181 Days of Madeline Jesty

Chapter 64: Future

Mom didn't join us for dinner, but she had Suzy instruct the maids to cook anything Mrs. Angelita wanted. Honestly, I felt envious. She rarely asked me what I wanted for dinner.

After eating, Suzy led Mrs. Angelita and Mickey to one of the guestrooms. I gave Mickey a faint smile as I headed toward my room and filled the bathtub with hot water to make my back pain and cramps more tolerable. My menstruation should have started two days ago, but worrying about Mickey probably got me delayed.

"I hope it won't start today," I mumbled to myself. It would be such a wasted opportunity since Mickey was here.

I sighed. It felt wrong lusting over Mickey when they just survived a natural calamity. But what could I do? What more could I do? Only about a hundred days were left for me, and Mickey was the only person who could keep me sane. The only person who could make me forget that I would soon die.

Maybe it was the way she touched me with care, as if I were a newly discovered antique treasure, then with a compulsive, aggressive urge to make hers and hers alone. Or was it the way she swirled her tongue until my whole body quivered in intoxicating pleasure? The way she cared for me after a passionate time together? She whispered words in my ears like no other man—no, I wouldn't even like her to be a man. I wanted her.

I knew this desire was physical, but the world knew I couldn't let feelings that were attempting to bloom prosper. It was our agreement, after all, to be a tool to each other, albeit one-sided. I would use her for the "story" I was writing, and in exchange, I would let her want me. But with the thought of Mickey spiraling in my head, it seemed the other way around.

Water streamed down my chin, a droplet eventually falling into the tub water. The plop made me watch the water ripple, revealing a blurred reflection of my face and the hourglass over my head.

"Fuck this," I said as I struck the water.

I finished taking a bath and dressed up, combed my hair, and applied oils and scents. No mirrors, so I didn't know how I looked, but my body tingled to see her. I decided to pass by the guestroom to ask them if they felt comfortable.

I was already in front of the door, eyes settled on the doorknob. Taking a deep breath, I opened my door, surprised to see Mickey already a few steps away from my door.

Before anyone would see us, I grabbed her hand and pulled her into my room, leaned her against the door, and locked it. My heart was pounding so fast, I could hear every beat. I didn't know why I did what I just did, but here we were, facing each other, as if we were hiding.

She smelled like mint.

I pulled away and gulped. "I-I'm sorry. I was just . . . carried away." When she didn't reply, I looked up. She had a smirk on her face, seemingly liking it.

"Miss me so much, don't you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, whatever."

"You still writing?"

I heard the challenge in her voice. She was not asking about my story; she was asking if I could still tell her that all of this was casual. An agreement. Nothing serious. Just an angsty teenager wanting to finish writing her story by collecting experiences.

"Yeah," I answered, turning around and walking toward my study table.

"So many papers," Mickey replied.

I was facing away from her, so I couldn't see the expression on her face, but I could hear her approaching. I thought she would stand next to me, but to my surprise, she gently bumped her pelvis to my backside, her arms and her body trapping and pushing me onto the table. She slightly pulled my neckline by biting it before I felt her warm lips trailing from my shoulder to my nape.