I woke with a jolt, stirred from a dream that wasn’t mine.
Alice was murmuring in her sleep, words tangled and soft, lost in the haze of unconsciousness. Her nose twitched, delicate and restless. Then, suddenly—her eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, they wandered, unfocused, flickering like candlelight before finding me.
“Babe,” she whispered, voice rough and cracked from sleep, “I dreamt you weren’t here.”
Then, without hesitation, she pulled me into her arms, holding me tight.
“Don’t do that to me again.”
I hadn’t realized I’d done anything. But if I could, I would do it again—so I could feel her holding me like that again.
I was learning that Alice was utterly Alice in the morning. Hopelessly lost, as if waking in another dimension, she only took seconds to boot up. The only real difference was what software she was running.
The slow, seductive temptress. The warm, tender carer. Or… just Alice.
This morning, it was something else.
A solemn, quiet grace.
Her system wasn’t configured for solemn grace, so I had to get us started.
That morning, I flung her clothes at her, ushered her into the bathroom, giggled in the mirror, and led her to breakfast.
“Oh,” Henry said, barely looking up from his book. “I know what this is.”
He poured me coffee and handed me buttered toast. On the other hand, Alice was served tea with honey and a slice of rye bread spread thick with plum and apricot jam.
“It’s her mid-week lull,” he continued. “That day between realizing she’s visiting her mother and coming down from visiting her mother. She dreads going but always comes back with a different glow.”
Alice’s weekends—getting into trouble—were no longer just my mystery. They were a stark realization.
And I think it was my face that brought her back.
“What is it, babe?” she asked, brushing away a strand of curls that had decided to come alive.
“Your weekends,” I said, hesitant but unable to hide the need in my voice.
She stopped mid-chew. Her freckles danced under the bridge of her nose as she wrestled with a stubborn curl.
And just like that, there she was.
Alice, in full bloom.
“Oh, right! Excellent!” she exclaimed so suddenly that even Henry raised an eyebrow.
Alice smirked, grabbed my hand, and pulled me toward the stairs.
“Excuse us, Dad,” she said, already in motion. “Girl talk.”
It was one of those moments—Alice grabbing me by the arm, pulling me somewhere before I even had a chance to think. And all I could do was giggle, letting myself be led, her curls taunting me like a fiery Medusa, her eyes glinting, that smile signaling nothing but temptation.
She pulled me up the stairs, and the second the door clicked shut behind us, she let it bubble through.
“You effortlessly let me take part in your secrets, and I’ve denied you mine,” she said, almost thoughtful. Then, after a pause, tilting her head slightly, ” But… if you’re ready…”
She let it hang there—the weight of it.
I swallowed.
The air between us thickened, and the room felt smaller.
“I want you to be part of my life. All of it,” she said. The bubbling excitement faded into something more hesitant—not doubtful, just… hesitant.
“But I’m scared.”
Alice? Scared? She read my mind.
“Yes, scared,” she admitted, “but that thrilled kind of scared, you know? Eighteen and in love, and afraid of making a stupid mistake. Complicating things… as girls do.”
She was about to lose me again. My face must have shown it. Alice exhaled, shaking off whatever was threatening to pull her under.
“It’s just… if we do this, there’s no going back.”
I blinked. Confused. I realized I had to spell it out.
“Alice… what are you talking about?”
Her smirk returned, soft but sure, pulling me back in.
“Babe,” she said, settling into herself again, “come with me on the weekend. Please?”
Something inside me broke.
Not in a bad way—just… cracked and shifted. The fear that had clung to my heart, the spell of her weekends, all unraveled instantly. I hadn’t realized how much of a cloud they had been over me.
And now?
That cloud wasn’t heavy anymore. It was intriguing.
A strange feeling brushed through me, light and fleeting, like something ancient waking up inside my skin.
I giggled.
Alice blinked. “What?”
I grinned, leaning into it now.
“As long as you have me home in time for church.”
The look on her face—finally, I broke her. And then, we both collapsed onto the floor, laughing. It all felt so natural, so us.
So much so that dressing up as David didn’t feel like a burden.
Walking to the bus didn’t feel like leading myself to the slaughter.
And the ride to school? It was perfectly spent inside my thoughts.
The comments and sneers were just as relentless.
The way my desk was scribbled with taunts, how they whispered behind my back—none of it phased me.
Even when Mr. Stephens singled me out in front of the class, and the room erupted in laughter, it brushed off.
Alice had filled my head with pink unicorns. And that’s how I saw them.
Finding her note tucked under our bench made me tingly inside.
Hey gorgeous! Thanks for the laughs. You distracted me so much that I forgot to tell you—Dad won’t be home today, so you should find the key under the plant to the left unless he forgot and put it under the heart-shaped stone next to the chair. If that fails, I don’t know. Break a window. Or wait for me; I just have to
She had run out of space.
I found the key under the plant to the left, but unlocking the door and stepping inside felt… wrong.
No tuneless humming from the kitchen. There was no scent of coffee left sitting just a little too long. The house was the same, but something was missing.
Its essence.
I didn’t hurry up the stairs. My feet dragged, heavy with something I couldn’t name. Opening Alice’s bedroom door should have felt like a relief. Like stepping back into freedom.
But then I caught him in the mirror.
And just like that, every ounce of freedom pumping through me since morning drained away.
I slumped into the chair, staring.
What if it was all a lie?
Everything?
David’s reflection held me there, unmoving, his eyes dark with something close to accusation.
You’re leaving me, her, and everything you know just for a chance to get away. And you don’t even have the decency to tell her.
Worse than that.
I was falling for her.
Or perhaps just the feeling of her, of becoming more like her. Stretching for an illusion of something I wasn’t?
That’s how she found me.
“What’s wrong, babe?” she asked, her voice soft, but her hands weren’t. They stilled only for a second before everything—her bags, keys, even the glint in her eyes—hit the floor.
I swallowed.
“We… we need to talk.”
And then I broke.
I bellowed—sobbed until my chest ached, until my throat burned. I told her everything. How, after all of this—after graduation—I would leave. How the thought of stepping into nothingness terrified me. How every time I saw David in the mirror, he reminded me that no matter how beautiful this felt, none of it was deserved.
And my mother’s voice was screeching.
“Because of this, God gave them over to shameful lusts…”
A shudder ripped through me.
“Even their women exchanged natural sexual relations for unnatural ones…”
Her words, thick with disgust, wrapped around my throat like a noose.
“In the same way, men abandoned natural relations with women and were inflamed with lust for one another. They committed shameful acts and received in themselves the due penalty for their error.”
My body trembled. My hands curled into fists.
And the worst part?
I wasn’t sure if I was fighting her voice.
Or agreeing with it.
Alice said nothing.
She let me drain. Completely.
Then—that smirk. The twitch of her nose. And that unmistakable glint in her eyes.
“You had me thinking it was something serious.”
Not mocking. Not cruel. Just teasing, tender, so completely Alice.
I blinked, my breath still uneven, my chest still aching.
She leaned in, steady, certain.
“Of course you’re leaving. That’s the whole point.”
And then, effortlessly, as if it had always been decided—
“And I’m coming with you.”
“How can you?” My voice cracked, barely more than a whisper. “You’re destined for places I cannot reach…medicine, changing the world one soul at a time. College, university…”
Alice tilted her head, studying me, that ever-present twitch in her nose. Then, she sighed—not in frustration or dismissal, but like she was trying to hold back the already-forming laugh.
“My blue-eyed angel,” she murmured, shaking her head like I had missed something obvious.
She rummaged through the bags on the floor, humming absently.
“I just picked up some clothes, you know… for him. Frankly, he’s starting to smell, and he doesn’t need that in addition to—oh, here it is.”
She plucked something small from the pile—a delicately wrapped package, tissue paper tied with a bow.
Alice, taking the time to wrap something carefully?
I blinked at it, then at her.
“Here.” She pressed it into my hands, her voice softer now. “It just made me think of you.”
While I had been sitting here, wallowing in doubt, drowning in my insecurity, she had been out there holding my world together. She wasn’t just fleeting through the moments—she was preparing for tomorrow, next week.
My fingers trembled as I carefully undid the tie, peeling back the tissue paper.
Inside, nestled in the delicate folds, was a tiny glass butterfly on a silver chain. Its blue wings—my blue—mirrored the color of my eyes.
A butterfly.
Transformation.
Rebirth.
The caterpillar that had entered her house, found its cocoon, and now…
Alice had unwrapped my cocoon, and now, the world was gettng ready to tremble under the flutter of my wings.
“Medicine? College? University?” she echoed, shaking her head. “Babe, I’m just desperately trying to fix this one soul that matters.”
She kissed me.
Soft, certain, like she needed me to understand something bigger than words.
“You still don’t get it, do you?” she whispered against my lips. “Why David needs his diploma? It’s the one ticket we need to get the fuck out of here and live.”
Again, settling me in something that remarkably resembled comfort.
I carry that butterfly on me to this day.
“So, where is Henry today? On those days, he’s gone?” I asked as Alice rinsed our plates.
She paused, flicking a glance at the window as if the answer might be written in the sky.
“Dad? What’s today—Wednesday?”
For all her presence, Alice was always strangely someplace else, like she existed in a time zone not entirely her own.
“Wednesdays, he’s St. Henry,” she said, and there it was—that slip of tenderness, unguarded, revealing more than she meant to—a quiet kind of pride.
“He teaches night school. Kids who struggle. Part of the juvenile rehabilitation program.”
She saw the questions still lingering on my face.
“Those other nights? He’s giving lectures at the library. Sometimes, he’s at city hall, trying to knock some sense into our politicians. But most nights? It’s just an excuse to drive to McCullen’s farm, stare at his frozen field, and pretend he’s planning this year’s crop.”
She hesitated just for a second, then smirked.
“Oh, and to test old McCullen’s moonshine. Y’know, for quality control.”
“How does it feel… being left alone so often?”
“Alone?” She tasted the word, rolling it over like she wasn’t sure if it applied to her. “No. Dad’s absence comes with a lesson learned. Kids today will starve to death in front of the fridge. They’ll drown in the heap of their laundry. Not me.”
She dried her hands, and the look she sent me let me know I was in danger.
“Besides,” she said, sliding onto my lap, her voice burning hot, “it gives me a perfect chance to dry hump my girlfriend in the kitchen.”
As if I wasn’t hot enough.
Wednesday, she had said, which meant tomorrow was Thursday.
And showers.
***
Henry was still fast asleep when Alice shut the door behind me.
The thrift store was full of everything David when Alice went there the day before, and she knew him well enough that no one would notice any difference.
It wasn’t comfortable, exactly, but there was something… relaxing, maybe? About letting his feet guide me to the bus.
It didn’t stop me from hunching lower when waiting by my old house, but he had a steadiness—his presence, familiarity, and simple way of existing.
And somehow, that steadiness made it easier to stay inside the bubble.
Not one that had been built for me.
But one I was growing into.
As I stepped onto the bus, Dwight’s voice hurled at me, like it always did.
But today? I felt like blowing him a kiss. Flashing him a smile that told him, “This? Oh, honey, you can’t have this.”
Only…he could.
The heat in my face dragged me back into David’s world.
But I was still safe inside my bubble.
My mind didn’t wander like it used to, and my eyes didn’t flinch, chasing every whisper.
I found a sort of steady attention, and Mr. Stephens’ words actually carried meaning.
Gym class, however?
I guess Dwight had been waiting.
I was running, trying to keep up—with my team’s direction, the score, and the impossibly difficult task of catching a basketball that was rarely thrown my way.
Then, his eyes. That half-smirk. That fraction of a second where he saw me before I saw him.
And then—impact.
A freight train. Air punched from my lungs. The sting of polished wood slamming into my skin. The world snapping sideways.
A sharp whistle.
Foul!
I barely heard it over the ringing in my ears. The court tilted. My ribs ached. My arms shook as I tried to push myself up.
By the time I found my breath—really found it—the game had moved on, and the boys were in the showers.
The bubble was still there.
But I felt the cracks.
My crimson band-aid appeared in the empty hallway.
“You okay?” she asked, not in passing.
“You should see the other guy,” I tried.
“Oh, I saw him,” she said, gaze locking onto mine. “Guided promptly to the principal’s office. I think he was a size smaller, even.”
She always found a way to make me smile.
Her gaze drifted up and down the hallway. Then she leaned in.
Too close.
My pulse spiked, and my breath caught in my throat. My body tensed—not here, not now, not at school—but before I could move and panic, her lips were on mine.
Soft. Certain.
Warmth flooded through me, drowning out the shock, the fear, the instinct to pull away.
Because it was Alice, and Alice never did anything by accident.
And in that moment, the cracks in my bubble didn’t just mend.
They disappeared entirely.
I didn’t notice she had let go until I heard the faint clatter of the door, the distant voices, a burst of chatter from the other side—casual, meaningless, the hum of students moving through their day as if nothing had happened.
As if the world hadn’t just shifted beneath my feet.
Then, the slam.
That loud, empty crash only school hallways can create, reverberating through the silence she left behind.
I was still standing there.
My eyes closed.
Her scent lingered on my skin.
I tried asking her about the kiss that night.
She only shrugged. “I saw a friend who needed some comfort.”
Then, that smirk. That unmistakable twitch of her nose.
“And my lips? Pretty damn comfortable.”
I couldn’t muster the strength to find David the following day. I needed to stay me, wrapped in the comfort of Alice’s bed. Maybe even finally find out how The Fellowship of the Ring ended.
And, to my surprise, Alice was okay with that.
“There’s ice cream in the freezer,” she said, stretching lazily. “I’ll let Dad know you’re home so he can make some soup.”
Home.
It didn’t hit me until Boromir swore allegiance to Aragorn exactly what she’d said. She didn’t say here.
She said home.
I was in the middle of my third serving of soup, listening to Henry dissect the absurdity of religion with keen interest, pulling apart everything I’d been force-fed since birth when Alice stumbled in the door.
“Yeah, don’t mind me,” she pouted, “I guess some of us have to work.”
Noticing I was still in her pajamas, she just shook her head.
“Have you done anything at all?”
“Yes,” I said with my prettiest smile.
“I’ve been healing.”
And not even Alice could counter that.
She just smiled—that small, knowing kind of smile, the one that meant pride.
She sat down, served herself what was left of the soup, and let Henry and I continue our conversation. Her eyes were tenderly locked on me, making me blush before her father.
It wasn’t until we headed upstairs that I noticed the shift in her.
It was not obvious or dramatic—just a subtle tension in her movements—a flicker of impatience in the way she tapped her fingers against her thigh and the quick glance toward the clock.
A let’s get going kind of energy.
I had indulged in my comfort so much that I had wholly forgotten—we were going to her mom’s house.
She rummaged through her dresser, her closet, and every pile of clothing scattered across her room. Picking something up, discarding it almost in the same motion.
“Make yourself useful,” she said, draping fabric over me without a second thought.
Skirts and pants in my left hand, tops and sweaters in my right, scarves slung over my shoulders, and—somehow—my fingers became hooks for her underwear.
A slow, creeping realization.
Hooks for our underwear.
My face burned.
She wasn’t done, though. Stripping down to her underwear, she pulled on something not quite Alice. Not quite as rebellious. Thrifted and colorful, sure, but muted—toned down, as if she were softening her presence.
She studied herself in the mirror, tilting her head and frowning slightly. Then, as if remembering I was still standing there—still serving as a human coat rack—she turned back with a soft, almost sheepish smile.
“Sorry, babe,” she murmured, reaching for the clothes. “I’ll get those.”
She tossed them into two separate bags, slinging one over her shoulder before giving me a look that said, let’s go.
“Babe,” I giggled, gesturing to myself, still in her pajamas, “I’m not exactly dressed.”
She stopped in her tracks, and the look she sent over her shoulder told me she knew precisely what to say.
“Just how I prefer you, babe. Not exactly dressed.”
However, not missing a beat, she opened her closet and threw me a skirt, a comfy and cute sweater, and a pair of tights that clung to me like paint.
“Wow…legs, babe. Way to make a girl envious.”
And with my cheeks still warm, we slid into the backseat of Henry’s DS, heading for the bus station.
Pulling into the parking lot, we gave Henry his well-earned kisses.
“You got all you need?” he asked.
“We’re good,” Alice said, already halfway out the door. “See you Sunday, Dad!”
Henry didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure?”
Without waiting for an answer, he slipped Alice a small bag. “Knowing your mother, you’re gonna need it.”
Alice’s smirk flickered into something softer. “Dad,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You’ll never win any parenting awards, but Dad-of-the-year? For sure.”
Then, with zero hesitation—“Love you!”
The bus ride felt… off. Not in a way I could immediately place, but something wasn’t quite right.
We talked like always, easy and unfiltered—mostly about boys and girls, what turned us on and what didn’t. Alice took my quiet no in stride when she asked if I’d ever had a secret crush. Not because I didn’t want to tell her, but because there was nothing to tell.
Alice, on the other hand, had plenty to say. She practically harbored secret desires for half the boys in my class and almost all the girls.
But somewhere between her laughter and the hum of the tires on the road, something changed.
Her giggles faded. Her energy shifted.
I don’t think I’d ever seen that side of Alice before.
And for once, it was my turn to ask the question.
“Everything okay, babe?”
She turned to me, her smile brief—there, but not quite reaching her eyes.
“You’ve asked me about the weekends. About my secrets.” She exhaled, rolling her shoulders as if shaking something off. “Let’s just… let them unfold in their natural order.”
Stepping off the bus, I quickly realized there was no warm embrace waiting, no happy mother eager to greet her daughter.
Alice seemed relieved.
“First bullet dodged,” she muttered through clenched teeth, her fingers tightening briefly around the strap of her bag before she exhaled and shook it off.
It was about half an hour’s walk to her mother’s house, past streets where the houses grew smaller, older, more neglected. Where peeling paint and sagging porches told stories of time passing without care.
When we finally stopped, it was in front of a small, yellow house, its exterior weathered, tired. A single window glowed dimly, the only sign of life inside.
Alice let out a long sigh, tilting her head as if seeing it through my eyes.
“Welcome,” she said, voice light but laced with something unreadable. “To my weekend haven.”
The front door creaked open, almost as if sighing at the effort of being forced open. It smelled stale and tired, with a hint of biology class—alcohol. Scattered bottles falling out of plastic bags lined the hallway—the faint sound of a TV emanated from the living room.
Alice’s sigh signaled that this was something she’d gotten used to.
Alice nudged one of the plastic bags aside with the toe of her boot, watching as an empty bottle rolled lazily across the floor before settling against the baseboard.
The faint murmur of the TV carried from the living room—too quiet to follow, too constant to be intentional. White noise.
She didn’t call out.
Didn’t announce our arrival.
Alice let out another slow exhale, the kind that didn’t expect anything different.
“Wait here,” she said, already stepping over the mess.
Her voice was steady, but the set of her shoulders told a different story. I knew what waiting meant. So I followed.
As she entered the living room, muscle memory took over. Her mother lay passed out on the couch, a bottle still in her hand. Alice took it, placing it gently on the table before tucking a blanket around her. She moved without hesitation, without thought, like she’d done this a hundred times before. Maybe she had.
She picked up the empty bottles, gathering them into the plastic bags littering the floor. A quiet efficiency. When she turned off the TV, the room fell into thick silence, only the hum of the refrigerator in the background.
Then, she headed for the kitchen. She filled the sink, tackling the mountain of dishes. I didn’t ask. I just grabbed a towel and started drying.
She said nothing, and that was all she needed to say.
When the last plate was dried and stacked neatly into the cupboard, she turned to me with tired eyes. Tired but full of gratitude.
“Thank you,” she whispered, “You didn’t have to.”
“Neither did you,” I said.
She took my hand and led me up the stairs, fishing out a key from the pocket of her coat and unlocking the door to her bedroom.
It was nothing like Alice. Sterile. No personality, but tidy to a fault. A room that wasn’t lived in.
She closed the door and locked it behind us, finally releasing a sigh of relief.
“Why haven’t you told me?” I asked.
“Because she doesn’t define me,” she said.
“How long…” I started.
“Always.” she said, “Her love for booze and Dad’s herbology… I think, once, it was wild and fun. But then a red-haired, freckled little fur-ball crashed their world.”
She looked at me, and even then, the glint in her eye started to return.
“Dad chose the fur-ball. And really—who brags about their drunk mom on a first date?”
“So…” the apparent question burned in my throat, “why do you come back?”
“Saturdays,” she said, “I return for the Saturdays. Now get comfortable and hold me.”
***
Waking up with Alice was easy to get used to. Even in this unfamiliar house, in this strangely unlived room, it felt soothing. No lavender, no faint whiff of weed—like the room didn’t quite belong in our story. Somewhere down the hall, the silence stretched too thick, too empty, a house inhabited but never truly lived in.
But here, in this bed, there was warmth.
Waking up and watching Alice come alive—the slow rise and fall of her breath, the way her lips parted just slightly before she sighed, stirring against me. Her red hair, the usual tangle, caught the dim morning light seeping through the blinds, turning her into something almost unreal. Then, the flutter of her lashes, the slow curl of a smirk as she felt my eyes on her.
“Mm, you’re staring,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep.
“Can you blame me?”
Her nose twitched, and her fingers found my wrist, dragging me closer. And just like that, this room, this house, settled into place within our story.
Then, softer than I expected, she whispered, “Can we stay here, like this, until… well, until tonight can set it right?”
“Babe,” I said, brushing my fingers over hers, “this is your world. You tell me.”
She exhaled, barely a breath, before murmuring, “I just want it to stay un-mine… for a little longer.”
So, not knowing what else to do, I held her until she was ready.
And when she was, she moved like nothing had happened. Alice stretched, pushing her hair back, sitting up with a yawn before swinging her legs off the bed. Without a word, she pulled on last night’s hoodie, which still smelled faintly of weed and lavender, and padded into the hallway, turning halfway through the door.
“Just…stay here.”
Her look told me this time that ‘stay’ meant ‘stay.’
I listened to the clink of bottles, the rustle of plastic bags, and the low creak of the old house as she moved through it, resetting the space in the only way she could. Cleaning up her mother’s mess.
When she returned, she was tying her hair up, her eyes sharper now. Awake. Present. “Let’s get breakfast,” she said, grabbing my jeans off the chair and tossing them at me.
I caught them, watching her. “Let me help you prepare it. Let me be of some use.”
Alice snorted. “Not in this house. This house doesn’t encourage eating.” The words were casual, but there was a clipped edge to them. She grabbed her boots, slipping them on with practiced ease. “Come on. You can’t deny me coffee and pancakes with my girlfriend.”
And just like that, she made it sound easy. Natural.
Before I realized it, she had turned stepping into the world as me into a tiny piece of our day. There was no long planning for the big reveal, no sweaty palms and racing hearts with time for regrets—just one more seamless step.
I didn’t even have time to blush at my girlfriend.
Breakfast was simple, nothing fancy—a little diner a few blocks down where the coffee was bitter, and the pancakes came with too much syrup. But it was a threshold, a moment that mattered.
Afterward, Alice pulled me into the corner store, where she moved with practiced ease, grabbing milk, bread, eggs—essentials. Then, with the same casualness, she plucked a few packs of cigarettes from the shelf and tossed them onto the counter with the rest.
The cashier barely looked up. “ID?”
Alice sighed, like she was being asked to prove the sky was blue. She pulled a worn leather wallet from her pocket and flipped it open, flashing a driver’s license with a picture of her that looked just a little too polished. The name wasn’t hers, but the smirk in the photo? That was all Alice.
The cashier didn’t even hesitate; she just rang her up and bagged the groceries.
Outside, I nudged her. “Where the hell did you get that?”
She grinned, stuffing the ID back into her pocket. “Babe, I’ve been twenty-two since my last birthday.”
I laughed, shaking my head, but inside, I wasn’t surprised. Of course Alice had a fake ID. Of course she’d been getting away with it for years.
I giggled.
She looked at me with a green, questioning glance. “What?”
“I guess that almost makes you a cougar, the way you bring me into trouble.”
Alice’s smirk deepened, something slow and wicked curling at the edges. She leaned in just slightly, dropping her voice to a tone so thick with intent that my giggles froze in my throat.
“Oh, honey,” she purred, “you ain’t even tasted trouble. Yet.”
When we stepped back into the house, arms heavy with bags, Alice was humming some song under her breath, something lazy and unbothered, like she hadn’t spent the morning carrying a weight that wasn’t hers.
The groceries went to their usual places, and the house was reset for another week. Alice locked the door behind us in her room, the only space in this house that resembled something hers. She turned to me, that knowing smirk creeping back into place.
“Time to make us irresistible.”
Alice flipped through her closet with practiced ease, her fingers trailing over fabrics, textures, and choices. But there was no hesitation. She already knew what she was wearing that night. This wasn’t just picking an outfit—it was assembling a weapon.
The leather came first. She wore a black mini-skirt that barely deserved the name. The hem stopped high on her thighs, exposing the tops of her fishnet stockings when she moved. She yanked them up with a sharp snap, adjusting the tiny tears in the mesh like they were deliberate. Maybe they were.
A cropped top followed, so tight it clung to her ribs, the glossy material catching the dim light of the room. It left just enough of her stomach bare, just enough for a glimpse of toned skin beneath the hem. Over it, a jacket—fitted leather, sharp at the shoulders, sleeves pushed up to her elbows.
She turned to the mirror, rolling her lips together before reaching for the dark liner in her bag. A few strokes, smudged just right. Then the lipstick—red, deep enough to leave marks, the kind that didn’t fade with a single wipe.
She looked dangerous. She was dangerous.
Alice caught my stare in the reflection, her smirk curling slow, deliberate. “See something you like?”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry.
Her eyes flicked to mine, then lower, her smirk deepening. “Careful, babe,” she murmured, voice like silk over steel. “You keep looking at me like that, and we’re never leaving this room.”
I barely had time to swallow before her hands were on me—pulling, unfastening, stripping away what I’d worn that morning as if it had never belonged on me in the first place. There was no space to protest, no moment to catch my breath. The skirt she slipped up my thighs wasn’t as short as hers, but it was still too short for comfort.
But when she traced my legs with nylon, her fingers smoothing the stockings into place, her touch made me feel like my ass deserved the attention the skirt gave it. Like I should be seen.
The blouse followed—soft fabric against my skin, tailored but not tight, a careful balance between restraint and invitation—not revealing but still promising temptation.
Alice stepped back, tilting her head as she took me in.
“Here,” she murmured, dragging a thumb over my cheekbone before reaching for her makeup bag. She leaned in, the scent of leather and lipstick and something unmistakably her filling the space between us. A few strokes, deliberate but light, refining rather than changing.
She pulled back just slightly, smirking. “Just an adjustment. A little more edge.”
Then, she leaned in and sniffed me.
A deep breath, slow and deliberate, right at my neck—exactly where she knew I couldn’t resist. It tickled, sent a shiver racing down my spine, and she knew it.
Alice hummed, something almost thoughtful behind her teasing smirk. “Hang on,” she said, slipping into her bathroom.
I watched the doorframe, listened to the quiet rustle of cabinets, the soft clink of glass. When she returned, she had a small flask in her hand.
“This, babe,” she said, holding it up between two fingers, “should carry your essence.”
She uncapped it and sprayed lightly—just a few short bursts against my wrists, the hollow of my throat. Not dominant, not overwhelming. Just there. Subtle. Warm. Inviting.
And a faint whiff of honey.
My scent.
When we stood outside the bar, her touch still lingered on my skin, and not even the flurries and cold wind of the undying winter could do anything to the heat still growing inside me.
As we entered, the bar was already buzzing, the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses blending into a warm, familiar soundtrack. Alice strode in like she owned the place, the red flare of her hair drawing attention. Her wild, carefree energy seemed to fill every corner of the room, and heads turned as they always did when she arrived. She was greeted as a standard fixture, and I found myself swimming in the wake behind her.
But there was something else; as I emerged, their greetings stilled, replaced by something different, something completely unfamiliar, something pressing…but not uncomfortable. It lingered in the air, thick and electric, a hum I felt under my skin more than I heard. Their eyes weren’t just curious, they were intent, lingering in a way that made me hyperaware of my every step, the brush of my skirt against my thighs, the sway of my hips I hadn’t even meant to exaggerate.
I felt a warmth rise to my cheeks, partly embarrassment, something I couldn’t quite name. Was this how Alice felt in her world? Was this why she returned every weekend, to transform herself from the quiet, quirky, and cute redhead from school to this? I reached a hot and tingling understanding and forgave her for all those absent weekends. I dared meet their gazes, and something ran hot through my spine, intensifying with each step. The sensation thrilled and terrified me all at once. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to retreat into her shadow or step further into the light.
Alice’s hand grounded me, brought me back, and sent me a look as if she knew. She pulled me closer, soothing me with warmth.
“You’re stealing my thunder,” she giggled. Then, her voice low and knowing, “That,” she whispered, “Is desire.”
She led me straight to the bar, her elbows leaning casually on the worn wooden counter as the bartender approached. His raised brow and half-smile were enough to tell me this wasn’t her first time here.
“Hey, Alice. Your usual?” he asked, his tone teasing but knowing.
“Twice,” Alice replied, her voice as smooth as the liquor she was about to order. She barely looked at him, focusing half on me as if she were gauging how I handled my new surroundings.
The bartender glanced at me, his expression shifting slightly sharper. “Your friend,” he said, nodding in my direction. “She of age?”
Alice’s nose twitched, her grin widening in a way that could disarm just about anyone. “Relax, Tommy,” she said, her tone light but edged with the confidence that dared him to question her further. “She’s with me.”
“ID?” he pressed, though his voice lacked real conviction.
Alice leaned in slightly, her green eyes locking onto his as she rested her chin on her hand. “Tommy,” she said, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper. “When have I ever brought anyone who wasn’t good company? Trust me, okay?”
There was a moment of hesitation, but then he sighed, shaking his head as he turned to grab the drinks. “Last time I’m letting this slide, Alice,” he muttered, but there was no real bite to his words, “Keep her out of trouble.”
Alice turned to me, her grin triumphant as two bottles of beer and two shot glasses were placed before us. “See?” she said, nudging one of the bottles toward me. “I got you, babe.”
I couldn’t help but laugh softly, though my nerves still buzzed under the surface.
“As far as keeping you out of trouble, though,” she smiled with a glint, “perhaps not all promises are meant to stay unbroken.”
She took a greedy gulp of her beer, and her nudge told me to follow suit.
The cold bottle felt strange in my hand; its weight was heavier than I expected, grounding me in the moment. Drops of condensation clung to the glass, beautiful in their simplicity. I lifted it to my lips, hesitantly. The smell was sharp and unfamiliar, like freshly turned soil, carrying hints of something earthy and bold.
Another hesitation, my mother’s voice screeching in my mind. Alcohol was sin—temptation in a bottle, proof of a soul’s surrender. Her sermons echoed warnings about the slippery slope of indulgence. Yet here I was, holding it, poised on the edge of rebellion.
The first sip was small and tentative. The cold liquid slid across my lips and onto my tongue, and I stiffened at the immediate bitterness. It was jarring, almost unpleasant, but beneath that sharpness was something else—a richness that felt alive, raw. I swallowed, the chill of it trailing down my throat, and I exhaled shakily. It wasn’t what I expected, but it was something…something more than I could put into words.
It all felt new, tempting, a hint of danger, and forbidden. My heart raced, not just from the unfamiliar taste but from the defiance it represented. Each sip was a quiet rejection of the life I’d been taught to live, a step further into the world Alice had opened for me.
I glanced at her as she leaned back against the bar, her beer raised to her lips in that effortless way only she could manage. Her green eyes found mine, and her smirk deepened like she knew exactly what was going through my head.
“Good girl,” she teased, her tone light but loaded with meaning.
I took another sip, longer this time, letting the bitterness settle on my tongue before it softened into something warmer and more decadent. I set the bottle down, my fingers lingering on its smooth surface.
“It’s…different,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.
Alice laughed, tilting her bottle toward me in a playful salute. “Different is good, babe. It’s why we’re here.”
Her confidence wrapped around me like a shield, and for the first time, the guilt I expected to feel didn’t come. Instead, there was only the thrilling, quiet rush of breaking free. Of being someone I wasn’t supposed to be. And the realization of no, this was precisely who I was supposed to be.
The sparkle of freckles danced slightly at the bridge of her nose, signaling something undeniably Alice was working its way to the surface. And then, as if the universe had handed her the perfect script, she whispered, soft and knowing, “It’s not about the arrival; it’s always about the journey and what it unfolds.”
Her look grounded me in me—the way only Alice knew how to.
“This,” she said as she nudged the small glass toward me, “is tequila. She’s a treacherous little devil that’ll tilt your world just right and damned quickly. But beware, she’ll keep on tempting, and if you let her, she will take you down, crashing.
She took my hand, her touch warm and firm, and grabbed the saltshaker, pouring a little onto the back of my hand.
“Hold still,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing.
Before I could ask what she meant, her tongue darted out, warm and deliberate, licking the salt off the back of my hand. My breath caught at the unexpected intimacy, the wet warmth of her tongue sparking a ripple of heat through me that I hadn’t anticipated. Her green eyes danced with mischief as she straightened, shooting me a wink before tossing the shot back with practiced ease.
For a moment, I forgot the tequila entirely. The burn of her touch lingered far longer than the salt, and my gaze stayed fixed on her lips as they parted to exhale, her laugh bubbling up like a shared secret.
I looked at the glass before me, shimmering like liquid sunlight, then met her eyes.
“It’s up to you,” she reassured, “but don’t follow my lead on this one. You’re not me. Not yet.”
I hesitated, her gaze giving me every option, her eyes silently asking if I was ready, if I wanted this, if I trusted her. Just that look, searching for deeper meaning and truth, made my pulse quicken.
Alice picked up the lime wedge, holding it up for me as I sprinkled the salt onto my hand. Her voice was low, steady, and laced with that familiar confidence that always seemed to guide me.
“I’m here,” she said softly. “Don’t overthink it. It’s an entirely different beast than weed—far more crude. And with an entirely different snap.”
I nodded, my heart pounding, and licked the salt. The sharp tang tinged my tongue, a surprising spark that jolted my senses. Then I tipped the shot glass back, the tequila burning its way down, fierce and raw, but not unpleasant—not with Alice watching me like I’d just accomplished something monumental.
Before I could process the heat spreading through me, she leaned in, pressing the lime wedge to my lips, her fingers brushing against my mouth. The burst of citrus followed, sharp and refreshing, a cool balm against the fire inside me. Her eyes never left mine, and for a moment, it wasn’t about the tequila—it was about us, the silent challenge, the unspoken connection, and the thrill of being right here with her.
“That,” she said, her voice low and dripping with approval, “was so hot.” Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, a spark of something unspoken passing between us. Then, as if regaining control, she leaned back, her tone shifting to something softer, steadier. “But don’t keep up with me—just keep with me, okay?”
She took another greedy gulp of her beer, the amber liquid disappearing quickly as if she couldn’t get enough. Her confidence radiated an untamed energy that seemed to light up the room. Without missing a beat, she signaled the bartender and ordered another round for herself.
I sipped mine slower, savoring the cool bitterness on my tongue but mostly watching her. The way she glowed—unapologetic, vibrant, completely in her element.
She paced me, though; she offered me one for every other round she had. By the third shot, a hazy warmth settled over me. Slightly numbed, slightly dazed, but alive—heat spiraling through my veins, my body buzzing, craving more.
Beware, she’ll keep on tempting, and if you let her, she will take you down, crashing.
And yet, somehow, I felt like crashing. My eyes flicked around the bar, catching their eyes, how they stared—sultry, greedy gaze raking over my body like I was a prize to be won, a piece of flesh ripe for the taking. Their looks burned into me, their desires almost tangible in the thick, smoky air.
I embraced it and let it flow through me, their hunger feeding something deep inside me. I made their desires my own, allowing them to coil within me, warm and electric. For the first time, I didn’t shy away from their stares; I welcomed them.
“What is that look, babe?” Alice teased, her voice cutting through the haze as her fingers trailed lightly along my arm. “About time I cut you off.”
Her smirk was playful, but her eyes held something sharper, something knowing.
She raised her beer and clinked it against mine with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“To new beginnings,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet weight.
As she set the bottle down, her gaze shifted toward the entrance, her focus sharpening.
“Ah,” she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “We have a contender.”
She didn’t need to wave to get his attention. Simply leaning against the bar, her wild curls catching the light, and the sheer magic of being Alice was enough.
He strode across the floor with purpose, his eyes locked on her. Without hesitation, he leaned in and kissed her, a kiss she welcomed with a hint of greed. Her lips parted just slightly, and her body instinctively leaned into his.
“Stephan,” she murmured, her voice low and smooth, “this is my friend Veronica.”
He turned his attention to me, calm and assertive, radiating an easy confidence. The earthy notes of his cologne mingled with the tequila in my blood, amplifying the haze already spiraling through me. His deep voice reverberated when he spoke, and giggles spilled out of me before I could stop myself—uncontrollable and raw.
The rest of the night blurred—a haze of conversation, laughter, and tension—until we were suddenly hurrying out of the bar. Alice’s focus shifted from me to him. Her hand stroked his thigh, and her lips brushed his ear, completely at ease.
When he pulled up to the motel, that ease didn’t waver. Then, just before stepping inside, she gripped my arm, her voice quieter than I was used to.
“You don’t have to come in,” she murmured. “Or you can just watch, or… this isn’t love, babe. It’s pure lust. He’s a group three.”
Then she kissed me—a kiss that begged forgiveness and burned with undeniable desire. It was soft yet searing, an invitation that tightened my chest.
Stephan stood by the door, the key in hand, silently asking if we were coming.
We were—both of us.
Her hands were on him as soon as the door shut behind us—hungry, deliberate. She moved with artful ease, stripping him down, sculpting his body under her will. He clawed at her clothes, but she remained in control, guiding him. Her top slid shoulders, her skirt pooled at her feet, and she stood before him, radiant, unashamed.
With a flick of her wrist, he tumbled onto the bed. She was on him before he could even react, her fingers teasing along his thighs, her lips leaving fleeting bites against his skin. Her hair spilled across his abdomen as her tongue traced a slow path downward, each movement calculated, each reaction drawn from him effortlessly.
And then, she pivoted, thighs tightening around his face, rocking gently in a rhythm of her own making.
I hadn’t noticed my hand absentmindedly trailing over my top or the slow movement of my hips. Heat pulsed through me, pooling low in my belly.
She arched back, her body fluid and impossibly controlled. When she landed, he was against her lips, rigid and trembling under her hold. Then she looked at me. Her green eyes locked onto mine, and something passed between us, electric and inevitable.
Without breaking her gaze, her tongue slipped out, tracing the tip of him, slow, deliberate. Then, inch by inch, she took him in.
A soft whimper escaped me, blending into the room’s moans and heavy breaths.
With fluid grace, she rolled to her side, freeing him before taking him in again. Her lips parted, and her movements were confident and precise.
I drifted closer, sinking to my knees, pulse hammering. Every inch of him disappeared between her lips, her fingers gripping his base, guiding him deeper. Her leg lifted, parting herself in a silent plea.
I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t think. I was on the bed before I realized it, her scent intoxicating—wild berries, nectar, the faint trace of weed.
My lips found her, and I drank her in.
Alice didn’t falter. Her mouth worked him expertly, her hand tightening around his length. His moans filled the room, raw and unrestrained, mingling with the faint creak of the bed. Her fiery curls tumbled over her shoulders, movements unrepentant, unashamed.
I ached, torn between envy, longing, and a hunger I didn’t know how to name.
Then, she pulled back, her hips still rolling gently against my tongue, keeping me tethered to her. Her lips were swollen and glistening, and she looked up at him, her voice teasing and sultry. “You know the rules, Stephan. Did you come prepared?”
His breath hitched. “In my pocket.”
She slid off me with deliberate ease, the air between us thick, charged. Her eyes flicked to mine, a challenge sparking behind her smirk.
“Your turn, babe,” she purred.
My stomach tightened. Excitement, fear, something crashing through me all at once.
“What?” I whispered, barely finding my voice.
“You heard me.” She leaned forward, fingers brushing my knee. “Trust me, Veronica. You’ve got this.”
Stephan’s gaze darted between us, anticipation thick in the space between us. Alice’s hand covered mine, guiding me to him.
“Don’t overthink it,” she whispered. “Just feel.”
My fingers trembled as they wrapped around him, the weight startling, the heat radiating against my palm. Alice’s touch lingered a moment longer before sliding to my shoulder.
“That’s it,” she murmured. “You’re doing so well.”
I swallowed, nodded, and leaned forward. My lips parted, hesitating before brushing against him. Warm, salty, unfamiliar. But not unpleasant.
Alice’s hand squeezed my shoulder. “Good girl.”
Her approval steadied me. I relaxed, breathing into the moment, letting instinct take over.
She slid off the bed, reaching for Stephan’s jeans. I barely noticed. I was lost in sensation—the heat, the weight, the way he throbbed beneath my touch.
Then his hands found the back of my head. Gentle, at first. Then insistent, pushing, forcing me down. My throat tightened, a gag reflex catching me off guard.
“Hey! Easy there, cowboy.” Alice’s voice cut through the haze, sharp, firm. She yanked his hands away, her smirk still present but laced with warning. “I said enjoy, not ruin.”
She knelt beside me, her fingers trailing along my arm. “You good, babe?”
“I… I think I came a little,” I panted, heat flooding my cheeks. The admission hung between us, raw, unfiltered.
Alice’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. “Oh, babe, tell me about it.”
With a smirk, she held up the condom wrapper between two fingers. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Now, watch this.”
I gasped at the practiced ease with which she rolled it onto him, then the breathy plea that slipped from her lips.
“Fuck me, Stephan.”
He wasn’t just a tool anymore. When she lay back, knees nearly touching her shoulders, he transformed—something primal snapping into place.
And then, he struck.
His hips drove forward, a deep, brutal thrust that had her crying out, a perfect mix of pleasure and pain. The sound of it—the impact, the gasp, the raw collision of bodies—filled the room.
I couldn’t look away. Each movement was hypnotic. The way her body stretched to accommodate him, the way he disappeared inside her, glistening with her arousal, her body shuddering around him.
Then, her eyes locked onto mine. Piercing. Unrelenting.
A deep surge, a voice inside me.
How does it feel to be completely taken? To be fucked senseless?
Her body answered all my questions.
And I burned. With need. With envy. With something I wasn’t ready for.
I wasn’t Alice.
I wasn’t ready.
My breath came shallow, and my hands gripped the bedframe. And then, before I knew it, I was moving—slipping off the mattress, pressing my back to the cool floor, needing distance.
But Alice didn’t let me escape. She surged forward, flipping him beneath her, reclaiming control. And then she looked at me again, a knowing smirk on her lips.
Come here, babe.
And despite everything, my body moved before my mind could stop it.
Her hands flattened against his chest, pinning him down. Her thighs locked tight around his hips.
She leaned forward, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, her lips curving into something dangerous. Alice moved above him, her rhythm fluid, relentless, a force of nature in complete control. Every shift of her hips pulled a gasp from Stephan; every slow grind against him sent a shudder through his body.
But this wasn’t for him.
Her head snapped back, her hair cascading like whips, her eyes burning like gemstones beneath a relentless sun. They locked onto mine and pulled me in.
I was crawling onto the bed before I even realized it.
Her moan was just for her.
And maybe… it was for me, too.
My breathing was uneven now, my pulse thick in my throat. I could see everything: the way her body moved, the way she took what she wanted. The way he gripped her thighs, desperate to hold on, but she was just beyond his grasp.
I felt it again. That same twisting ache inside me.
Envy? Hunger?
Alice leaned forward, her hands gliding over Stephan’s chest as her movements deepened, slowed, and sharpened. Another moan spilled from her lips, lower, drawn-out, almost indulgent.
Again, her eyes flickered open, locking onto mine.
And she saw me.
Saw me watching.
Saw me wanting.
She smirked, her breath shaky but her control unshaken.
My mind was still lurking on the floor, but my body was already sliding onto the bed.
Her fingers trailed over her stomach, teasing, gliding lower—a deliberate display, a performance meant only for me.
Come closer.
A sharp smack cut through the air—her hand against her ass—the sound sharp, unmistakable.
And still, she rolled her hips over him—onto him.
I swallowed, my throat dry, my hands gripping my knees. My entire body felt like a live wire, caught between hesitation and inevitability.
And as she pulled herself apart, I felt their heat on my face, the scent of her filling me—sweet, intoxicating, inescapable.
Lick my ass.
The words weren’t a question.
They were a command.
A demand wrapped in berries and burning hot nectar.
And I… I was already moving before I had even made the decision.
I didn’t think or hesitate; I just moved.
The heat of her was right there, inches from my lips, spread, open, and trembling with need. I closed the distance, my tongue dragging over her, tasting the slick warmth of her skin, the salt, the berries, the sweet, intoxicating nectar of her.
My hands found her burning cheeks, pulling and clawing, pulling her wider.
Alice moaned, pushing against my face, directing my tongue to her pulsating opening.
And beneath her—inside her—Stephan kept driving into her, the force of his thrusts rocking her forward, pushing her against me.
I felt him.
Every time he slammed into her, I felt it—through the jolts through her body, through the way he pushed her onto me, and through the breathless gasps she couldn’t hold back.
I felt him.
And I wanted more.
Alice’s fingers tangled into my hair, tugging lightly, pulling me deeper.
“Good girl,” she murmured, her voice like silk and smoke.
The words shuddered me, pooling heat low in my stomach. My fingers slid between my thighs, rubbing, circling, building the ache inside me, feeding it, chasing it.
I moaned against her, the vibrations making her shiver.
Then, she moved and pushed me onto my back.
And before I could question it, she climbed over me, straddling my chest, her body glistening with sweat and her burning scent dripping onto my chest.
Her hand found my chin, tilting my face upward.
“Watch me.”
She slid herself off me, across Stephan’s trembling legs, and straddled herself over him, leaning herself back on one hand. Her eyes did not leave mine for a second.
Her free hand grabbed him, not gently like a lover, but as a tool she needed to get the job done. Then, slowly, she let herself sink onto him, taking him deeper, darker.
Tighter.
His groan was guttural, broken. She was driving him mad.
Her hips moved slowly but determined, her breath hitching as she adjusted to the stretch and the fullness.
And I watched.
Watched the way his hands clawed at her hips, the way his body bucked beneath her, the way she held all the power.
She had him. Completely.
I wasn’t Alice.
But I could be something just as powerful.
The thought sent a sharp pulse through me. My fingers worked faster, circling, pressing, teasing myself closer and closer, and my breath caught in my throat.
I wanted to come.
I wanted to be in that moment with her, with them.
And as that realization settled, I leaned forward again, my tongue slipping between her thighs, finding her again, drinking her in.
Alice gasped, a raw, shuddering sound as her body shivered above me.
Stephan cursed beneath her, his rhythm breaking apart, his grip tightening, his moans losing all control.
Then—he pulled out.
I barely had time to process it before I felt the heat of him—before I heard the sharp breath, the low growl as he ripped the condom off and let himself go.
Onto me.
Onto my face.
Onto my chest.
The warmth of it, the sheer shock of it, the power of it, sent a jolt through me—shame and exhilaration colliding into something I didn’t yet have the words for.
And still, my hand kept moving. Rubbing, pushing myself over the edge, chasing it, needing it.
His release pooled at my lip.
My hips jolted as I soaked through my skirt.
Alice, still catching her breath, still filled with pleasure, smirked down at me.
And in that moment, I knew.
I had crossed a line.
And I wasn’t turning back.
