Hideaway (Devil's Night 2)

Kind of.

“I could be anyone.” Her fragile voice smoothed over, turning playful. “I could be a girl you grew up with. A classmate. Someone’s little sister. The kid you used to babysit when you were sixteen…”

The corner of my lips lifted, and I entertained the idea. Although I didn’t recognize her voice, that didn’t mean I didn’t know her. She could be a girl I passed in the halls every day. Someone I never gave a second glance to. Or she could be a buddy’s girlfriend or one of the gardener’s kids. Who knew?

“And you could be anyone, too,” she pondered. “A friend’s boyfriend, a teacher I had a crush on, or one of my father’s friends. You could say anything to me. I could say anything to you. And there’s no embarrassment, because we never have to face each other. Not if we don’t want to.”

I leaned closer again, trying to breathe in more of her scent.

I wanted to see her. I definitely had to see her.

“I’ll keep your secrets,” I told her. “No matter who you are.”

“You are one of my secrets,” she shot back. “I’m trying to steal you, but I wish I didn’t want to.”

“What does that mean?” Steal me?

“So, what do you like to watch?” she asked.

“Huh?” She changed the subject again. She was moving a mile a minute, and I was having a hard time keeping up.

“In your confession, you said you like to watch. Watch what?”

I chewed the corner of my mouth, hesitant. “I think you know,” I replied, caging. “Figure it out, big girl.”

She laughed for the first time. It was this perfect, innocent sound, and my hands hummed with the urge to touch her all of a sudden.

“And what if I like to watch, too?” she teased. “Show me with your words.”

“I can’t.” I looked down, embarrassed despite myself.

“Please,” she asked again, her voice dropping to a whisper, and I swore I could feel the heat of her breath on my face. “Talk to me. Tell me what you don’t tell anyone else.”

I shook my head, struggling. The way she talked…. Sometimes it was like a woman, straddling my lap with her lips inches from mine.

But just now, it was like a little girl, desperate for a treat.

“When was your last confession, little one?” I prodded, inching further into her territory.

“I’ve never had one.”

“Aren’t you Catholic?”

“No.”

Then why was she here?

But then again, why was she in the priest’s chamber, too? “You’re a little mystery yourself, aren’t you?” I asked, not expecting an answer.

“Come on. What do you like to watch?” she repeated, pushing me.

I opened my mouth, but just ended up letting out a sigh.

Jesus. What do I like to watch? I can’t tell her that. Fuck.

I closed my eyes. I needed to leave. What if she knew me? What if I went to school with her? What if she was someone I’d like? She wouldn’t want to know this shit.

But as if she knew my fear, she told me, “Don’t be afraid. I’m already imagining the worst, and I’m still here, right?”