Page 49 of Consumed

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I furrowed my brows, humming incoherently as I stirred from my sleep.

Something felt off.

There was this warmth between my legs.

I felt wet?

No...

There was pressure there.

It was rhythmic.

I groaned, attempting to squeeze my legs closed—I don't remember spreading them this wide?

But there was a firm weight pinning them there, keeping them spread apart.

I felt so confused—my body wasn't fully awake yet, and my head felt heavy.

All I remember was Valentine's Day and going to sleep after dinner with Monroe.

We had spaghetti and then settled in bed together so she could handle work.

A sound suddenly escaped me—a vibration burning in my chest as I gasped for air.

I didn't know what I was reacting to yet.

My hips jerked, and that's when I processed it—

Her mouth.

The wetness of her soft tongue pressed against me, dragging a whimper from my lips.

I gripped the sheets underneath me as I blinked my heavy eyes open, trying to make sense of reality.

"Monroe."

My voice was abnormally breathless, a tired raspiness weighing it down.

She didn't answer.

Not with words, at least.

Instead, she sucked down on my clit, making me squirm with a whine, her grip tightening around my thighs that she held open.

I squeezed my eyes back shut, "Ro, wait," I tirelessly breathed out, shifting under her when she quickened her pace.

She still didn't respond with words.

She only let go of my thigh, pressing her hand against my lower stomach.

I gasped at the sensation, feeling an added pressure.

Monroe hummed against me, sending vibrations through my core as I moaned breathlessly.

"Oh my god, Monroe," I whined, reaching for her under the covers.

Her hair was soft under my fingertips, gripping her roots and earning a beautiful groan from her.

"Liberty," she mumbled against my wet core, making me shift with a whimper, "Harder, darling."

I immediately gripped her hair tighter, earning a soft hum from her as she flicked her tongue faster.

"Good girl," she murmured, making me moan so deeply.

I could feel myself dripping down onto the sheets below me, making me wonder how long she had me like this.

Her mouth was so wet, salivating against me as she sucked harder and flicked my clit faster.

I panted breathlessly when she ran her hand down from my stomach—spreading my slick folds and opening me up even more to her mouth.

That's when I lost it—squeezing my legs until they trembled and gripping her hair tighter.

I turned my head, my moans muffled against the pillows as I quickly approached my peak.

It hit me so quickly, making me arch up as everything burned around me.

My core pulsed, almost like muscle spasms, as I tightened entirely.

Until finally, I collapsed against the bed, gasping for air.

"Ro," I forced out between breaths, trying to angle away from her mouth teasing my overstimulated core.

She only flicked her tongue faster.

"Monroe," I said more sternly, trying to grip her away by her hair.

She fought against me, leaning in deeper as my legs trembled profusely.

It made me squirm, squeezing my eyes shut as I rapidly tapped the mattress underneath me.

I felt so overstimulated—and tired.

So fucking tired.

"Mommy," I forced out, knowing it was what she always wanted to hear, "Mommy please."

Her motions naturally slowed against me, immediately making relief flow through my body.

I felt her kiss my clit so softly, humming as she smoothed her tongue against me.

I let out a deep sigh, loosening my grip in her hair and gently running my fingers through her soft strands.

Monroe continued kissing my swollen clit as I relaxed fully underneath her.

It felt like my once tense muscles were soft, caressing her head as she lapped her tongue in my wetness, consuming every drop of me.

Then she pulled away, sliding up from under the covers.

I unconsciously smiled when our eyes connected. "Hi," I whispered as she hovered over me.

Monroe's lips twitched up, "Hi, my beautiful girl," she softly whispered, leaning down to kiss my lips.

I hummed, my eyes fluttering closed as I pulled her down against me.

Her lips were soft against mine—wet with the taste of me.

"You and this nightgown," Monroe said against my lips, pulling away slightly to eye the silk I wore, "I barely got any work done."

I raised a playful brow, "Were you watching me in my sleep, Ro Ro?" I teased her, tightening my arms around her waist.

"I always watch you in your sleep, Liberty."

Her words were honest, the darkness of her blue eyes seeping so deeply into mine that it made me shiver.

"Don't be weird," I whispered shyly, unsure what to say to that.

I knew she meant it.

Typically, she means everything she says.

Her humor barely exists.

"You're very pretty when you sleep, Liberty," Monroe said, somehow making my face burn up, "You keep me up at night."

I blinked a few times, recognizing the familiar words.

She said them to me just hours ago.

How work kept her up at night, but I did too.

I guess there was a deeper meaning to it.

"Monroe, don't watch me while I sleep," I suddenly said, feeling kind of embarrassed as I envisioned that.

I probably looked weird while sleeping.

"Impossible," Monroe whispered, leaning down to kiss my lips again.

"I won't stay the night with you anymore," I threatened, briefly kissing her back.

Monroe only smiled against my lips, "I'd like to see you try," she said, not believing a word I just said.

I pulled away from her immediately, breaking our kiss, "Fine, then I'll uh..." I trailed off,

suddenly feeling put on the spot, "I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

Monroe chuckled, her smile so perfect under the dim moonlight, "I'll tie you to this bed, Liberty," she said, her words serious, yet her smile was so genuine.

Tying someone to a bed was smile-worthy for her.

I sighed dramatically, "Fine, then I'm covering my face when I sleep," I mumbled, nudging her off of me.

She didn't move an inch.

Instead, she leaned down to my neck, resting her head there.

"You're too beautiful to be covered, Liberty," she just had to say, making annoying butterflies swarm my stomach.

"Whatever," I sighed, determining she was saying this on purpose.

She always knows how to shut me down in the best way.

I guess she can watch me sleep.

I just hope I don't do anything embarrassing.

"You have an awfully big attitude for someone who just orgasmed," Monroe lazily murmured, "Do we need to go for round two?"

I felt my face burn up from her words, "No, I'm pretty tired," I murmured, drawing my hands up her back.

"Sleep then. I'll handle the rest," she softly whispered, her breath warm against my neck.

Her words struck me much lower, letting out a breathless sigh.

"How long was I asleep while you touched me?" I curiously asked, recalling waking up in the midst of it.

"A few minutes. You're the perfect sleeper for me, darling," Monroe said, somehow praising me for sleeping through some of it.

Which managed to make knots bundle in my lower stomach, feeling turned on by her words.

"You really need to get some sleep—you have your interview tomorrow," I reminded her, my voice soft between us as I closed my eyes.

"Today," she corrected me, "I have it today."

I rolled my eyes even if they were closed, "So then you should definitely get some sleep," I pointed out, running my hands under her silky pajama shirt.

"Stay right here and I will," Monroe said, making my hands halt against her soft back.

Her words caught me off guard—they were so genuine.

It made me feel warm, unconsciously hugging her closer to me.

"I'll stay," I whispered, caressing my hands against the smooth skin of her back.

A silence grew around us—our soft breaths filling the calm air.

It was easy to fall asleep with her against me, feeling the gentle warmth of her breath against my neck.

I fell right back into my deep sleep, relaxing entirely underneath her.

I slept for hours—waking up to an empty bed and a note left with breakfast for me.

You looked too beautiful to be disturbed. Call me when you wake up.

-Ro Ro

The note alone made me smile like an idiot, rereading the nickname she always used now.

I grabbed my phone first to call her—until I noticed it was a little past twelve.

She had specified last night that she had her interview at twelve.

I didn't want to disrupt the process, so I decided to hold off on calling her.

Instead, I texted Zion and Sarai about any plans, sliding out of bed to brush my teeth and use the bathroom.

Zion and Sarai both answered in the group chat as I brushed my teeth, informing me that they were planning to hit the farmers market.

Sarai's professor had cancelled class for a personal reason, so she was a free woman today.

I was definitely down to go to the farmer's market, especially at Public Market Center.

It's the biggest one in Seattle.

And it would keep me busy until the small cocktail event that I'm attending with Monroe tonight.

Or not technically with her, as we can't be together in public, but I'll still be there near her.

I looked forward to celebrating her interview, even if it didn't seem like a big deal to her.

Nothing really impresses her, which can be intimidating to me.

The traffic back to my apartment was minimal, leaving me plenty of time to get ready.

I didn't really do much since we were only going to the market.

I pulled on a pair of jeans, a smooth long-sleeve shirt that clung to my waist, and my black Golden Goose sneakers.

I didn't bother with makeup since I planned to do a full face tonight, and then I pulled my hair into a ponytail.

It was in waves from my blowout, but I planned to do a wash day for tonight.

I wanted my hair to be curly for her.

By the time I finished getting ready, it was a little past one.

Which meant I could call Monroe now.

Hopefully?

I'm not sure how long these interviews last.

"Hi, Ro Ro," I spoke as soon as she answered.

"How's your day darling?" her smooth voice filtered from my car speakers, "Aside from not calling me when you woke up."

I smiled slightly as I halted my car at the red light, "You said your interview was at twelve—I didn't want to interrupt anything," I pointed out.

"You're never an interruption, Liberty," she immediately corrected me, "But I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

I smiled at her words, "Thank you," I murmured, staring at the red light, "How did the interview go?"

Monroe hummed, "The usual," she said as the light in front of me turned green.

"You don't sound that impressed by it," I joked, driving past the light.

"Yes, well," Monroe sighed, easily making me grow curious, "It's one of those things that come with my last name, even across the country."

"Is that why you moved here?" I unconsciously asked, wanting to know more about her background, "To attempt to get away from... your last name?"

Silence.

That's all there was.

I almost considered whether the call had accidentally ended.

But it still displayed on my radio screen.

She's probably thinking deeper about this, calculating what she wants to say next.

Or how much she wanted to say.

"Something like that," Monroe finally spoke again.

And that was it.

There was no explanation, no added details.

I don't know what I expected, she never shares anything unless there's a reason behind doing so.

"I should get back to work, darling," she suddenly spoke again, making me purse my lips, "The dress I picked out for you should be delivered by the evening. Where are you going now?"

"The farmer's market," I briefly said, flicking on my signal as I turned down a side street, "Also, I don't need a dress. I already have one."

"I never specified that you needed anything, Liberty," she said, her tone growing more serious with me, "You'll wear the dress."

I remained silent, feeling my face burn up from her words.

The thing is, I had the perfect dress in mind to wear tonight.

It's been in my closet for months, and now would be the time to wear it.

I can still wear it—but only if I want to go against her.

"Have I made myself clear, darling?" Monroe spoke again when I didn't answer.

"Yep," I mumbled, my attitude prominent in my tone.

"Try again," she said, clearly picking up on the tone I used.

I remained silent for a moment, feeling my face burn hotter.

"Yes," I sighed, focusing on the road ahead.

"You can do better than that, Liberty," she just had to fucking say, making me roll my eyes.

But I knew to comply.

"Yes, mommy," I said, my voice lowered as I gripped the steering wheel tighter.

"Good girl," Monroe praised me, sending an annoying warmth down my body, "Text me when you're leaving there."

"I will," I murmured as I continued driving down the narrow side street.

The call between us ended, leaving me to focus on the rest of my short drive.

I was at the market in less than five minutes, trying to find decent fucking parking.

It was impossible.

I was forced to walk a few blocks, meeting Zion and Sarai by the entrance.

"Hi, Libs," Sarai immediately greeted me, squinting under the sun.

For once, the weather was decent today.

The sun made it a little less cold out for February.

"Hi," I smiled as I briefly hugged her and then Zion.

"Ready to sweat?" Zion joked, making me laugh.

It gets very fucking hot in the market—we all break a sweat every time, especially since it's inside with barely any air conditioning.

Even on the cold days, it still gets humid inside.

But it's so worth it for the finds.

"I'm totally ready," I said, looping my arms with theirs as we walked forward.

The market was as packed as usual, already making me feel a little overstimulated.

But I had a full social battery and hours to kill, so I embraced the busyness—eyeing the different stands.

We explored as many levels as we could, given that the market has a total of ten levels.

But after a few hours of looking around, brushing through masses of people, and running on an empty stomach—we called it.

I got cute handmade jewelry, a bunch of thrifted baby tees, and I tried some of the coffee.

I also might've picked up some fresh pears and a brie cheese wheel, thinking purely of Monroe and the snack she made me at Cannon Beach.

I couldn't wait to try it with her later.

To keep it a surprise, I only mentioned the other things I got when I was filling her in on my shopping over text.

Once I got home, I immediately began getting ready.

Mostly because I had to do a full wash day for my curls.

My hair was the first priority, taking one of my lengthy everything showers.

I exfoliated, shaved, and oiled my skin—aside from thoroughly washing my hair.

It didn't take too long to diffuse my curls, ensuring they were dry before I moved on to my makeup.

I did more of a smoky look, outlining my eyes with eyeliner to make them pop.

I already knew what I wanted to wear tonight, and this look went with that.

The dress Monroe sent won't be getting worn tonight—I decided that once I found the perfect gold arm cuffs to match my own dress.

Also, the rings I picked up were really cute.

The dress that Monroe had delivered was a smooth black dress that fell to my knees.

It had a higher neckline—exposing my back that it dipped down to expose.

It was cute.

But my dress was cuter.

It was a black corset dress that emphasized my waist and ample cleavage.

The dress stopped a little past my lower thigh, so it was short—but this is a cocktail event, so it seemed fine.

The end of the short dress was also layered with ruffles, adding to the top part that clung to my waist.

It looked perfect with my curly hair and gold jewelry, my long legs shining from the oil I rubbed in.

I wore the kitten heels and fragrance oil Monroe got me for Valentine's Day, hoping that would make up for going against her clear demands.

I knew it wouldn't.

But I'll figure it out, even if it means enduring a punishment.

I looked so cute, and I felt like it too, so that's all that mattered.

I was really excited as I rode in the chauffeured car Monroe sent for me, staring out of the tinted windows as I admired downtown Seattle.

I really do love it here.

I'm not sure where I would want to live next.

If I ever decide to move after college.

This was the perfect city for me.

There was this excited pulse beating all around me as I stepped out of the SUV, thanking the chauffeur as I approached the historic-looking building.

It was tall, towering over me as I slipped inside the warm lobby.

This was one of those fancy rooftop observatory bars.

The marble floors were concerningly shiny, and the ceilings were tall—even the elevator was made of the most beautiful copper gold.

I pressed the rooftop button for the bar, riding the elevator up to the highest floor.

I eyed my distorted reflection in the gold wall, ensuring I looked as good as I felt.

Then the elevator softly dinged open, allowing the soft jazz music to flow around me, hearing the low murmur of conversation.

I hesitantly stepped off the elevator, walking past the short hallway toward the bar area.

Groups of different people crowded the room, all having their separate conversations.

Some sat at the bar, conversing with the people beside them, while others stood spread out around the dimly lit room, wrapped in the views of the city below.

The jazz band off to the side felt like Monroe's touch.

It's her favorite genre of music.

I awkwardly glanced around, scanning the room for Monroe specifically.

But instead, I began to realize why she picked out the specific dress for me.

Everyone was dressed so elegantly.

I mean, I was in a dress and heels, but suddenly I didn't feel elegant.

I felt out of place.

"Liberty," I heard her soft voice behind me, making me turn around immediately.

Monroe looked perfect.

Concerningly perfect.

She wore a crisp burgundy blazer dress that clung to her figure without a single wrinkle in sight.

Her long legs were wrapped in sheer black stockings, wearing her usual pointy stilettos.

No.

My stilettos.

The ones I gifted her just yesterday.

The silver kiss mark matched her jewelry perfectly, wearing her soft brown hair in a ponytail with her bangs framing her face.

She wore light makeup, her lipstick precisely lining her soft lips.

Her blue eyes popped from the mascara, openly trailing my body.

It was odd.

There was this disapproval to her look.

But at the same time, she couldn't pull her eyes away from my frame.

"You didn't wear the dress," she observed, calmly clasping her hands in front of her body.

"I really wanted to wear this one," I whispered, drawing in a subtle breath when her eyes met mine, "I uh probably should've worn yours... it matches the dress code better."

"Lesson well learned," Monroe murmured, her blue eyes nearly sinking into mine, "You still look very beautiful, Liberty. Your curls are perfect."

I knew this wasn't the end of this conversation—she probably didn't want to handle this in public.

I pursed my lips together, weirdly feeling shy from her compliment, "Thanks," I whispered, unconsciously glancing away from her stare to the floor, "I used the products you got me."

"Good, darling," Monroe said, her voice lowered between us, "Your hair seems to adore them."

I smiled slightly, "Yeah, they also smell really good," I admitted, glancing up from the floor to meet her stare.

Monroe's lips were lifted slightly in the faintest smile as she stared down at me, holding my stare so openly.

Until she suddenly glanced past me, her eyes locking on someone or something.

"Help yourself to anything at the bar, darling. I have a few conversations to handle," Monroe told me, reaching up to my shoulder that she respectfully squeezed.

It made weird goosebumps roll down my spine, even if I had experienced her touch in much more intimate places.

I think it's because we're in public and she's touching me.

"Can I get a drink?" I unconsciously said before she could walk past me.

Monroe raised a brow at my question, "Do you want a drink, Liberty?" she calmly asked, her eyes trailing my face.

I shrugged, "I think it would be cool to try something on the menu," I admitted, wondering what she might say to my words.

"Then try something, darling," Monroe encouraged, her words softened between us, "One drink and best behavior."

I quickly nodded, "Of course," I whispered, earning a nod of approval from her.

Although she stood stuck in front of me, eyeing my face for a longer moment—

Until she walked past me, brushing through the different small crowds of people conversing.

I let out a soft sigh, making my way over to the bar.

The bartender greeted me immediately with a polite smile, grabbing a menu from behind the bar.

It was a small leather book with a few pages of extensive drinks.

I kind of wanted something simple but new to me.

A lychee martini was what I settled on, determining it sounded good.

And it was more on the simpler end.

It also tasted very refreshing—I couldn't help but take longer sips.

As I held my drink in my hand, I glanced around for Monroe again, tuning out everyone around me.

She was a few feet away, briefly engrossed in a conversation with a few people.

I always enjoyed watching her in action, noticing how effortlessly neutral she was, holding a high posture.

I'm glad she's having a nice time—or networking.

Even if it means being a quiet wallflower and minding my business.

Everyone seemed to know someone.

But my someone was what this entire cocktail event revolved around.

It felt like I was just here as decoration—almost feeling invisible in some sort.

But I didn't mind it.

I just sat at the bar with my lychee martini, briefly zoning out as I counted the seconds.

But time seemed to go by so slowly—thirty minutes felt like a full hour as I waited for Monroe to possibly return back to me.

"Hey."

I glanced over at the deep voice, noticing the species of a man standing by me.

I wish there were a trigger warning that came with them.

"I'm good," I mumbled, making his brows furrow as I turned back around to the bar.

"Oh, okay," he said in confusion, walking away from me as he mumbled something about me being rude.

He was right, but I honestly didn't care.

I sighed, glancing over when I heard the nearby elevator ding.

At this point, I've just been observing the crowd around me—watching who arrives or noticing when someone softly laughs among the jazz music.

The woman who walked into the room nearly made the energy in the room shift.

Not in a bad way.

She felt magnetic.

She looked magnetic.

Yes, she was on the shorter side, but she didn't walk like it.

She had this essence, and judging by her features, she looked Latina.

Her dark wavy hair was shiny, falling to her lower back as she wore a gold dress that clung to her body.

She was curvy in all the places I always tried to be.

I honestly considered whether I should approach her and try to be her friend.

She looks like she would be nice.

And she has this clean girl aesthetic to her.

Maybe it was her matte makeup or the false lashes that accentuated her dark eyes.

I suddenly stood from my seat at the bar, leaving my lychee martini behind as I decided to befriend her.

God knows I need more friends these days.

I drew in a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I approached her.

We were close to the same height—she was maybe a few inches under me.

"Hi, sorry to bother you. I just think you're really pretty," I said, stopping in front of her as she naturally halted her steps.

She had been scanning the room for something, but now her attention was locked on me.

Her glossy lips tilted up in a smile, immediately making me feel relieved.

"Thank you, that means a lot coming from a beautiful girl," she said, her voice soft and filled with a subtle accent.

"Oh, of course," I said awkwardly, unsure of what to say next.

She smiled wider at my clear awkwardness, "I'm Maricel," she introduced herself, holding her hand out.

Her nails were short and polished with crisp French tips that made mine feel like too much in comparison—especially with my cheetah designs.

"Liberty," I said, reaching out to briefly shake her hand.

"Wow, that's a really unique name," she complimented me as our hands fell apart.

"Thank you, I get that a lot," I admitted, smiling even more, "So what brings you here? I feel like you stand out among this crowd."

Not just because of the way she carried herself, but Maricel looked younger.

Maybe my age or a couple of years older than me.

"No wait, because you stand out too," Maricel softly chuckled, her bright smile widening.

"I was invited," I admitted, shaking my head as my smile remained prominent.

"Oh, well, I was not invited," she grinned like that made her proud, "But qué importa? I do what I want."

I smiled at her accent that slipped through, "Literally me too, girl," I said, laughing at how similar we already were, "No one can stop me once I have my mind set."

Maricel smiled admiringly at me, "You seem very nice," she said, reaching into her black Chanel purse for her phone, "Maybe we could be friends if you're looking for more."

I quickly nodded, "I would love that—I feel like my friend group is growing smaller these days," I admitted as she handed me her phone, "School has been busy too."

"Oh, you go to school around here?" Maricel asked curiously, making me nod as I typed my information into the blank contact.

"Yes, Seattle University—I'm in my last semester," I briefly explained, glancing up from her phone, "Do you go to school around here too?"

Maricel quickly shook her head, "No, but I was supposed to go to Stanford," she admitted as I handed her phone back, "I think my dad just wanted the legacy photo."

I tilted my head, "So you just didn't go?" I asked, knowing my mother would've never let that slide with me.

Maricel shrugged nonchalantly, "I didn't need to. I traveled and lived in Madrid for a year, learned to cook in Oaxaca, and got really into Russian literature for some reason," she briefly explained, easily making my brows raise, "Then my family extended their work to Seattle, and I took over here—either that or I lose my trust fund."

I nodded, feeling more curious about her.

Trust fund easily meant she was in the one percent.

Maybe she does belong at this event.

"What business is your family in?" I asked as she slid her phone back into her purse.

"The art world. We handle the auctions and sales between seller and buyers, ensuring everything is authentic," Maricel briefly explained, and I almost wondered how someone could handle that amount of work without a college degree.

Nepotism at its finest.

"That sounds really cool," I said, knowing she probably lives the life.

"It can be, and it's nice being away from my crazy family," she said, shaking her head to herself, "They drive me loca all the time."

I smiled, "Tell me about it," I whispered, realizing we might relate to something.

"It was so lonely here at first, but a family friend really helped me settle in," Maricel admitted, blinking a few times as she glanced away from me, "She changed everything for me."

I could hear the softness grow in her tone, almost reminiscing in a sort.

It felt like whoever helped her wasn't in her life anymore.

So I wasn't really sure what to say.

I didn't want to rub salt in the wound and continue on with this topic.

"Actually, she's here tonight," Maricel suddenly spoke again, her voice quieter as she glanced past me, "I really wasn't supposed to come. We made an agreement to go separate ways."

I shook my head, "Girl, be delusional—it works for me all the time," I assured her, watching as she drew in a visible breath.

"Okay, she's... coming over now," she whispered to me, gently nudging my shoulder.

I smiled as I glanced over, following her line of sight—

To Monroe?

My brows furrowed, feeling the most nauseating pit sink in my stomach.

It all made sense.

Maricel has a trust fund, she's old money.

Monroe's the family friend—she helped her settle in.

And... they had an agreement to go separate ways.

The same agreement we have?

"Ro," Maricel smiled, exposing her white teeth entirely.

Meanwhile, I was actively trying to stop myself from throwing up.

"Maricel," Monroe calmly said as she stopped by us.

Maricel's smile widened as she openly eyed Monroe, leaning in for a hug.

But Monroe immediately stepped away, leaning back from the hug she tried to initiate.

"You shouldn't be here," was all Monroe said, her words lacking any warmth as I stood silently, processing the idea that Maricel is a past arrangement.

It hit me like a wave, suddenly feeling very insecure standing beside her.

I couldn't take back my admiration.

How I genuinely thought she lit up the room.

The way she walked and carried herself, I admired it all.

And I hate myself for it now.

"I've been texting you—this was a last resort, I promise," she whispered, her tone growing almost pleading with her.

It made me stiffen.

"There shouldn't be a last resort here," Monroe said, subtly glancing to me for a moment before looking back at Maricel, "I was very clear during our last conversation."

Maricel took a step closer to her, making me immediately glance in the opposite direction.

"I think about you every day, mi amor," Maricel whispered so softly, her words barely audible, "I... I think I'm losing my mind."

I heard Monroe let out a deep sigh.

"I'm wearing the bracelet, look," I heard Maricel rush out, lifting her arm up.

I unconsciously glanced over to eye the shiny silver bracelet.

It looked... expensive.

"I wear it every day for you," Maricel said so softly, probably being as delusional as I previously told her to be, "I still write down my days for you, too."

Silence.

Monroe didn't say anything.

And she looked expressionless, entirely unaffected by Maricel's deep words.

It was the concerningly calm side to Monroe that we were both witnessing.

The one where nothing affected her—there was this scary level of detachment she had from reality.

"Leave," Monroe calmly spoke, her words lowered between them, "Or security can escort you out."

"No-no, I think she deserves another chance personally," I suddenly spoke, making Monroe's darkened blue eyes snap to me, "You should drop everything for a girl like this," I added, my voice more shaky than I realized.

Maricel smiled at my words of encouragement.

Meanwhile, I wanted to cry.

I forced a smile for Maricel, knowing she didn't do anything wrong here.

Neither did Monroe honestly.

She didn't expect this, and she didn't let Maricel hug her.

But for some reason, this all upset me deeper than it should.

Maybe because I knew—

I would be in Maricel's shoes eventually.

But what's the most insane of it all?

I didn't care.

That's how fucking consuming Monroe is.

I don't care how much it might hurt me.

Somehow, it was all so worth it just to experience her.

I suddenly walked past them both, brushing through the crowds of people as I tried my best to rush out of this building.

It feels nauseating to even be here right now.

I mean... she wrote her days down for her?

Physically wrote them?

Like logs?

I... I don't do that.

I don't do nearly enough as Maricel probably did.

"Liberty," her voice echoed from behind me.

I shook my head as I stopped by the elevators, refusing to look in her direction.

"No," I said, trying to focus on my breathing.

I need a stronger drink to digest what just fucking happened.

"Let me grab my coat, and we can leave, darling," she softly whispered, attempting to touch my shoulder.

But I immediately leaned away.

"We aren't going anywhere," I clarified, watching the elevator panel as it rose to the high floor we're on.

"Let's discuss this," Monroe said, making me shake my head, "You're spiraling sweetheart, let me be here with you."

"That sounds impossible when you caused the spiraling, Monroe," I whispered, finally glancing over to meet her stare.

Her dark blue eyes were already on me, trailing my face so openly.

"I'll answer any questions you have, just let me take care of you, Liberty," she said so softly, taking a step closer to me.

I drew in a deep breath at the closed space between us, inhaling her familiar scent that breezed around me.

I stared so deeply into her eyes, feeling everything crumble around me.

I nodded my head, my body acting before I could catch up.

It felt like my entire existence served her.

Yet all I could logically say is—

"I need space."

I walked onto the elevator as soon as it dinged open, refusing to meet her stare.

Monroe looked frozen for a moment—expressionless as she calculated everything.

I knew Maricel was a wild card.

Monroe hates wild cards.

She hates being caught off guard.

"Liberty," she spoke again, taking a step forward.

But the doors already slid closed, leaving me alone in silence as I clicked the lowest floor.

Hitting another bar was the only thing on my mind, even if I knew drinking would only make me feel worse.

But maybe feeling worse was what I wanted.

Somehow, my old lifestyle is always what I revert back to.