Don’t Let It Show

FAY

"W

hat the hell happened in here?"

Shit, Donna!

This bark of hers startles our groggy state, my waking muscles moving to Tyke's.

I grab a shiny, glittering cushion, shove it onto his sleeping eel, and begin aligning a horrible mishmash of words. No, worse, letters! "I... You know... It's a... I..." I scratch my head, hoping to find help in Tyke's demonic tiger eyes.

To simulate an off-the-cuff conversation between Donna and me, I find nothing better to increase my height than straddling Tyke, balancing myself on both knees.

This orc worsens everything. Not because of his hearty snigger while my belly juxtaposes against his face, or the way his hand cups my bum cheek. But because of this flat-out honesty strutting out of his mouth. "Ah. Funny you ask, Donna. I bumped into Fay, and?—"

"Before or after she started raining glitter?" Donna cuts in, pinching her eyebrows together.

"Before or after... What do you mean, pup?"

"Before or after you bumped into her?" my sleep-deprived roommate clarifies, sharply intoning the word bump while her bleary gaze meets me with frigid stoicism. She should quit her job. Working late hours like that... It's slavery.

I shut my eyes. As expected, Tyke falls into the rabbit hole. "Well, a little before, and much more after. But it wasn't until?—"

I hide behind the couch's backrest, clasp my hunk's nape, and slide a hand over his chatty lips, my whisper sultry but hostile, "Tyke..."

"Stop! You know what? I don't want to know," Donna fusses from the entryway.

I peek over Tyke's shoulder. Eeesh... That's her, just standing there, with her bone-chilling stare accentuating the heavy purple bags under her eyes, her rims red. Two green daggers are piercing square into my soul, probably one for her couch and one for her kitchen.

I grin maniacally, my teeth glinting at her.

Donna's stuck on something under my chin. "What's this thing around your neck?"

My slave collar!

"It's a... necklace. Tyke gave it to me." While I try to push Tyke's hand away from my channel—internally battling the tingles between my thighs—my voice derails, "It's Orcish!" This imp decided now was the perfect time to thrust a digit forth.

"Tyke!" I violently whisper, lowering my face to this beast.

His eyes glide up to me, a faint grunt weaving through his guilty smirk. "I'm looking for my key, bug."

That's so funny, Tyke!

Peering up, I exhale uneasily, taking in Donna's deeply furrowing brow.

I keep my gaze friendly, my arms concealed behind the couch's backrest, shuffling with those of an orc. "Stop it!"

"Stop what?"

"I said, show it, as in, I'll show it to you later, Donna." Her eyes thin, and now two straight lines are admonishing me, saying, I'm not buying your shit, Fay.

If she knew about the tongue soaking into my belly button or those fingers assaulting my core, her tongue would have slipped, too! Thank fuck there's this backrest.

But then one of her killer eyes winks at me. My eyebrow arches, and when I lip read, "Yas, girl," my jittery grin relapses into a timid shape of nothing.

Walking, she lets her coat slip off her shoulders and then freezes briefly on her kitchen island. "Glad to see you've kept your business clean." Eventually, she folds her jacket over her forearm and squeezes it tight against her. "Gross," I hear her mumble as she goes for her room.

I'm in a scream-like state, and I'm unsure anyone will ever understand what's vibrating in me at this instant.

Tyke pushes my legs to one side and gets up without a glance.

He doesn't wait for me this time.

Taking his steps toward the bathroom, he carries this swag that radiates habit and comfort.

I frown at this display because Tyke has me in his clench, and he knows it.

Or maybe he's elsewhere.

And maybe I know he is.

Because he's a liar.

And a pretty bad one.

Tyke and I shared a shower.

He washed me. His hands insisted.

My smile let him and my body loved it.

Yet...

Neither he nor I said a word.

I stall in front of my bed, the sound of a lock turning behind me too gently to my taste.

I'm fixed on Quince's picture again.

"Still don't want to tell me who this boy is?" Tyke whispers, traveling his arms over my shoulders.

"Another time." There's an orange-dusked sky stretching behind Quince, and I smile, remembering how beautiful that day was...

He spins me around like copper wire on a battery, not fast, not slow, but with firm resolve, and pulls me close to his chest. While his fingers are busy behind my neck removing a slave collar, I stare up at my orc, who stares back, blinking slowly. "Fay."

I land my hand on his chest, attempting to soothe what I believe is hesitation. "What is it?"

"These flowers caught my eye last night." Tyke nods from left to right and a rasp traps between his lips. "Why so many?"

"It's this friend, Deon," I say softly, stroking his arm, my fingers absentmindedly reaching his cheek until the mound of a faint scar meets my fingertips.

He blinks heavily, shutting his eyes as if pain sears somewhere in his body. "Bug, I—" Tyke's head is waving softly to probably a heart beating a little too much. Whatever he's about to say, I'm grounding with my body, savoring my mind rush, assuming the obvious in my monster fixation, my bones relaxing at every bite he inflicts on his lip.

But then, my teeth grate. There's anxiety in Tyke's eyes, lines faintly creasing under them. "I've been assigned to a unit in Los Demones. I don't know when I'll be back."

My jaws tense, teeth about to chip away.

I need him.

My legs are giving me the feel of simple bars holding me, and I couldn't be more grateful for this bed frame kissing the back of my knees. "Work?" I titter.

He nods apologetically.

"When?" My purr is so fake, plastic. But I catch up on things, walking some fingers over his chest, playing it so well that it hurts.

"Next Monday."

Next Monday...

My inner self struggles to scrape at any remaining hope, whirling with a growing panic attack. "Where?"

Tyke exhales deeply and breathes out, "Can't say."

My smile hurts. I hate it every time he leaves for those missions. He once disappeared for two whole months! And I shudder a little, because, yes, I sense an undercover, dangerous covert mission.

I'm able to cope with it. At least so far...

The issue is that things between us have evolved, and now, I dread this hollow sensation that lurks in the back of my head. From the moment he leaves, it will turn into a concrete press, crushing me between hell's ground and my chest, and this time, there will be no hookups to numb the feeling...

I climb onto the bed, pretend nothing is wrong, stretch my wings, and lift the blanket.

"Fay..."

"Nothing new for us, nay worries, bear." I chuckle, slipping under the sheets. My ears pin back to the distinctive rattling of my bedside table drawer sliding open, followed by a metallic object thudding against the bottom. The sound of my slave collar snips at the back of my head, reminding me that recess is over. I shut my eyes, the tinkling of it still ringing in my head, triggering an excess of adrenaline. There is nothing like it. It is the worst rush, the most anxiety-ridden feeling ever. One of abandonment.

Usually, when I feel these waves coming, I can manage to fight them off.

Not tonight.

There's a cramp in my stomach, and I feel like I'm going to fall apart. I must be cursed or something. It's like every start of the week, bad luck takes it out on me like I'm a punching bag. There's no doubt about it anymore. It's a shit fact; Mondays suck!

Pulling the sheets up right over my face, I turn onto my side, showing my back to him because I can't face this.

"Fay."

I can't see him, but I know he hasn't moved an inch.

"Please turn the light off. Me wants to snuggle, bear. You snuggle?"

To my invitation, a faint simper streams between his words, "Yes, bug... I snuggle."

Snuggle me, Tyke.

I need it so fucking much.

The sheets bristle as he presses down on the mat, and I am soon secured in his arms as his sage-like breath flows with mine. I'm getting the wrong rush again; it's pushing from inside, trying to run through my eyes. Why can't I just act normal for once?

"Would the Mets cheer you up?" he whispers. "This Sunday? You and me? As initially planned..." Tyke turns me around, and soon, I taste the salt of his skin, skin which once made me realize how starving I was before he happened...

I don't say a word, trading my unborn tears for a pout against his chest. Don't think your lame deal will work, Tyke. Then again, my lips are stretching too far over his skin to keep them in a tight bundle of grudges. And as my orc exhales lightly between the crack of our merged bodies, I smile over his nipple ring.

"I'll take that as a yes."