Quite Plays Cupid

Bailey is a flirt, you’ve watched his charade play too many times before, really you think half your charm is just mimicry of his. It’s a completely different thing to experience it. The gentle smile that tilts his head slightly, how his voice becomes a sticky whisper against your ears. There’s still that familiar strength of his that melds your body against his arm, a subtle urge for you to follow. He wraps around your will with practiced words not meant for you. He pulls out a deep set desire you have spent all your life wishing to stay hidden. Blaming it on fear alone isn’t fair anymore, you want this. You follow him.

The sound of retching wakes you up. It’s like the sound scratches through your ears and drags you out of whatever tranquility you’d just been floating in. You look. It’s Bailey, keeled over with saliva and vomit dripping from the sides of his mouth, a pool of it sat grossly under him.

He’s going to kill you.

You’re sure of it, when he turns, when he finally looks your way, there won’t be a beating. He won’t have you over his knee. He will kill you. He is going to kill you.

Bailey’s eyes meet yours. They stick out stark and sharp against the early morning sun crawling through the curtains. It’s on instinct when your body pushes back and you suddenly gasp, finally noticing the pain between your legs. You’ve only looked away for a second but you know it’s enough for him to pounce.

Instead he just retches again, like your noise was confirmation for what he’s done. There’s nothing even coming out, he’s gagging on his own throat.

“Leave.”

He sounds pathetic.

“LEAVE!”