"It's fine...it's fine."
The words dragged out of that security man like something half-asleep, lacking even the courtesy to smile. His remained dull—blank in a way that wasn't innocent, just.....unoccupied. As if thought itself was optional.
I gaze lowered itself, letting a soft apology form. "I'm sorry." Few words to be seemed correct, words to be seemed light—just like those graceful ladies.
I didn't wait of the response. Instead, I turned, letting the moment dissolve before it could settle, and eased myself onto the edge of the glass frame behind me. Beneath it, arranged in sterile neatness, lay the remains of people who had once believed they would live longer than this. Bones arranged in cleaned categorized manners—still forgotten.
"My goodness…." I murmured, voice barely above a whisper—barely, but not quite. "How did people live in those times…..?" a pause. A soft one. Measured. "We are still better…..aren't we?" I spoke without looking at him with a gentle smile stretched over my face.
Silence stretched between us. Then—
"Life isn't equal." His voice cut through it—not loud, but suddenly present—as expected.
I turned my head towards him. He wasn't dozing anymore. Not entirely.
His posture had shifted, attention pulling itself together just enough to focus. Late forties, perhaps. Hair too deliberately bleached, as if resisting time like any other. And his eyes—dark. Not empty—weighted... as though something had settled inside them long ago and refuse to leave.
"We're still just surviving," he added with a slight sniff.
I let my gaze linger. Long enough. Just enough—there as it was descripted. The rings—right thumb, left index... exactly where they should be. A faint smile brushed across my lips—maybe an act to make him think my interest in him.
Outwardly, I only titled my head, stepping closer by a fraction. "Why do you think so?"
He didn't reply instantly. His eyes slipped away from mine—just for a second—but it was enough. Neither shyness nor modesty…. Avoidance.
"You wouldn't understand young lady."
Of course—that's what all said. As if this understanding required some certification. As if I hadn't already passed that threshold long ago, back when they killed my brother, back then when all they had left was accusation.....maybe it was from the start when they abandoned us.
I smiled faintly—small, polite, harmless—trying to cover my façade. "I see…."
My gaze shifted, deliberately drifting towards a fractured display nearby. "This one," I pointed gently. "Do you know...…."
The hook sank effortlessly.
He stepped closer, his voice shifting as he begun to speak—details spilling out with quiet eagerness. Dates. Incidents. Fragments of history he had likely repeated a hundred times before. Seemed like his interest field.
I listened. Or rather—allowed him to believe I was listening when I was dissecting him whole open with my eyes. Couldn't quiet say for the man to have clean past with those slight scar marks left on his hands and side of the neck—something not abuse can create, more like happened through intentions.
A soft nod here. A quiet question there. My tone lowered, smoothened, shaped into something fragile enough to invite trust. Every word placed with measurement. Every action played as placed.
Interested. Gentle. Time travelled between us.
Minute by minute his voice grew steadier, warmer—confidence creeping in where hesitation once sat. His shoulders relaxed. His gaze returned, lingering longer now.
Predictable.
By the time the dimming lights signaled closing hours, he was no longer speaking to a stranger.
"I'll have to go now, my lady," he said in reluctant but still composed manner. "You should leave as well."
I rose slowly, smoothing the fabric of my dress. "Of course."
A pause. Then, lightly— "Would you like to join me for an ice-cream?"
He blinked, caught off guard, "Ice cream?"
A faint smile touched his lips—uneven, but real this time.
"What kind does my lady likes"
'My lady' oooffffff what an off word for some stranger, only if Theo called that way someday…..these thoughts irritates me. "Anything," I said softly, meeting his gaze just enough. "If it's offered by a generous man." Nah, I like butterscotch flavor, with some chocolate herseys, fruit tastes one I hate the most.
We went downstairs together, all laughter and chit-chats now. He told me to stand outside for a while. Standing outside I was staring at the same old block which once hold that massive ambush. While my thoughts still running back and forth to that man's distinct identity which I still wasn't sure about.
I was still plotting some schedule when he I saw him returning—slightly hurried, slightly refunded.
Changed.
Clothes adjusted. Hair smoothed. The illusion of something better carefully reconstructed.
We walked together since then.
The city had thinned by then, its noise reduced to distant murmurs and scattered light. Movements existed, but without urgency.
He chose a restaurant that tried too hard to appear elegant. Soft lightnings. Polish tables. The quiet clink of cutlery masking the emptiness beneath it.
We sat. He paid it all.
"You look...… gorgeous, my lady."
The lips curled at the end. A soft smile. But no reply from my side—not yet.
"Just like her—"
"Her? Your past?" I asked in a bit flirty tone.
"Better actually. You are more beautiful.
Measured one. "Am I?"
He leaned sightly forward with a flirty smile on his brink. "Yes."
I let the moment linger—just enough to reward him.
"Thank you." That's all it took. But gosh, I couldn't speak the peak of cringe feeling inside me now.
His eyes lingered on my actions, peeking chance to have a contact every while possible. Honestly no matter how many times do I replay this game—this part is still uncomfortable. There's no fun in being taken as a toy knowing those intensions behind. But only once I won't have any issue—if Theo did...…I did enjoy rather.
...
The restaurant dissolved behind us, its polished lights fading into something distant, irrelevant.
He didn't ask further. Just walked forward like some dominant lead role you did easily find in males.
I followed. Simply..... all as predicted.
The streets thinned gradually, the city shedding its polished skin. Lights dimmed into a dull flicker, corners deepened, and the air itself seemed less... accountable.
Then—
The motel.
Old. Seemly quiet—but wasn't. Was that one forgettable type, but still noted in the diaries of some huckkkk.
Perfect somehow. I let my steps slow, just enough to appear uncertain. "Where are we heading, gentleman?" soft, curious tone. A harmless question wrapped around a deliberate observation.
"You can call me Gease….Ahh we are heading nowhere special," he said looking back, his lips curled strange kind of smile while those eyes spoke for the creepiness in him. "Look rough outside, but inside…it's peaceful."
Peaceful.
I almost smile.
...…..
The moment I stepped inside, something settled against my skin,
It wasn't fear. But recognition.
Dim yellow lights clung weekly to the walls, leaving corners thick with shadow. The air was stale, unmoving—like it had been inhaled too many times and never released.
He just paid few bucks to the man at the counter. That long beard one seemed like manager—still quiet casual for such job. There was no staff to even bother to share a glance at me stunk behind him. Even that beardy couldn't bother more, his hand moved in the revised rhythm but the eyes didn't lift once.
I looked around….looking foolish like some kid inspecting a new place dragged to. Perfect though—no cameras, no records, no questions.
Again to start with—that kind of place that don't ask names, the ones which doesn't even want to remember faces either. I liked that—only if the whole city was like this.
The corridor stretched long and narrow, swallowing our footsteps whole. Doors lined both sides, closed like sealed mouths—holding stories no one bothered to hear, or care about.
He stopped. Unlocked one—the key I remember the manager handing over while lightening his cigarette.
He let me enter first. Always. How polite...… I don't like such politeness.
The room was compact. Contained. Carefully arranged to imitate comfort, but something about it felt…..used. Not physically. Psychologically.
A bed placed too centrally. Curtains drawn too tightly. A mirror positioned to reflect more than just appearance.
I stepped slowly, letting my gaze move. Moved in towards the curtain and moved them aside—outside my eyes fell on that beautiful moon-touched sky, it was beautiful, nah it looked majestic...somewhere in between starts I could trace Theo's brows. Then I glanced downside, nothing—empty. Looked like he took the backside one. Good for me….. it's so fun to watch these prey build their own grave.
Mapping. Measuring. No escape routes needed. No witness to avoid. I closed the curtains after a minute or so.
He closed the door behind. The click echoed. Final.
"You're quiet," his voice cold enough to pull me back.
I let my fingers brush the table lightly as I sat on the edge of that bed, grounding into the role. "Just... looking around." Imitating those soft girls I often see at cafes.
He stepped closer. I didn't move. Not yet.
"I like that," he murmured, having his eyes back and fourth over me and then the surrounding. Pretty disgusting intend. However, I liked that too.
The conversation shifted. Not deeper. Just heavier. Layered with implication. Expectation. Somewhere in between we reached the words back to our past. Interestingly I have a new one with each encounter. It's so fun to make one every time for assumption of oneself too that it could be true.
There comes his past again. "I was almost married to her....."
There was he. I looked at him. Let the curiosity bloom slowly. "Her hairs were close to yours."
Of course she did. Those sort of people always compared. As if memory can be replaced by resemblance.
"What happened to her?" I asked gently. No, I wasn't interested in listening to this trashy story, I am not paid to be any therapist though. But still, it's no fun to kill directly.
There was a pause in him, as if framing what to do say. Not for grief. "She had cancer." Flat. "She died."
And then—that smile. Thin. Crooked. "But it doesn't matter."
My gaze held him, still. "Doesn't it?"
He stepped closer again, as if proximity could replace what he lacked. "Because now....now we can be together." A slight flirtatious smirk. "We are destined, aren't we?"
How easily people discard what they pretend to mourn—the thought cut through me.
I lowered my gaze slightly, letting a faint embarrassed color my expression. "On don't say things like that."
He leaned in closer, reached for my neck. I let him almost touch— then pull back. No rejection. Delay. "Not so quickly." My fingers pressed lightly against his chest, guiding him away.
His expression tightened. Guess I hurt his ego. "You're demanding," he still spoke with a smile meant to comfort maybe—but was looking creep as heck at that moment.
I smiled. Slow. Controlled. Good—irritation makes them careless. "Would you rather I wasn't?"
The room pressed in around us. Too quiet. Too willing. As if it had seen this before—again and again. But that thought didn't disturbed me. It settled.
I stepped closer this time. Closing the distance myself. His breath stiffened.
Expectation sharpened.
I caught his tie, pulling him slightly down. Control. Subtly immediate.
"If you like me....." I murmured, voice soft enough to blur intention, "is it because I remind you of her?"
"It doesn't matter." His reply came straight—too fast.
It's so idiotic to play with such scums now. All it takes is not a person. A shape—a replacement.
My hands slipped lower while his gaze were lewdly fixed on my cleavage. Such pervert people exist—even I was one, but only for my man. Only if one day Theo saw me with the same thirst—maybe I would die of butterflies in my stomach.
Along the slit of my dress, at the back I always kept. Hidden –a familiar piece. The metal met my skin—cold, steady, reassuring.
I looked up. Held his gaze while hand still at the back. Locked it.
"Then....." a breath, barely there. "Be with her," I was still looking down.
"What—"
"I said—RETURN TO YOUR EX" my hand stabbed sharp against his chest, I slightly fixed my gaze upwards with that mischievous smile playing, just to have a look—what kind of expression was he making?
There was confusion flickered across his face. Slow. Delayed. Then—understanding. Too late.
The moment collapsed instantly, his body reacting before his mind could fully catch up. A sharp tension ran through him, a fractured attempt to fort sound—cut short.
Silence. Contained. His strength faded quicker than expected.
They never fight as much as they think they will.
Done....