inside of her, breathing heavily in sync with her. This was home.

Cool air flowed over Simone's skin once more as Marc rolled onto his back. A wash of tiredness returned to her, reminding her that she had been fast asleep before this. She had a goal here.

What was that again? Did I achieve it? She pondered, but the real question was the one that left her lips when she looked over at the deshevled man at her side.

"The hell was that about?"

"You mean the part where you fucked me at gunpoint or the part where you begged me to slap you?" He chuckled drowsily, thinking fondly about all of it even though it had just concluded.

"That last thing you said." She clarified, afraid that repeating it would make her sound like she was losing her mind. Maybe she was. Marc pretended to think for a moment before giving her a nonchalant shrug.

"I take it that's a no?"

"Obviously." She rolled her eyes and attempted to sit up on boneless limbs and a rocky head. She managed to prop herself up on her elbows. "You can't just spring that on when we haven't even really dated at all."

"Then date me so you can marry me." He suggested loosely, scooting up closer to her side. He dangled his arm over her, making an effort this time to offer a cuddle.

"That isn't how that works. Why are you suddenly being this way?" She lightly refused the snug by pushing it back to his side. From no interest to asserted interest, right back to months of no contact, and now he wasn't just interested, he was invested .

What changed? She wondered, revisiting any and all conversations since their last actual exchange at the penthouse. She had told him about her visitor when she asked for his help and he got bitter. "This is about Miguel, isn't it?"

Who the hell is Miguel? Marc thought, nearly speaking the question into the air before he thought back to what he saw through her window. That man. Spider-Man. The multiversal traveler. She probably hadn't even caught that she said his first name. Miguel .

"You're sleeping with him." Marc said in a tone that wasn't accusatory but told that he was sure of it, and it amused him. He sat up and began to move to the edge of the bed to stand.

" No , I'm not. You're projecting. You think everyone on this planet has to perceive me as a sex object like you do." Simone argued. He allowed the slight to slide to stay on the subject.

"I bet he wants to."

" I'm not who he wants and he isn't who I want but I'm not gonna date you to give you peace of mind."

"It isn't like that." He sighed as he reached for his pants and underwear on the floor. She gasped in disbelief.

"You only want me when someone else seems to take interest. I fail to see how it isn't like that."

"If you had let me choose when you came at me with that ultimatum that didn't give me the power of choice at all, I would have chosen you."

"Yeah, well, you didn't. Instead, you decided to be stubborn and tell me I deserved better and ignored me for months." She stood her ground, trying to exemplify why it didn't make any sense to her. While she ranted, he continued to get dressed. As he bent down once more for his shirt, she scurried and ripped it from his hand. "No. You're not leaving yet."

"I'm not gonna sit here and listen to how pissed you are at me, either, Moni. What do you expect me to do?" He sounded frustrated but calmly so. They needed to talk this over, but this was the hard part. Listening, understanding, accepting.

They both had a lot of that they needed to do. Simone had to take a breath and quell her irritation first in order to take that step. She took the shirt she stole from him and pulled it over her naked body as if it opened the door to living in his skin for a beat before her bare feet padded the floor.

"We're still on my terms. Eat a fuckin' grilled cheese with me or something."

Chapter 31: Bloodbath

" One more thing
If it should all cave in
Remove your name
Make your promises
It's inside your head
Where you create your own war
One last way out of this "
-"Bloodbath" by Polyphia

 

Sex complicates everything. That was the consensus Simone came to after Marc took himself and his ego back to New York. She felt like such a sucker. Like she had walked right into a room with a sign that said 'FREE ICE CREAM (totally no boobytraps beyond this point)'.

"Can we at least agree that this isn't the last time we do this?" Marc had asked after complimenting the grilled cheese she made him. They had been cordial as she cooked and as they ate, engaging in small talk about the weather changes and what they had been up to. It was nice.

"Your possessiveness is showing." She replied, refusing him the dignity of an outright agreement so soon.

"How would you feel if I found a pretty woman to train?"

"I wouldn't automatically assume you fucked her but it wouldn't be my business if you did."

"It would drive you fucking nuts." He whispered into a snicker as he bent down behind her and placed a kiss on the back of her ear. His voice was rich and raspy, set to cause blood to rise to her impact-reddened face. It was clear he needed confirmation from her. "Just so we're clear; we're doing this again, right?"

"That depends on you. Are you done ignoring me?"

"That was a mistake I won't make twice."

She hated that sentence nearly sent her as far away from her stubborn mindset as it could take her. It made her shift lightly in her seat. Reignited lust and unquenched love causing her already used core to clench around nothing. It had only been thirty minutes and she already missed what she craved for over three months. She needed to be careful in her steps and words and refuse to be so forgiving.

"Are you agreeing to be my friend again while we keep doing this or are you going to insist that I should date you or marry you to dissuade this idea that I'd put out for anyone else?" She asked for something more than he was giving her.

It would be easy to sway her from this attitude. Hell, he could have probably just told her he loved her and she would happily revisit the idea of marriage . It all seemed so simple and she required so little but the grasp he had on the subject was flawed beyond reason.

"After what just happened in there?" Marc gestured in the direction of her bedroom. He could've been referring to the mild gunplay or the role-switch, but she knew he meant her admission. "I'm satisfied for now."

That made her stand to put the plates in the sink to escape the cocky look on his mug. She hated that he could accept such a coerced confession so much she wanted to scream. It only proved further that it didn't matter if they had a relationship or not. He was fine so long as she stayed in line.

She rinsed the melted cheese away from the white ceramic dish with her lips tucked inward to keep from snapping, but weightless footfalls crept behind her, and on her bare buttocks rested denim and a long set of arms held her from behind.

It felt like she was meant to be there, again stoking the embers as his warm breath flowed against the shell of her ear. "But I expect you to tell me if anyone else comes knocking. It's only courteous that someone asks permission before borrowing something that doesn't belong to them."

And there was the rain to put out the fire.

"Marc. My body is my own. Cut the shit." She seethed, turning around in his arms and putting her hands on his chest to deliver a mild nudge that shooed him far enough for her to start walking again.

"You say that now but what about when I'm ruining you? Branding my name inside of you?"

" Totally not considering that fictional list of names you don't want me on created by fictional bad people."

"They aren't fictional."

"And yet, you expect me to believe you want to marry me? That isn't just fictional, that's a goddamn pipe dream." She didn't want to keep going back to that point, but it loomed everpresent until he let it go. He couldn't claim that he would have chosen a relationship with her if it would continue to go exactly like this.

At least they still had the sex. It was what they were best at and it was what he wanted from her. He could have that much. "Sure. We're doing this again. You want it? You can have it whenever you'd like."

There was a brief glint in his eyes that she could've sworn was regret. Marc clearly didn't care for the tone she took, like she was simply agreeing to a compromise even when she didn't want to. Once that flash was gone, and it didn't take long, he had her hoisted by her thighs and her back flush with the dining table.

"Whenever I'd like?" He asked for clarification as one hand thumbed over her clit and the other went to work on freeing his member once more.

He drove her nuts, made her the angriest she'd ever been in her life, continued to tell her what he wanted and not how he felt , and yet he could still reliably end up right between her legs.

They didn't speak much further on the subject after Marc left another imprint of his teeth on her shoulder, made her come two more times, and stole his shirt back. The saddest part was she felt grateful that he actually kissed her goodbye this time. So pathetic that something so small had come to feel like a reward.

Now, Simone sat at the very same dining table—since cleaned, of course—watching Miguel tinker with his watch thingy that she didn't quite understand but still found interesting. He would go on mild tangents about what he was doing and she would nod along as if she comprehended a word he just said.

"You don't have to pretend you know what I'm talking about."

"I don't, but I also don't think you'd care to hear me ask you to explain everything to me like I'm five."

"It's far more entertaining than sitting in a lab doing it by myself ." He admitted. "And besides, it'll be good practice for when Monica asks me a thousand questions."

It was times like these when Simone was reminded that her thing might not be gadgets or space-time travel, but she knew human behavior and emotions. Miguel often spoke about this girl that hadn't yet been born as she knew it like a father eager to step up.

God, what if this is all leading to disappointment for him? She thought before realizing she was the perfect candidate to pick his brain.

“Do you ever wonder if all this work is…” She trailed off as he looked away from his device and to her, suddenly forgetting the words she was looking for. Luckily, he understood where she was going with this.

“A waste of time? Actually, no. In fact, I’ve considered why I haven’t considered that. I’ve tried to plant the thought that Marc and Simone seem to have it all figured out and under control. Why would I want to cause harm to that? The truth is, if she’s my kid, I want to see her.”

“And if she’s not?” Simone asked with a bit of trepidation. Even offering such a heartbreaking idea could offend someone. Miguel was pragmatic, though. He likely thought of these things more often than not.

“She’s still my wife’s daughter.” He replied in a tone that sounded thoughtful. There was the smallest bit of dismay weaved in, but a surprising amount of contentment, as well.

Several times Simone had considered that Miguel was just bored with his regular life. It wasn't very fathomable to her, knowing where he was from and what he did on the side, but that was coming from a pediatric psychiatrist's viewpoint. Knowing there was more out there, more to do, had changed her sentiments towards her day-to-day. Who was she to tell Spider-Man he should feel satisfied?

After a beat, it seemed he wasn't quite done explaining as if she needed much more of an illustration at all. “I spent the majority of my life thinking the horrible man raising me was my father only to find out an even more evil individual was my true father. Monica may never need to question who her biological father is but if she does, I want her to know she got a decent man either way.”

This was brand-new information but not entirely surprising. Of course, Miguel would want to make this large of an effort. He got the shit end of the stick as far as father figures and didn't want his assumed child to ever wonder . Afraid to pry but still curious, she put on her shrink shoes.

"Could you tell me more about that?"

"My dad was a violent drunk and my father is a narcissistic, manipulative, megalomaniac who used to be in charge of the company that happens to control everything where I'm from. They used to spend money to get people sick just to make more money off of curing them, among other egregious things that I could go on about all night."

Though he narrowly avoided a rant, Simone heard him loud and clear. The thing she should have done was put on a concerned face and leave the floor open for him to keep going, but against her will, she smiled. She was happy that he opened up to her and that she got to learn more.

When it got quiet again, like a nervous tick, Miguel went back to his watch. The topic had her thinking about Sebastian again and his issues with his step-dad. She still wanted to handle that outside of the system but had reservations when it came to her own abilities. That was before .

"I have a major ask if you're willing to hear me out."

"I'm listening." He replied, providing her with his attention as if she wasn't about to divulge her crazy plan that had her wincing before she even began to speak.

"I have a patient... his step-dad beats him and I think his mom is too afraid to do anything about it."

"Simone..."

"I know what I'm suggesting is outlandish, I know , but what if Ron got roughed up a little bit?"

"You could get into some serious trouble. " Miguel answered the question with the most obvious outcome, unconvinced. " Worse , It could make things more difficult for your patient."

"What if he didn't know it was me?"

"You're far from masked vigilante level."

"That's why I'm asking for your help." She finally got down to the point. If she really thought she could do this, she wouldn't have brought it up at all. She wouldn't have opened the door to be talked out of it.

His eyes softened when it became clear that she trusted him enough to tell him this and she went for one last point to bring it home. "The system doesn't work and I'm out of ideas."

Miguel knew he needed to say no. He knew it was dangerous and shouldn't be his problem but that was where the issue lay. It was Simone's problem. She felt responsible for this kid and was willing to take extreme measures to help him.

He hated that he was touched by the idea. He wanted to put his foot down and tell her this was outside of anything she should feel comfortable with but he couldn't. It was what his wife would do, but his wife could do things that Simone Fredrick couldn't. Not alone, anyway.

Nueva York-928 to Chicago-619. There's always something. He thought with a sigh. Might as well know what I'm getting myself into first.

"We can do recon but that's all I'll agree to."

 

The first order of business was obscuring Simone's identity the best they could. She often dressed up for Halloween and had a collection of costumes and masks at her disposal, which she tried on one by one to get Miguel's opinion.

"Can you even see in that thing?" He asked, referring to the fabric scarecrow mask she was wearing. The pros were that it went entirely around her head, had stuffing layered throughout to make it look bigger and rounder, and muffled her voice.

The cons were that it was too cute, made her face sweat, and she , in fact, could barely see through it. It was also the fifth or sixth one she tried on at this point and so far, all of them were a bust. She pulled it off of her head with a groan.

"How do people even come up with their gimmick?"

"Sometimes it just happens , really . Not a lot of people get to pick and choose, it just gets thrust upon them." He explained, leaning casually against her bedroom wall with his arms crossed.

Despite his displeasure in this whole thing, he had to hide a grin at the sight of her hair strung into her face from removing the scarecrow head. "You don't need a gimmick, though. If this goes as planned, you won't be seen by anyone."

"Fine. How about this?" She wondered with a bit of discouragement as she flashed a basic black balaclava. A snicker slipped through his lips when she held it up.

"It's a reconnaissance mission, not a burglary."

Simone let out another frustrated groan at this and turned to her plastic bin labeled 'Halloween stuff' and bypassed a useless domino mask to find a purple, shimmery masquerade mask with black mesh under the eyeholes. It provided full-face coverage and had an elastic band that wrapped around the head. She fastened it over her face and turned back around.

"Last viable option." She said. Miguel assessed it for a moment , then stepped next to her to look in the bin for himself. The few she didn't show him were the domino mask and a cheap red and gold lucha libre one that he would ask a lot of questions about if they weren't strapped for time. He looked from the container back to the mask she wore and shrugged.

"Should've started with that one, honestly."

The second issue with concealing her identity was her hair. While dark brown hair was typical, her graying strands would be a dead giveaway in connection to all of this. It was easily rectified by a spray-on root cover-up she only ever used in a pinch. It was smelly, transferred while wet, and crunchy when dried but it found a purpose for the few hours she needed it and with her hair up, she didn't need much.

The rest was just a simple black long-sleeved athletic shirt, jeans, her good running shoes, and a pair of gloves. Simone knew exactly where Sebastian and Ron lived from the patient files and timed just right, the man they came to watch would have gotten home from work about an hour before they arrived.

It was slow for a while, watching from the building adjacent to the window of their apartment. They had the perfect view of Ron sporting his gut and bald patch, downing a beer, and putting his feet up.

"So he's a loser. I'm not seeing much that would constitute putting the fear of god in the man."

"Of course not. Nothing's set him off yet. It's only a matter of time, though." She told Miguel, who she got to see for the first time entirely decked-out in his suit. She also got to watch Ron with the eyes of a psychologist.

His body language alone told her he had a rough day and she didn't need to hear him or read his lips to know each thing he said to his wife was rude or snippy. His face told her that.

It suddenly became all too clear that they picked a good night to show up when Simone saw Sebastian pass through, his skateboard tucked under his shoulder. He looked back to say something and it didn't seem directed at anyone in particular as he opened the door to their apartment. Likely shouting to his mom that he would be right outside.

Ron said something without looking in any direction, his attention still on the TV. Simone thought for a moment it wasn't in response to Sebastian because he didn't respond, only continuing out the door. She was proven wrong when Ron stood up and grabbed the door, then Sebastian's arm with an unnecessary grip.

" Shit. " Miguel muttered, suddenly on the edge of his perch watching this unfold.

"Yeah, shit! We have to do something!"

"I got it. Just stay here."

"What? No! Fuck that! My kid is in there!" She started to ramble, observing the scene escalate from eyes that had already begun to water as she pleaded. She hadn't even noticed her hand squeezing Miguel's bicep as if it were enough to keep him from leaving this roof without her.

The worst part was that it was enough. Very few people had ever had such a dangerous hold on his emotions. He knew it was a bad idea. He knew he shouldn't let her anywhere near this looking like that , but what she said and how she said it ran over and over in his mind for that short time he took to think it over.

"My kid is in there."

"Goddamnit. Fine. Just stay out of the way."

It all happened so fast that Simone could have sworn it was her imagination. Miguel grabbed her, pulling her tightly into him, and swung to the fire escape. It rocked her, but they weren't so far from the ground that it scared her. Then, he opened the window. Sebastian's mom, Delanie, was at the end of the hallway. She was yelling for Ron to let her child go, and Ron wasn't listening. His meaty fingers were still wrapped around the boy's upper arm.

"Makenna's gotta learn to show some respect and answer when I talk to her!" He shook and yanked at the arm like it was attached to a much stronger person. "Always tellin' you she's goin' somewhere! Right before dinner! Always ignorin' me when I tell her she can't go nowhere because you let her do whatever the hell she wants!"

What followed the rant was a gnarly pop sound and Sebastian screaming. The jostling was enough to separate the child's shoulder. Miguel was fast to jump through the window, then Simone within seconds after . She had tunnel vision so bad she didn't catch a thing her partner said from that point.

Simone rushed Ron before he could even utter a 'Who the hell are you?' in their direction. It was unexpected, uncoordinated, and entirely avoidable but they had the advantage of surprise on their side . Miguel shot a web into Ron's face, causing him to let go of the kid, which was the intent.

What wasn't accounted for was the running haymaker Simone would land on the bridge of his nose. Admittedly, Miguel was stunned into stillness for a moment before the screaming kid and the terrified mother pulled him back into action.

"What the hell is this?" Ron shouted as he attempted to pull the now bloodied webs away from his eyes. "You can't be here!"

"And you can't keep getting away with putting your hands on your kid, you ugly motherfucker!" Simone growled in a voice he wasn't used to hearing from her before another punch connected to the same spot and another painful groan followed.

Miguel answered that with a web that secured Ron's hand to his face and considered doing the same to Simone to keep her from hitting the man again. He realized he didn't have to once she took a breath, shook her hand out , and turned to the injured kid. "He won't get to touch you ever again."

"In other words, call 911 and make sure they bring an ambulance," Miguel added in the direction of the mother while he webbed Ron's other hand to his back. She only nodded before scrambling next to her child and looking up at them as they met in the middle.

"What about you? How did-"

"Don't worry about it. Just keep this man as far away as possible." He said. The woman nodded frantically again and nothing else was said as they hopped back out of the window to take their leave. Simone managed to hold it together until they got into her car, where she promptly squealed like a teenage girl.

"You experience that all the time?"

He wanted to scold her for how she jumped in but couldn't. Mainly because it worked and she held herself well, but also because she was very clearly excited by it. Instead, he checked the rearview mirrors and had LYLA extract his suit in case they got tailed and pulled over.

"It never gets old."

She stashed the mask under her seat and took her hair down as the car began to drive. From her peripheral vision, she watched the suit phase away as if it hadn't been there at all and it was promptly replaced with his duds from before. She hadn't seen that before, assuming he just had it on under his clothes and quickly stripped in her bathroom before they left.

"So, how does that suit work? It feels real but is it, like, a hologram?" She wondered, trying to keep her eyes on the road but the beating of her heart and the racing of her mind had her all over the place.

I actually punched someone and it actually hurt them . She thought triumphantly while Miguel thought of how to explain.

"Think of it like nanotech... do you guys have nanotech here?"

"We have nanotech, yes, but I've never actually seen it." She informed, wanting to talk more about what just happened , wanting to see if he had any pointers for how she could improve, but for whatever reason, it felt like it was a bad time.

Simone was talking fast, slightly stammering as she did so, driving a bit faster than the speed limit. It was as if she had too much coffee or a bump of coke, but Miguel recognized this behavior . A good old adrenaline rush in a woman who wasn't used to this kind of spike.

You never forget your first. He thought to himself.

"And LYLA just phases that thing over your normal clothes or are your clothes fake too?" She asked, shooting a quick look in his direction before turning back to the road. He couldn't help but chuckle.

"My clothes are real."

 

It wasn't until they got to Simone's house and she removed her gloves that Miguel noticed her split knuckles. Her jittery hand looked like it had layed into a brick wall and he suddenly felt a bit bad for Ron's face.

"You should get that cleaned up." He pointed out the injury and she stared at it in surprise. The pain had been nullified the entire ride home. She went to her kitchen sink and ran the tap on warm, assuming that was what she was supposed to do for any kind of cut or gash.

Miguel saw her wince and the steam rise from the water as she stuck her hand under it. That was a reasonable reaction but thankfully he had been spectating and was able to assist. "Here. Do cold water for the pain and swelling."

As he explained, he turned the hot lever off and the cold on. After waiting a second, he guided her beat-up hand under the running water gently. The dried blood rinsed away but they stayed there for a good minute to ensure it had the needed effect.

Once the tap was off, he half-turned to grab a paper towel for her to dry her hands but her attention wasn't there when she took it. Her eyes were positioned up at him, glittering, still slightly frantic with big, blown pupils. She hadn't said much since they came in but her mouth opened in the string of quiet.

"Is it bad that I'm disappointed that your clothes are real?"

Adrenaline could have been to blame. Maybe it was the impulsive nature of a lonely man and a woman tired of waiting for something that may never happen. Right then there was no point in sitting on their hands waiting and turning down opportunities like this.

There was no discussion to be had. They came to a mutual understanding with their eyes what was about to happen and neither of them was subtle about it in the few steps each took to close the distance between them.

The first thing to touch was their lips, then Simone's arms draped over Miguel's neck like she might fall through the floor if she didn't hang on. His hands slipped under the hem of her shirt and landed on the soft skin of her waist without so much as an afterthought.

Her mouth felt familiar and comforting. It was almost spooky to feel it again somewhere outside of his dreams. Once he started, it was hard to stop. It was as if the fates had granted him one last opportunity to kiss his wife, and by god, he wanted to run all the way home with it.

She felt like she was finally in the shoes she wanted to be in for so long. A successful bad guy take-down in the bag and a kiss from someone who could find value in a relationship. It felt like she deserved this. After so long of feeling like she wasn't where she wanted to be, it finally felt like she was who she was meant to be.

But I'm not Simone O'Hara. She thought to herself, and at the same time, a similar thought crossed Miguel's mind.

This isn't my wife, though.

All it took was a small sensation of hesitation on his lips for her to understand that this was probably a bad idea. She didn't want to stop, but to push this man into a place where he felt he had to keep going wasn't how she wanted to do this. After a beat, she backed her lips away, the only thing connecting them now being their hands and a thin string of saliva.

"Uh... I..." She began to bumble before she even knew what to say. In her heart, an apology felt fitting, but she couldn't think of a damn reason why she should be sorry. Not with the amount of fog in her head, anyway.

Then she thought about Marc. She hated that he had to be here in spirit if not physically. He was constantly on her mind and it was hard to escape. That rang another bell for her, though. Not once in the past few hours had he been in her head. She had been too preoccupied to care what he thought about anything she did tonight.

Miguel stared down at this woman, hands unmoving from their position, assessing the thoughtful glace she returned. She was gorgeous, obviously, but there was something else that sat behind her irises and after months of being so stuck in the literal past, he understood it, himself.

Liberation. For months, they had both felt so trapped in a cycle of ignoring their own emotional needs for the sake of doing what they felt was right. It was easier that way, but for who? Certainly not themselves. Even if it brought on guilt, life was just too goddamn short to not feel good for a short time.

Miguel's lips collided back into Simone's with ease and without reluctance. It was so good that her already wobbly knees nearly buckled. It wasn't simply sensory, but the thought of being there with someone who truly loved her, or at least a version of her.

There was no sweet passion behind it, though. They were both looking for something in each other that they couldn't find anywhere else. Something they needed to dig a bit deeper than simply swirling tongues for. That made the moment sloppy and desperate.

There was a sigh of relief when her hands went for his pants but her fingers fumbled hopelessly to undo the button, they were still so shakey. Miguel; however, found no issues in taking care of that part as she shifted focus to her own. That went tremendously smoother and she managed to get them pulled down to her ankles before she was lifted out of them by her thighs, shoes and all.

Simone's back hit the wall that separated the living room and kitchen before she could even fully process that she was no longer touching the ground. Her hands were still damp and she was sure she would have slipped right off if his grasp on her hadn't provided so much security.

One thing was proven once again by this feat: Miguel was strong. It was established even more as he maneuvered his left arm under her ass to free his right hand. They were no longer kissing, which gave her a moment to assess him. He looked like a man on a mission.

Then, all thoughts washed away the second he stuck his dick inside of her with a needy thrust and a deep grunt. She hadn't thought to look down and actually see what he was packing before it disappeared but she got the message when she felt it probe in and out of her. It certainly was a treat. With every shunt, she bounced up a bit and at the rate he moved, there was little room for relief.

Miguel often forgot how easy it was to completely devolve into a caveman from the calculated brilliance he was used to. He had thought about this a shameful amount but he hadn't expected it to happen. It was almost a relief that it was so he could stop anticipating it.

Even in this state, he was able to complete two processes of thought: as expected, in any universe, this felt incredible and all the same, Marc Spector was an idiot for not properly tying this one down. He supposed he was lucky for that much at the moment.

" Fuck , I missed this." He breathed as her cunt took him well. Simone had caught it, but let it pass. This was not the time to dwell on words rambled by a pussy-drunk man and she was far too focused on clinging to the back of his shirt and feeling like something was missing.

Of course, it was no secret why O'Hara married the guy and he was getting the job done expeditiously. It could have been that she had grown used to some of the most depraved practices in the bedroom but there was absolutely no way the Simone of the other Earth got down with strictly vanilla sex. There had to have been something he was keeping under wraps.

"Harder, Miggy." She requested shakily, and without a second thought, his fingers dug deeper into her skin and he delivered, sending blow after shivering blow into all the right places. It felt like he was primed to send her through the drywall.

"How many can I get out of you, hmm?" He growled, finding himself playing this familiar game once more. He felt like he could do this all night. "Two? Maybe three?"

"Get me to one first." She challenged, feeling her climax just within reach. Miguel loved the bite-back and found himself rolling his pelvis upward, putting in the work to make her eat that sass but between this pace, his circumstantial celibacy, and the way her walls began to squeeze around his cock, he knew he could only survive one orgasm.

As Simone came, her head threw itself forward onto his muscular shoulder and cried out. He rocked her through it but it seemed it all caught up to him as she felt another harsh shunt, followed by him promptly pulling out and finishing on the surface of her mound. Within the heavy breathing, he chuckled nervously.

"Well, that's embarrassing."

"Don't sweat it." She reassured, giggling sweetly into his ear. It was a refreshing sound. Warm. Delightful.

Miguel helped her back down and made haste to tear away a fresh paper towel for her to clean up. This would be the awkward, uncomfortable phase she was afraid of; trying to figure out what to do now that they did it. There was one question that buzzed in her brain.

"If you don't mind me asking... how long has it been since you've..." She trailed off, suddenly finding it difficult to say 'slept with anyone' even after participating. He scratched the back of his neck and leaned against her kitchen island at the query.

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, no , not at all." She was quick to save. "Just curious."

There was a beat where Miguel considered the question. He knew the answer, of course, but why she would ask was unclear. He knew he had to proceed with honesty.

"I haven't been with anyone since I went home."

"You really held out for that long?"

He nodded silently to confirm and her heart swelled. His love for his wife was really that strong, and what they had done was just a moment of weakness, on both of their parts. Once she wiped away the spent seed, she went back to her jeans, knowing this would be easier fully clothed but not wanting his commitment to go unrecognized. "I adore that."

Another beat of silence followed. It was brutal, but it became clear that something needed to be said. Between the training and just coming here to have someone to talk to, he started to fall for her. Some might see that as good news but he told himself that couldn't happen.

"Here's where I'm going to sound like a dick."

"You're about to tell me this can't happen again."

"It isn't you... or I guess it sort of is... let me start over." He was growing frustrated with his inability to be blunt with her, but she reached her hand out and gave his arm a soothing squeeze.

"I get it. You can't do this to yourself again."

"I just hate the idea of this being a hit-and-run."

"That thought hasn't even crossed my mind. I mean, obviously, I would miss you." She spoke with a look in her eyes that told him she truly understood and wanted him to put himself first.

This conversation would have been better had before the sex became an elephant in the room and complicated the inevitable. She wasn't sure what the proper way to go about this was but found herself guiding him into a hug. "I suck at goodbyes."

"I understand that more than you know." He said, knowing his wife was the same way. The night was still young, though. "It doesn't have to be goodbye just yet."

What could we possibly do now to prolong likely never seeing each other again? She pondered, paying extra attention to the way his hands caressed her back.

"So, no action since November? That's crazy..."

How important she felt right here, at this moment.

"I make it look astonishingly easy."

How his hands slowly glided lower to just above the shelf of her rear.

"I mean, if it isn't goodbye yet ..."

"We could make this a two-time thing and I can duck out while you're asleep to avoid the sad goodbyes?" He knew where she was going with this, and then some.

"I can get behind that , actually ."

 

The night went exactly as planned. Simone and Miguel moved round two to her bedroom, this time taking considerably longer before she rolled over and tried her best to sleep. It was almost unavoidable once the crash from the night she had hit.

Once she awoke, her eyes scanned her dawn-lit bedroom. As expected, he was gone. A part of her felt sad but it was overshadowed by a sense of accomplishment. She felt like she helped Miguel. She may never find out what became of the rest of the bunch, but it was gratifying to know this one turned out alright.

Before she got out of bed, she rolled over to satiate a curious urge to see if her sheets smelled like him but a rustle of paper under her nose immediately made her back up. It was a small yellow legal pad sheet, likely ripped from her work notebook and neatly folded three times.

When she opened the note, she found that the majority of the page was blank accept for a scrawl on the third line that showed effort in being legible.

I hope you're happy

-Miggy

Notes:

*Insert crying emoji here*

Chapter 32: Pleasure delayer

" I've been carving your name on the walls of my brain
You say it's my fault 'cause I call you late
Is it reciprocated?
I can never get you out my head
Is it okay that you're fucking with me once again? "
-"Pleasure delayer " by BETWEEN FRIENDS

 

While Moni was fixating on her first taste of vigilante justice, Marc had an appointment with his therapist. Dr. Sterman knew just about everything there was to know about his situation with Moni, even if it did bother him when he got schooled about how much he messed up.

After Moni claimed she wanted commitment, he took that to Dr. Sterman, who proceeded to make him feel validated about his concerns regarding the danger of doing so while also giving him a harsh reality check that sometimes all it took was effort and using his staying with her after her mom died as an example.

Now, as he sat before Dr. Sterman with a new story that, as he spoke it aloud, was beginning to sound more and more like he was telling her about a dream he had than an actual event.

"You asked her to marry you?" Dr. Sterman asked for clarification, peering over the rim of her wire-framed glasses, giving her the same hard-ass blue stare she usually did when she just heard something outlandish come from his mouth. After sitting with him for so long at this point , that was a rarity.

"Yes. I can't imagine my life without her."

"Does she know that?"

"I'd like to believe so." He said, sounding a lot less confident than he meant to. Dr. Sterman never missed a chance to call him out.

"Even after you told her you didn't want a relationship with her because of your lifestyle? Did it occur to you that this doesn't feel real to her?"

"But it is real. We're so connected when we're together. I don't understand what else I could possibly do to meet her in the middle. I mean, I guess we came to some sort of agreement but she didn't seem happy about it."

"What was it that she said to you?"

"That I could have it whenever I wanted."

"By 'it' you mean sex?"

"Yes."

His therapist took a long, drawn-out breath and sat her notebook in her lap to free her hand in pitching the bridge of her nose. The last time they spoke about Moni, she did this and tried to make a connection to his previous run with Marlene. They couldn't be more different in Marc's eyes.

"Simone wants more than that." Was what she mumbled this time.

"And marriage won't suffice?"

"Not if it's a marriage of convenience for you instead of a marriage because you want to be her husband. She's a smart woman. I'm sure she's told you this to some degree."

"I do wanna be her husband."

"Why?"

To him, that was like asking why living things needed nutrients or water. Everyone knows the answer to that. If Sterman was digging for something else, she wouldn't get a different answer.

"Because I love her." He said without hesitation, but it felt understated. Oftentimes, it felt like he needed Moni more than he needed air.

"And she knows that?"

"She has to."

"So you haven't told her that, is what I'm hearing." Dr. Sterman got it right on the nose once again. "She's confused, Marc. She wants you and everything that comes with you but you won't give her the same. Isn't that what the other version of her told you?"

"Something like that. That's why I thought if I gave her something tangible, it would be okay."

"Tangible like a piece of paper proclaiming life-long fidelity? They have another term for what it sounds like you're looking for: sexual contract."

"That-" He was prepared to make a defense but couldn't deny how it sounded. "Alright, I guess I didn't think that all the way through."

The alarm on Dr. Sterman's phone chimed the end of their session before much more could be said. She clutched her notebook to her chest and stood up to signal her leaving, but seemed to have more on her mind than she had time to convey.

"Just talk to her, Marc. Actually talk. Don't go in half-cocked like before and don't let anything else happen before you do."

 

"How was your week, Sebastian?" Simone asked at the very beginning of her last session of the day. She knew she had to play this the way she always would when she saw his arm in a sling: let him tell her about it and if he didn't, she would bring it up.

Besides the injury, he looked as normal as could be. He wore his usual baggy clothes and messy, moppy hair. It was refreshing to see and filled her with pride, particularly when he smiled at her.

"Ron's in jail. " Sebastian spoke informatively. She knew that already, having kept track of it ever since the day she busted his nose, but kept the act up regardless.

"Does that have anything to do with the sling?"

"Yeah, you should've seen him when the cops came! He nearly pissed his pants!" He said excitedly. Simone gave him a stern look to tell him to watch his language and he got the message as his hand fell to his mouth.

She wished she could have stayed to see that, though. The idea of consequences finally coming sounded positively invigorating. Before she would dive more into that; however, Sebastian's eyes lit up once more . "Do you know if Spider-Man comes to Chicago a lot?"

"I wouldn't know the answer to that." She felt like she curbed the question perfectly. It seemed to go right over his head as he scooted to the edge of his seat.

"Why did he look different from the pictures online?"

"Pardon?"

" C'mon , Dr. Fredrick! You were there! In the purple mask!"

No way I went through all that to be found out by a twelve-year-old . She thought to herself, blinking like her brain was short-circuiting. She knew she needed to dispel that theory as fast as possible.

"There was someone there in a purple mask? So it wasn't just Spider-Man?"

"Oh, I get it. It's a secret identity thing." Sebastian nodded. "Didn't you say whatever is said in this room stays in this room? Doctor-patient- whatever ?"

"That only applies to what you tell me."

"Where'd you learn to punch like that? Did Spidey teach you?"

"Sebastian, I've never punched anyone in my life. Now, can we get back to Ron being in jail?" Simone attempted to redirect the line of question once more. This time, the one-track-minded child budged.

"I mean, the court ordered a restraining order so he can't come back if someone pays his bail but my mom says he's getting hit with a felony."

"How do you feel about that?"

"I'm just glad he won't be bothering us anymore. I'm glad you and Spider-Man took care of him." He said with wide eyes once more. It was clear she wouldn't get out of this so quickly and had to figure out what she had done wrong.

"Why do you believe this masked person was me?"

"You're literally the only person who knew what was going on and I see you every week . It took me a little bit but I knew it was you from your voice."

Simone reflected on her outburst, how she called Ron an ugly motherfucker, and how she hadn't even considered hiding her voice at the time. It was possible it wouldn't have worked anyway. The disguise was a bit rough around the edges, but to an intuitive kid who had grown fond of her, there was no hiding.

Then there was her hand. She felt lucky he hadn't noticed the scabs on her knuckles or it would've been a dead giveaway. Even she forgot about them until this conversation and did her best to keep her notepad tilted up as she wrote, obscuring them from his keen eyes.

"I'm flattered you believe I could ever do something like that but I can assure you, I don't know Spider-Man and when I wasn't here, I was at home all week."

"Don't worry, doc. Your secret's safe with me." He blew right past her response, still not believing her and still making sure she knew it. The ironic part was she almost didn't have it in her to keep denying it. Sebastian seemed so happy, even in his picking on her.

But, it had to remain an unconfirmed mystery. She was a doctor. She had other patients. Even if she wanted to do the same for all of them, it didn't seem feasible without Miguel. The purple mask would have to remain retired for the time being.

In the beat of silence, Sebastian's face grew flat. "I'm gonna miss you when I have to start seeing Dr. Blevins."

Within all the madness of her personal life, she had completely forgotten that his thirteenth birthday was next week. He would graduate from her program and enter the one curated for teens rather than children. She always hated having this conversation but she had gotten quite good at it over the years.

"Dr. Blevins will take fantastic care of you and I'll still see you around. If you ever need me, I'll be right on the other side of the building where I always am." She reassured him, which sometimes worked and other times required a bit more persuasion. He gave her a gentle nod but perked back up within seconds.

"But she wouldn't bring a superhero to come beat up my stepdad. I won't tell her about that, by the way. And can you tell Spidey that I painted his symbol on my deck? He's so cool!"

And down came the shoe. She had been fighting the feeling she got about Miguel being gone for days. It had been relatively easy up until now, imagining telling him about Sebastian suddenly being his biggest fan and decorating his skateboard to show it. The thought of Sebastian telling his friends at school about how he knew Spider-Man.

He's a lot cooler than you even know. She thought to herself as she forced the water that wanted to flow from her eyes to stay put.

"If I ever happen to see him, I will." She confirmed and meant it. It was doubtful she ever would, and she wanted to convey that, even if he didn't believe her. Looking at the time showed that this session was simply a goof-off, which was fine for the final one. It made Sebastian happy. That made her happy.

"Do you have a favorite superhero?" He asked out of the blue, nearly catching her off guard. The first thing to pop into her mind was a video of Moon Knight laying into an absolute beast of a man. She wondered if his reach was as far as Spider-Man's but knew his tactics weren't exactly PG.

She hadn't properly spoken to him in a few days, either.

The last time she heard his voice was the rambling in her ear as he took her on her dining table. Other than that, there was a text exchange every day that was as simple as 'How are you?' and various answers. It wasn't the daily call, but it was the most effort she could bring herself to put forth for so little in return.

As ridiculous as it sounded in her own head, she still missed him the same way she always had. That lingering thought of him kissing her goodbye didn't leave, nor did the sting of guilt she got after sleeping with Miguel. The action was justified, but it still weighed heavy on her soul.

"I'm not sure." Was her official answer to Sebastian's question. "I'll have to think about it."

 

It felt like this was how it always went. Marc had something prepared to say when he knocked on Moni's door at sunset in an effort to take a different approach rather than just finding a way in and doing the opposite of what Dr. Sterman advised.

Then she opened the door and he saw her face, and all of the words he planned vanished from his mind. That look of surprise she held when she realized he actually used the door this time and knocked. That expression alone was worth more than the one of fright or shock he typically got with the other methods.

And so begins the 'whenever you want' part of this completely fucked agreement. Simone thought to herself as she stepped out of the doorway for him to enter. To her, that had to have been the reason he dropped in but the idea that he used her door gave her hope that something else was in the air. It was unlikely, though.

"You'll have to make it quick. I just ordered take-out and I'm hungry." She spoke as if she were telling him to rush a chore before dinner, sounding undelighted that it had to be done now. He couldn't help but wonder if the stone-cold tone was performative and almost wanted to do it just to prove he could, but he wanted to follow directions.

"That isn't why I'm here, Moni. That wasn't why I was here last time, either, before you cornered me with a gun." He said, only taking part of the blame for how that went down. She ran the fingers of her right hand through her hair a bit dismissively as he spoke.

Before she could ask why it was that he came and before he could gather his thoughts to get right into it, he noticed a few scabs on her knuckles . The placement and size alone made them hard to miss for someone who was familiar with the injury. Just like that, all over again, he was sidetracked. "What's with your hand? Training?"

"A fight , actually ." She wasn't afraid to admit. She didn't want it to be a secret that she had managed to handle herself well. All she ever wanted was to prove to him that she could. "Should've seen the other guy."

"A fight? Like, a real one?" Marc found himself questioning dumbly. It was almost inconceivable to him.

"Spider-Man and I went out to serve some justice on my patient's stepdad. He won't be touching that boy or his mom for a while, if not ever again."

I'm gonna kill that guy. Marc immediately thought as he felt anger bubbling within him. It didn't matter what he promised Simone O'Hara anymore. The guy actively put Moni in harm's way.

"Do you have any idea how reckless that is? He should not have agreed to let you do something so dangerous." He scolded, and in the same uncaring manner as before, she laughed cynically.

"Too late. You're never gonna see him around ever again."

"So, what? He helped you beat up on a guy and said ' see you never' ?"

"Well, not exactly. He didn't get to the proper goodbye part because he left while I was asleep, as we agreed he should."

There was a devious look in her eyes. Marc wanted to question how he would have known she was asleep or why he was around while she slept but that glimmer told him what her mouth didn't.

Simone didn't want her sleeping with Miguel to be a secret either. She had spent days thinking about this very moment. A split-second where she could truly see what value she held for Marc based on that fact alone. She continuously denied the assumptions he made but to confirm doing it without being prompted was the opportunity she needed.

That was what he wanted , right? The only way to be sure was to remind him. "You wanted to know when someone borrowed your stuff. Consider that your heads-up."

"Tell me you're joking." He muttered absently as he felt the wires in his brain attempt to connect and his heart plummet thirty feet. He couldn't even be angry about it, just disappointed as his hands came up to his face with a sigh. "Damnit, Moni."

The goal was to show him how much it sucked to realize what you wanted as your own wasn't entirely yours. She felt that often these days. Call it petty, but he needed to know how little sense it made. All these attempts to make it work only ever seemed to end one way, and it wasn't the way either of them had claimed to want.

"I'm tired of trying to prove to you that we're better together than we are apart because you refuse to tell me how you feel." She dropped the mean attitude, looking to meet him in the middle somewhere. Obviously, he felt something right now, judging by the glum stare.

It did suck. It hurt like hell, far more than it did when it was Steven. There was a bit of solace to be found in the fact that the guy wouldn't be coming back, though. That meant it was over. There was no love lost but had she truly been so unhappy that she willed herself into becoming the woman he met on the other Earth?

Seeking out violence and sex without love just wasn't like Moni. Maybe he had a hand in causing that with how many times he tried to push her away only to turn around and find her standing right there, refusing to move. Had the sunshine he loved so much in her been snuffed by this crusade to be someone she was not? Marc hoped it wasn't so.

"I can't tell if you're trying to be me or be with me. Or maybe you're trying to be that other version of you." He started to speak and realized he must have struck a cord when she stopped looking at him and began to find her nails to be far more interesting. "You don't need to be anyone but yourself, baby. You're fantastic! Why can't you see that?"

"Why can't you ?" She was quick to reply. She hadn't realized how badly she needed an answer to that. All this time, all these moments, everything they've been through together and he just kept finding a way to avoid her and what they had.

Simone knew he would find a way to tell her it wasn't personal, that it didn't have anything to do with her, but she couldn't help but feel like it was. She was too weak, too kind, too inexperienced. There was always another excuse.

Marc's mouth opened but the other thing that came out was air. She took that pause to let her thoughts flow. "I just keep thinking about how if I were more like her... I mean, she would have you locked down by now and there would be no question about her being able to handle that because she can take care of herself. Fuck, she could take care of you!"

"Did you miss the part where I asked you to marry me? How is that not locking me down?" He asked, stepping forward as if he needed to be closer for her to understand. She couldn't stop an exasperated groan from leaving her throat. It was like talking to a brick wall.

"There you go again with that." 

“What’s wrong with this? Does this not feel official?”

“There’s an order in place for a reason. I can’t just call you my husband when I haven’t even called you my boyfriend.”

“I feel like we’re beyond that. Why would you even want me to be your boyfriend ? Even the sound of it is-“

“I want you to be my boyfriend, okay? I'd love to be able to go out with you and experience life with you. I'd love to tell people you're my boyfriend.” She interrupted his rant about the silly, juvenile word the only way she knew how. It wasn't about how it sounded, but what it meant to her.

There was a second where he had to process that but was able to come to that conclusion on his own. Growing up, there was speculation, but she never got the chance to tell a single soul that they were together. Now, older, only one of them was technically still alive.

“But you can’t.” He breathed, finally understanding it. They were friends, then they got together, then he ran away, then he died. They never had a chance to do things properly and he knew he got it right on the nose as tears filled her eyes.

“I can’t .” Her voice cracked but she tried to power through it. “You know my mother died telling me every time I saw her ‘When am I going to get a grandchild, Simone? When are you going to get a husband, Simone?’ I wanted to tell her so bad about you but I couldn’t.”

“You could’ve.” He said with a shrug, which garnered an eye roll.

“Estie was senile but she wasn’t stupid."

Telling her Marc was alive would be like selling his secret to the highest bidder. She loved to gossip and even with her problems, she knew he was supposed to be dead just as well as everyone else.

Her mother died believing her daughter would be alone. Phoebe wasn't cool with her anymore. She always put Marc's secret ahead of what she wanted. It was tough to hear but he knew what he wanted more than anything, consequences be damned.

“Then tell everyone. Post pictures of me online, tell your friends, tell the world, I don’t care anymore, Moni.”

She wanted to believe him so bad it crushed her soul to know it was impossible. It felt like more false hope. Like he was still telling her what he thought she wanted to hear. If anything was true, it was that she didn't need the world to recognize that they were together. He just needed him to know it.

Marc was so tired of making her cry. He attempted to pull her into him but was met with resistance. She pushed him back lightly and turned around to walk away, trying to put more distance between them, maybe rushing off to calm down on her own.

None of this was right . Moni wanted to know how he felt, she said it herself. If there was ever a time to let that fly, it was now. There were so many words he wanted to say but a never-ending stream would land him with a foot in his mouth once again. So, he just summed it up in two.

"I'm yours."

Though it made her freeze, she had to think about if she heard him correctly. Every bone in her body suddenly felt like they were made of neatly stacked pebbles. One single movement could send her shattering to the floor. She had heard him say she was his enough times. This was new.

She turned back toward him, fulfilling this strange need to see his face when he said it. His eyes were red like he was fighting his own urge to break but he was so sincere. She was looking for a way to tell him to repeat himself, but he was way ahead of her. "I'm yours. Even if you don't want me to be. Years and miles never changed that for me."

Well, I'll be goddamned. Simone thought to herself. It was by no means a cure for all their problems but it was what she was looking for . He wanted him to commit himself to her. The words repeated in her head and sent her heart aflutter. She wanted to try it out, herself.

"You're mine, Marc." She said in the most clear voice she had managed the entire time he had been there. It felt good in her mouth and sounded even better in the air. The sensation it provided left her awash with relief.

He hadn't realized how much he needed her to say that until she did. It was as if the warm rays of the sun finally chose to shine on him after so long in the frigid darkness. Through quivering lips that fought against a giddy, boyish grin, he could only form a single word, and even then, it was nearly soundless.

"Wow."

The overwhelming need to hold something took over before Simone could stop it and her hands insisted on his face. Not to pull him any closer, but just to feel his skin in her palms. There were more words on the tip of her tongue but she had said them all before.

"I meant what I said that night in my kitchen. I know you caught that unless you forgot about it." Was what she said instead and his arms guided her middle into his with a chuckle that tried too hard to remain cool .

"I would never forget that."

So all of this was to try to prove myself worthy? Force her to be more vigilant and willing to fight in case the demons after me started to chase her too? He thought as he stared lovingly down at this exceptional, unstoppable force of a woman he just couldn't seem to scare off. Let them come.

"Tell me again." He insisted. He could've meant anything.

"Tell you what?"

"What you said in the kitchen."

He didn't need to clarify further.

"I love you." She words dripped from her tongue in the most sweetly satisfying way he had ever heard. He'd heard it hundreds of times before and would gladly hear it thousands more, but for now, he needed it more than oxygen.

"Again."

"I love you, Marc." She repeated, but wouldn't miss the opportunity to push it a step further. "Your turn."

"Fuck, I love you."

Notes:

My heart is very full right now. I am going to call this the ending of this installment because, with everything else I want to write for this one and the sheer length of this bad boy, there's going to be a decent skip in time. I didn't wanna do it for this AU but if you've read anything else I've written, you know your girl is always popping up with more content than originally intended. It'll be called "Get You" and will be added to this same series here shortly. It might take about a few weeks so be on the lookout if you're interested.
The official playlist for this work can be found here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/33nkd9tgKiJHkyxyQytL8q?si=c6063eb892204186
UPDATE: Get You is out!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 4 of Sin Miedo (del Amor y Otros Demonios)