There are two mysterious hickeys on my neck. I stare at them in the mirror. Slowly, the events of last night begin to flood back into my memory. The nagging headache should have told me that I drank a little too much, but apparently, I need love bites to let me know how irresponsible I had been.
It's even worse because I hardly remember who I had made out with. I don't remember how I got home and that is the height of irresponsibility. At this time of all times.
I smoothen my hand over the marks. This is deliberate. Whoever did this wants me to remember; wants me to see something to remember last night by. What the heck? It's like claiming a possession. And knowing myself, I must have given in willingly, it's embarrassing. Yet, whoever it was was gentleman enough to stop there.
Don't cover for him, my subconscious snaps at me. Some unknown stranger brought you home and made out with you and still had the guts to leave hickeys on your neck.
My fingers slide over the marks again and a flash of memory flits across my vision. Soft, sensuous lips. Deep dark eyes. Crooked nose. Sharp jawline. Heat. Tongue. Heat.
Electricity zips across my skin. A breath escapes my lips. Who was that man?
My phone blinks on with a text and I ignore it. Something serious went down last night and I was only half-conscious and I cannot remember how I got home. What was in that drink? I wonder. I don't think I ever got that drunk ever in my life.
At least, I'm still dressed, I console myself morosely. It could have been worse. I remove my boots with a wince and take off my leather pants. I step into shorts soon enough and I pull off my top. The tank top undershirt I had under comes into view. As I roll my red hair into a knot behind me, I make my way to my bed. I pick my phone up from my bedside table.
From an unknown number, a text is showing on my screen:
Strange line: Where did you learn to kiss like that?
I stare at the text for some time. It takes me a few seconds to realize that my heart is beating at an abnormal rate. The familiar feelings of fear and anxiety roll up my spine and I stand ramrod straight for a minute, a thousand thoughts running through my mind.
I hear the doorbell ring, but I don't move.
It's seven in the morning, hardly dark enough to be scared, but something keeps me in that spot, unable to move. It finally takes shape and I realize that I must have made out with my stalker yesterday night. The creep that keeps breaking into my house and following me places, yes, him. The man who is linked to whatever dangerous shit José is currently involved in...because I know that José had been lying.
Someone dangerous is after him. And is now after me too.
The doorbell rings again, more insistently, followed by: "Open up, bitch!"
Lisa.
I heave a sigh of relief and rush for my door, but then I stop. And then head for my closet. I pull out a shawl collar sweater and pull it on.
Once I'm downstairs and before the door, I realize that I don't have my key. I rush back upstairs to get it and Lisa's impatient voice slides through the door.
I get my house key from my leather pants' pocket and sprint for the door. Now, I don't need to know that my visitor yesterday broke into my house with me, given that I hadn't given him the key. I already know his profile by now. He most certainly had broken in. Because he can.
He likes to mock me.
Once I open the door, I come face to face with Lisa's angry face. But then she rushes to hug me.
"Bitch, where were you? Last night, when I was back at our perch, you were gone. I was looking all over for you."
I hug her back gratefully. "I thought you were mad at me." I faintly remember getting her angry. But what about? That's the question.
"Is that why you left without telling me?" She makes her way inside and closes the door behind her.
"No, ah, erm- it's a bit complicated," I respond. "Someone took me home."
She nods absently as she goes to the curtains and draws them open. I react like a vampire who is seeing light for the first time in a millenia. She ignores me. She knows why I locked all the windows and drew all the curtains down yesterday. She's telling me that she's done with my unsatisfactory behavior.
"I'm still mad. But I was worried about you. Where were you? And why are you wearing that hideous sweater?"
I'm quiet for a bit as I stare back at her. I'm sure guilt is pooling in my eyes, but I fight it, else Lisa will figure it out.
"I'm a bit chilly-"
"Bullcrap." She peels the thick collar of the sweater to one side before I can say anything and her eyes widen. "Oh my fuck. You finally got laid? Tell me everything!"
No no no no! I groan internally. "I didn't hook up with anybody! Well, not technically-"
Lisa sits down on a couch and watches me like I'm a movie unfolding, ignoring the discomfort on my face. "Go on." She only needs pop-corn now.
I slouch on the couch opposite her. And then I explain as much as I can remember last night. Her eyes don't leave my face until I'm done.