𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

38. fuck me politely.

T H I R T Y - E I G H T
fuck me politely.

"Guys, the thing that Limbrey said, I don't think she meant to let it slip," Pope thinks out loud. "She said the key leads to the Cross of Santo Domingo." He's got his stressed-thinking face on, I fear that face. It's what I saw when a science practical wasn't going in an ideal direction.

JJ sits between me and Pope, he wanted me to sit in the middle but I kindly declined and informed him that he would be sitting in the middle. For some reason, he just listened and got himself into the car. The only person who watched the interaction was John B, who shook his head with a smirk. He acts like he isn't whipped for Sarah; to be fair, JJ is a special breed.

This morning I woke up to him in the bed, a place he did not go to sleep in.

He grumbled that he got cold, which is fucking ridiculous considering it's sweltering and humid. I think what he really wanted was to grope me, as when I woke up he had the mandatory hand slid up my shirt and grabbing my tit.

For some reason, I actually believe him when he claims he doesn't know he's doing it.

We wake up, I'm clearly trying to escape his body that's as hot as the sun, and the only thing keeping me from running to North Sentinel Island is the hand grabbing my boob.

JJ looks the key over, after having a split-second fight with Pope. I'd be mad on JJ's behalf, that people don't trust him with valuables, but I am the number one person who won't give him a knife if I can help it. When we cook he stirs, I cut up the vegetables. When we bake, he's on washing and drying up, and I'm on cracking eggs. It's like having a child, you need to give him an activity so he thinks he's being helpful—in reality, the helpful thing they're doing is getting out of the way.

I have to look away from JJ as his fingertips drag over the rusted metal.

I must be about to start my period, this is ridiculous. Why am I so horny?

"Are we supposed to know what that is?" Sarah asks, sitting across from me. Her eyes scan the key, the girl is clearly trying to sort through all the rich people shit she's seen, in an attempt to fish out a relevant memory.

I'm doing the same thing.

Knowing Rafe's involvement means there had to been some kind of information he left laying around. A map, drawing, symbol, riddle, something.

At the end of our relationship, he was so confident in his place in my life—so convinced he had beaten me down enough that I would bow down to his every whim—that he stopped holding back information. To him, I was never going to spill; I was his, if he went down so would I. There was no way I'd leave him, in his mind. He saw me as an actual object, or like a pet.

Fuck that.

"I'm guessing it's some sort of historical artefact of great importance," Pope theorises. I repeat the final three words in my head: of great importance. Could he have phrased that any more pretentiously?

Sarah hums, scrolling through her phone, her thumbs move like lightning as she researches. "Well, according to the interwebs, it was a gift from New Spain to the Spanish King," she reads. Who, under the retirement age, says interwebs? Are my friend okay?

A waft of my strawberry shampoo and conditioner scent hits me in the face as JJ turns to me. He leans across. "New Spain? Is there an Old Spain?" He asks. Since when was I the historical geography genius?

I lean a little further toward him. "Fuck if I know– wait, I watched a documentary on this. I was stoned, but I'm pretty sure New Spain is just Mexico." He looks at me, hanging off every word. "You know how the UK went and did all the colonising?" He nods. "Well, Spain also did their best to conquer and help all of these poor, struggling countries, it was oh-so-generous of them. It's probably why they speak Spanish."