Clandestine | 18+

47 ~ The Blood Clock

La bohème ~ Charles Aznavour
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"Sometimes we see the clock only when the time runs down."
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After my conversation with Louis and Jossie, I headed home.

More specifically, to Pierce's home.

My head was hurting a lot. I thought that it came as a result of being inside the house for a long time, to the point where staying outside overwhelmed my senses. Which wouldn't be a stretch, considering my wound had also bothered me all day.

Finally the doors of the elevator opened, and I headed to the front door.

My head hurt. I was so tired, I had to sleep. I knocked, forgetting I had a key. I heard footsteps from the other side and the key turn. When he opened the door, he stared down at me from head to foot. To check if I was well, I realized.

"Why didn't you use your key?" He immediately said.

"Forgot." I said nonchalantly, and walked right past him.

"Who forgets they have a key of the place they live in?" he said the same moment he closed the same front door he opened. I turned around to look at him, and released an exhausted sigh. Behind me was the couch, so I just leaned against it before answering.

"I probably wouldn't forget if it was my own house." after he locked the door, he turned to look at me. He was rotating the key, between his pointy and thumb, and leaned against the door, staring at me in an expression I couldn't pinpoint.

Neither of us spoke.

I just stared into his eyes, and I thought of how I promised my team I would kill him. How Polina accused me I wouldn't and also shouldn't.

So, while staring at him, I was trying to remember where every knife was hidden in my body. I realized I only had one option, my thigh strip.

So I had to bring him close enough that me opening my thighs wouldn't be suspicious.

So I changed my expression. I let every emotion of my eyes roaming his body reflect on my face. As much as I was trying to fake it, my reaction was genuine.

And by looking at him, I was almost hungry.

His black t-shirt hugged his muscles and biceps, his neck showcased that adam apple I loved, his grey sweatpants showcased the outline of what I  desired.

"Don't lie to me. Don't fake it." He said, but his voice for the first time was a little strained.

I couldn't recognize if it was from a hint of sadness, or because he was turned on.

"Never." I answered, the lie rolling smoothly off my tongue. I licked my front teeth.

I've killed and tortured. What was a lie? And, to be exact, my reaction was nowhere close to fake.

My subconscious was telling me not to do this. It was bringing every image I had of him on his knees, cleaning my hair, to the surface. It was bringing him holding me close and changing my wound. It was him caring for me.

No one had ever quite cared for me like that. And even though my subconscious was trying to play dirty tricks on me, I knew that there, always, was a reason. And I didn't know his reason.

And starting today, I never will.

My breathing slowed down as I let myself check him out. The veins on his arms, the muscle.

His beautiful face.

His dark green eyes seemed darker, and he ran a hand through his hair. I followed that hand with my eyes.