#ocotber

By the time your set ended, the entire room felt different—thick, charged. He couldn’t tell if it was your perfume or the candlelight flickering low, but it was as if the air itself leaned toward you.

He waited until you stepped offstage, pretending not to stare.

“Yo, that was you singin’ up there?” he asked, voice a little hoarse from nerves.

You smiled—slow, deliberate. “Maybe.”

He chuckled. “Nah, don’t do that. You know it was you.”

“Then why you askin’?”

You tilted your head, curls falling into your eyes. There was a kind of knowing in your smile, like you already understood him. Like you already knew how this would end.

————

That night, you let him take you home.

Your house smelled like honey, roses, and smoke—soft but heady. A record player spun quietly in the corner, playing the song you covered just a few hours ago. Halle’s voice echoing in a low hum:

“And it’s all… it’s because I love you…”

Lamont’s eyes roamed over your space. It was cozy, but something about it felt too still. No clock ticked. No traffic hummed outside. The air was heavy, muffled—like the city had stopped just for you.

“Love you bae, I ma’fuckin’ love you babe…”

He thought about leaving.

He didn’t.

When you touched his hand, the warmth lingered a little too long. When you laughed, he swore he heard a whisper under your breath—something not in English.

He should’ve asked what it was.

————

Days turned into nights that blurred together.

Lamont fell fast—too fast. You had a way of making him forget things: missed calls, skipped studio sessions, messages he never sent. He’d catch himself staring into your eyes and lose entire minutes.

You never talked about where you came from, or what you did for work, or why there were no mirrors in your house.

He never pressed.

You made him feel wanted—consumed.

Once, when he reached for you in the dark, his fingers brushed the faint burn mark on your wrist.

“Damn, what happened here?”

“Just something I touched that I shouldn’t have,” you murmured. “Doesn’t hurt anymore.”

You rolled throwing a leg over his waist, straddling him, as you leaned in for a kiss The warmth between you was suffocating. Sweet. Addictive.

————

But something started changing.

Every night, he woke up at the same hour—3:07. The record player always spinning, the same song repeating. Sometimes he’d swear your lips were moving in your sleep, whispering to someone who wasn’t there.

He tried leaving once.

His car wouldn’t start. His phone froze on your contact photo.

When he came back inside, you were waiting by the window, smiling.

“You were gone a long time,” you said softly.

“I just went to grab—”

“Don’t lie to me, baby.”

Your voice didn’t sound angry. Just… disappointed.

He never tried leaving again.

————

The next morning, Lamont noticed something strange.

Your hands were clean, but there was red under your fingernails.

When he asked, you only smiled. “I love you,” you said.

And you kissed him before he could say another word.

In the distance, a siren wailed—someone’s house burning down across the bridge. The smoke curled up toward the sky, black and endless.

Lamont didn’t notice that the air around your apartment smelled faintly like ash.

The sunlight hit different that morning.

For the first time in weeks, Lamont woke up alone.

The sheets were still warm, soft and heavy with your scent—vanilla, honey, and a trace of smoke he couldn’t name. He rubbed his face, groggy, blinking toward the soft glow filtering through the curtains.

No record spinning.

No whispers.

No you.

He almost laughed at the relief in his chest. The kind that only comes when something you didn’t even know was wrong suddenly feels right again.

A note sat on the nightstand. Your handwriting—loopy, soft, tilted like your smile.

Enjoy your day baby. Don’t make me miss you too much.

—Yours.

He didn’t realize how much those last words weighed until he read them again. Yours.

Still, he showered, dressed, breathed air that didn’t feel so thick. For the first time in a while, he could hear birds outside.

⸻

Afternoon.

Miami heat rolled off the streets in waves. Lamont’s shirt clung to his chest as he sat outside a café, tapping his fingers to the beat of a song stuck in his head—your song.

He almost forgot what it felt like to exist outside you.

Almost.

Because even with the sunlight and noise, sometimes he swore he felt eyes on him.

Like the warmth crawling up his neck wasn’t just the sun.

Like if he turned around fast enough, he’d see you in the reflection of the window behind him—head tilted, lips parted, smiling that knowing smile.

He didn’t turn around.

⸻

That’s when she showed up—Tami, one of the bartenders from The Velvet Room.

“Damn, Lamont,” she laughed, catching him mid-sip. “Ain’t seen you in forever. You ghosted or something?”

He smiled, scratching his jaw. “Nah, just been… busy.”

“With that fine thing you be bringing around?” she teased, sipping her iced coffee.

Lamont chuckled, glancing at her reflection in the window. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

But his laugh didn’t reach his eyes.

You’d never let him bring you there. Not since the two of you met.

Tami leaned forward. “Y’all still good? Heard some wild stuff the other night—some girl from down on 14th went missing. Said the house caught fire or something.”

Lamont froze.

“Damn. That’s crazy.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. “Miami stay weird lately.”

She looked at him then, eyebrows furrowed lightly. “You alright though? You look like you ain’t slept in min..”

He forced a smile. “I’m good. Promise.”

⸻

But across the street, hidden in plain sight beneath the shade of a banyan tree, you stood.

The long linen skirt you wore brushed against your ankles, your locs pinned loosely, dark sunglasses veiling your gaze. You could feel his heartbeat from here—steady, but laced with guilt. You could taste it, even.

He was smiling at her.

You felt that familiar ache in your chest twist, coil.

Love. Possession. Magic. It was all the same thing, really.

You’d let him go because love had to look soft sometimes. It had to look like freedom. But he was never free—not really. The bond between you pulsed with every breath he took. Every word he spoke. Every glance he gave another woman.

You could feel his hand brush Tami’s when she reached for his phone to show him something funny. The energy spiked.

Your nails dug into your palm. The air around you shimmered, faintly—heat distortion or something else. A child nearby turned and stared at you, wide-eyed, before his mother tugged him away.

⸻

That night, Lamont came home late. You were sitting on the couch, candles flickering in a circle around you.

He blinked, uneasy. “You—uh—been here long?”

You smiled. “Long enough.”

He leaned down, kissed you soft. The air between you was warm, charged.

“Missed you,” he murmured.

“I know.”

You ran your hands up his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath your palm. She touched him, a voice whispered somewhere inside you. You silenced it with another kiss.

As his lips deepened against yours, pulling your shirt over your head before sitting bs I on the couch pulling you on top of him your fingers traced invisible shapes on his skin—old sigils, ancient and quiet. The faintest glow flickered beneath your touch, unseen to him.

When you whispered, “I love you,” it sounded like a prayer.

When he whispered it back, it sounded like a curse.

⸻

Hours later, while he slept, you stood at the window again.

The candles flared one by one, reacting to your heartbeat.

Far away, across the bridge, a woman screamed.

By the time sirens cut through the night, the fire had already eaten her house whole.