The Guily Ones

Unanswered Questions

I was yanked out of my stuper so forcefully, my head was spinning and my stomach did a flip. Dry heaving I bent over, trying not to throw up. 

Furious, I got up from the floor and rubbed my aching backside.
How many times had that bastard thrown me out of his bed now?
Eventually, this would have to stop. Even for Mr. Sex-on-legs himself.

"I'm leaving," I growled, striding purposefully toward the door.

Faster than my suddenly night-vision-capable eyes could register, Eric stood in my way. Naturally, he towered over me in both height and width, needing to do little more than block my path to keep me from leaving. Briefly, I considered trying to push him aside, but even before attempting it, I knew how futile it would be. So, I sighed.

"Get out of my way, Eric."My voice was tense. So was my body.

"No," he said flatly, motioning for me to sit back on the bed. I turned my head toward the smoldering bed frame and raised an eyebrow.

"Really? The bed's on fire!" I pointed out the obvious.

"And I'm not even between the sheets..." Eric retorted dryly, his eyes glinting dangerously. "This was the second attempt on my life by your hand. Next time you plan an attack, make it more precise."

Oh... oh fuck no!

The whole situation with Tom had distracted me so much that I had completely forgotten the most obvious danger of all.

Eric. 

More precisely, Eric's awareness of my vengeful intentions. How could I have forgotten that? Slowly but surely, I was beginning to doubt my sanity. Maybe I'd been too close to death too often. Perhaps I'd left the last few brain cells I had on the verge of death—or drowned them in bourbon long before that...

It felt as if part of my memory was missing...like there was a...hole? Suspiciously, I eyed Eric while touching the back of my head, which, miraculously, seemed to have healed. I wondered if Eric had the ability to literally burn holes into people's memories.

My thoughts raced as I tried to make sense of the situation. My instinct for flight grew stronger. While Eric, in a motion almost imperceptible to my eyes, smothered the little flame still flickering from the bed with a curtain, I saw my chance.

With a pounding heart, I turned the door handle and...nothing happened. What the hell?! I tried again. Once. Twice. Using all my strength—and my trademark stubbornness—but nothing happened.

A bad feeling crept over me. Alarmed, I whipped my head around. My suspicion was confirmed.
Behind the curtain Eric had so heroically torn down, there was no sign of the outside world—just thick, opaque blinds. Or...wait, was that concrete? 

Holy shit.

"Where are we?" I asked Eric, who was piercing me with his gaze. My voice didn't sound as steady as I wanted it to. Old fears and claustrophobia crept into my tone. I hated small spaces—especially after the lovely memories of Tom and the elevator, which would likely be etched into my mind forever. Memories that, despite how things had turned out, still made me break out in a cold sweat whenever I found myself in four walls without an obvious exit. I tried not to wipe my clammy hands on my pants in front of Eric.

When his face twisted into a slight grin, my heart sank even lower. This wouldn't end well...
"Really? That's what you're hung up on? Not the fact that the spark between us has literally set the bed on fire?" He shook his head. "Got to admit, that's a new one, even for me."

His question threw me off. Not just the completely inappropriate phrasing (though I had come to expect such remarks from Eric), but also the fact that he seemed, as he put it, "hung up" on that.