Page 93 of The Games We Play

We fucked. Hard. She came. But she was still deep in her own head.

I look around the room, hoping she didn’t leave. I pull on my jeans, tuck my phone in my back pocket, and tread carefully down the stairs, just in case.

When I turn the corner, she’s in the kitchen, looking at the letters I keep in the drawer. The ones that confirm I have PTSD. The ones that say I need to get help and the details of missed appointments. I feel a wave of shame so high it drowns me. As it splutters to the surface, I’m disorientated. Confused. And angry.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I say, marching over to her and whipping them out of her hands before she can learn more of what the head doctors have to say about me.

Her eyes are wide and red rimmed. Her hands shaking. “I’m sorry. It’s not what you’re thinking. It’s ...”

“You worried that somehow I’m not stable enough for you, Iris?” I toss the papers into the bin, where I should have shoved them to begin with.

“No, that’s not ...”

“You’ve been hard to reach.”

“I’m right here,” she says, almost on a whisper.

“You’re here,” I say, gesturing up and down her body, “but not here enough to be straight with me. I knew something was up. Has this been on your mind, maybe something my ex said that made you feel the need to go checking on me?”

“I didn’t. And I think it’s great you can access professionals, because I’m not qualified to help with this,” she says, gesturing to the bin.

“Aren’t qualified?” I huff as the ice of anger and shame fill my veins. “I just needed you to be there.”

“I will. I am. I’ll hold your hand. But you need someone better—”

“I just needed you, Iris. I just—”

My phone rings. The ringtone is King’s. I ignore it until it stops.

“Please, Spark. Just let me explain. It’s not about your—”

The phone rings again. This time I answer it. “What?”

“Need you to meet me. Vex got a lead on the Brotherhood’s warehouse location, and Saint got a tip that there are more women than the one you found.”

“So, call the police?” I say, my eyes on Iris. She looks panic struck. I’m scaring her, but I can’t stop.

“Fuck that shit. They’ll take an age to investigate the tip. Women could be long gone by then. We ride in fifteen.”

“What changed your mind about the women?”

There’s a pause. “Gwen caught wind. Persuasive little shit when she wants to be.”

He hangs up, and maybe distance is what I need right now. I need to let the shame that’s currently clouding everything else dilute. I can’t give her the domination she needs right now to get to the bottom of what’s bothering her. Not when my own intentions are fucked up.

“I have to go.” I don’t know what else she’ll go looking for if I leave her alone.

“Please, it’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” I ask.

Her mouth opens, but no words come out.

“Fuck,” I curse, and go get dressed. She tries to talk to me three more times, but I leave anyway. I don’t want to hear lies. Not from her mouth.

When I get to the clubhouse, everyone is still there. If they notice my mean attitude, no one says anything.

“What have they set up so far?” Niro asks.