RISK & REWARD ✔️

33 | 𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘪 𝘣𝘪𝘵𝘦

SELFISH. That's how Slade describes herself. Selfish.

She's selfish for letting me tag along on her wild chase. She's selfish for accepting my help on the night that Pierce made her crash her bike. She's selfish for letting me try to clean her apartment. She's selfish for so much as letting me speak to her during those nights at the Doghouse.

I refuse to let myself think it's because of the reason I want it to be. I refuse to let myself think that she's being quote-unquote selfish because she has some lingering feelings for yours truly. Especially because she says all of that as she's starting to pace; her hands are lost under her hair, and she refuses to meet my eyes. She's getting herself worked up; I try and fail to get her to sit down and just relax. I fail mainly because every time I try to move away from the wall, Slade turns and comes striding back, ranting scornfully about that bastard, that greedy bastard — but I shouldn't say that, because I'm just as bad, right? I'm taking you with me and I might get you shot or put in prison because I c...I can't..."

I finally get tired of it. A, because she's not exactly watching her steps and she may or may not be building up to warrant a call from my downstairs neighbors, and B, the way she's going on about it makes it sound like she's the only variable in this situation.

She actually keeps on walking even after I grab her wrist. It takes me several tugs and gradually-louder calls of her name for me to actually get her attention; awkwardly, I entwine our fingers and pull her around to the couch.

"Sit. Breathe." I urge her down. "There are people living downstairs, Slade. They'll hear you."

Slade huffs. Collapses down onto the couch and rakes a hand through her hair before she shakes her head and destroys any progress on making it neat she may have had. "Don't care. Think they'd agree with me, that this is stupid, this is so stupid — it's selfish, I'm being selfish, I —!"

"Slade!" I want to slap her across the face. "I'm here, too! I'm asking — begging, actually — to go with! I want to go!"

"And I should say no," she shoots back, eyes squeezing shut. "I should tell you no 'cause it's dangerous and it's gonna get you hurt."

"I'll be fine." I scoot forward just a little, trying to get her to look at me. "Whatever happens, I asked for. I'm asking for it, Slade."

Her eyes open. They're glassed over, like she's looking past the couch and the floor into something unknown. "Don't say that," she mutters, mouth curving down. "You don't know what you're gettin' into."

"So I'll learn." I lightly punch her knee in frustration, nails poking at the soft fleece-y material of her sweatpants. "I'm not stupid, and I can learn from you. I'll be fine. We'll be fine."

Silently, Slade's gaze flicks over to where I'm now loosely holding onto her knee. Her eyes darken; her nostrils flare.

"You don't know what you're gettin' into," she repeats, quieter this time. Her tone has gone from frantic and deprecating to...something else. There's something else.

I gulp. Here we go, the other point we need to discuss. We've addressed the first elephant in the room, kind-of, not-really; I know our next plans, now, just not any of the stuff that had happened just now (or if Slade is, actually, a hitwoman). The second elephant is a little different. Less important in the grand scheme of things, but varnished and lusty and —

"Slade," I manage, voice little more than a breath, "Slade, what was that?"

I'm referring, obviously, to the not one but two passionately-spontaneous short makeout sessions we've taken part in. The thought alone makes heat rise to my face.