Bad guy (REWRITTEN)

Chapter 13

                             Anna

The red light hit like a slap when I shoved the sheets off—harsh, bleeding through half-drawn blinds, turning the room into something between a crime scene and a fever dream. My skull throbbed in time with my pulse. Thick cotton shirt swallowed me whole, sleeves dangling past fingertips, hem brushing mid-thigh. No bra. No panties. Just skin and the faint musk of someone else's laundry detergent mixed with last night's smoke and spilled liquor.

I sat up too fast. The room tilted. Bed too big. Walls too dark. Jewelry scattered across the nightstand like spilled secrets: chains tangled in silver knots, skull rings glinting dull under the red glow, one heavy band catching my eye—same jagged etching I'd seen on her finger yesterday.

Footsteps. Soft. Bare.

"You can keep that one if you want it"

Voice low, amused, still carrying the rasp of cigarettes and late hours. I jumped hard enough the mattress creaked.

Billie leaned in the doorway, hip cocked, wearing nothing but loose black boxer briefs and an open flannel that barely skimmed her navel. Hair damp, green roots darker when wet. Eyes steady, amused, tracking every twitch of my face.

I dropped the ring like it burned. "Sorry"

She crossed the room in three lazy strides, handed me a glass of water and two white pills. "Hangover mercy. Swallow."

I stared at them. "What if—"

"Not poison." She smirked. "Though if I wanted you dead I'd have let you sleep in your own vomit on the sidewalk"

I dry-swallowed one, chased it with water. The cold shocked my throat. She took the empty glass, set it aside, then sat on the edge of the mattress. The dip pulled me half toward her without permission.

"Food's coming. You threw up everything but your dignity last night. Barely"

I groaned, dropped back against the pillows. "Kill me now"

"Later" She stood. "Pancakes. Your favorite, apparently. You screamed it at me in the car"

Heat flooded my face. I yanked the blanket higher.

She left. Returned with a plate, golden edges, syrup pooling and a mug of tea that smelled faintly of honey and chamomile. She handed them over, then sat again. Closer this time. Thigh brushing mine through the sheet.

I ate in silence. Every bite tasted like shame and gratitude. When the plate was clean she took it, set it on the nightstand, watched me stretch like a cat that didn't quite trust the hand offering scratches.

"Better?"

I nodded. "Thanks. For... everything"

Why am i even thanking her for?

She tilted her head. "You really don't remember?"

My stomach dropped. "Should I?"

A slow grin spread. "You were loud. And very curious about your own anatomy"

I stared.

"You yelled—direct quote—'Billie, do I have tits?' I said yes. You cried because you couldn't see them in the dark. Then you tried to climb into my lap to show me. I buckled you in instead"

I buried my face in my hands. "I'm never drinking again"

"Liar" She laughed soft, real. "But you were cute. Pathetic. Endearing. All three"

I peeked through my fingers. "You didn't... take advantage"

Her expression sobered. "No. I don't fuck people who can't say yes without slurring. That's not my game"