RISK & REWARD ✔️

35 | 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘥

WHEN I wake up, I find my arms wrapped around something warm and soft and squishy. It takes me a minute to recall the events of last night; hot, breathy memories begin to stir in my head, and my breath grows briefly louder as I squeeze into Slade harder, burying my face in the soft fluff of her back.

Soft? I pause, shivering at the memory of her body on mine.

She wasn't soft. She was anything but soft.

What the hell am I holding?

I open my eyes fully, squinting as my head bumps the soft thing I'm up against. It creaks fluffily under my weight — and oh, oh. It's a pillow.

I'm in bed. I'm in bed, with my arms wrapped around my pillow and blankets wrapped around my sides. My apartment is quiet.

Slade. She's here. Right?

Surprise, surprise, Slade is gone. When I sit forward, propping myself up on my elbows, I find an empty room. The blinds are still drawn, the lights are still off. It's just me.

I'm beginning to panic. Slade was here. She was here. I know it — I'm going with her on the run. That's right. I know that. She was here, we were talking about it.

Had I fallen asleep at some point? I...I swear, we'd been...we'd...last night, and it felt so real — hell, it still does, and when my fingers fly to my neck I feel a dull painful pressure where I seem to remember her biting it — but she's gone, the room is empty.

Knock knock, knock. It comes from the door; I glance over at it hastily before I hear a low groan and sigh, and then a crown of hair appears over the edge of the couch.

A hard shiver runs down my spine as Slade appears, face toward the door. The scowl has returned to her lips; her hair's a mess, black and white tangled together on both sides of her head and curling around her face.

For the first time since I've woken up, her gaze flicks towards me. Her lids lay heavy on her eyes; liquid emerald hues blink hazily at me as Slade sniffs, face briefly wrinkling.

"Door," she rasps — and oh, good god, she's got morning (or afternoon? evening, maybe?) voice in full blast like she's still half asleep. I want to comment on it, but I don't; I just stare stupidly at her for a long second before her words catch in my head.

Door. Someone's at the door?

Knock knock, knock. Someone is at the door.

I sit up suddenly. The sheets tumble down to my hips, and a hard shiver runs down my spine as sixty-degree air hits my bare arms and the smooth coldness of the floor meets the bottom of my feet. My nightshirt hangs loosely around my shoulders as I fumble to stand up; Slade's creeping up to sit fully erect, one hand wrapped around the head cushion as if to steady herself.

Slade's hands. The little motion — her fingers ever-so-slightly squeezing the cushion — makes my breath stutter.

Down fucking horrible, I think, in disbelief at my own reaction. Dear god.

Knock knock, knock. I rub sleep from my eyes, trying to wake myself up as I shuffle over the door. My legs — thighs, mainly — are stiff beyond words, and I have to shake the hazy, shiver-inducing memories from my head as I glance out the peephole.

One watery grey eye glances right back, and a moment later I hear the voice on the other side go "You're here! Open! Open!"

My eyes widen as I glance over to Slade. Her face is still; the only indicator of her panic is the slight widen of her eyes before she looks at me.