WEEK 75: Sick and Twisty

Prompted by: Yamna

The crazy author says: Just realized I scheduled this bugger for the wrong day 😅 Pretty sure the email is scheduled wrong too 😅😅😅 Shall fix that when I get home tonight. Yeahhh…

There’s no point in arguing.

I can’t win because he’s right. I’m not a good liar. I probably couldn’t win if he was wrong. I’m bad at lying and worse at debating. Would’ve made for a shitty politician. Dealing with problems isn’t my forte.

I much prefer avoiding them altogether.

So I do just that. I clutch the most precious gift on planet Earth tighter in my arms and I leave.

He stays a step behind me. Of course.

When I find our room and insert the key card, Twitch reaches over my head and pushes the door open. I enter with an irritated sigh.

Such a gentleman.

There are basic amenities and a single queen. Not much else. I don’t turn on the lights. Folding back the covers, I gently settle my gorgeous man on the bed and take my time tucking him in. Poor kid’s exhausted. Doesn’t even stir when I lean in to kiss his forehead and murmur, “Sweet dreams.”

Bullshit.

This is a nightmare.

I take a deep breath and face him.

My nightmare.

My violent criminal.

My mistake.

My convicted felon.

My regret.

Twitch is watching me. Having put my luggage down, he’s holding the door open but hasn’t crossed the threshold. If he’s waiting for an invite, he has one hell of a long wait.

Closing the distance between us, I grit my teeth. “What now?”

He doesn’t reply.

Which pisses me off. “You really gonna stand there and ignore me?” I can’t read him. I couldn’t read him to save my life. “Just like the good old days, right?”

A slight jerk of his chin is the only reaction I get. It’s the only indication he’s not gone deaf and dumb. That tiny movement is his only tell. Otherwise, he’s in complete control of his body.

No, wait.

Something’s wrong.

I touch his chest. “Are you okay?”

He won’t utter a damn word.

It isn’t necessary. I trust my gut. He’s not in complete control. It’s all an act.

Something’s definitely wrong.

He staggers as I grip the front of his shirt and pull him into the room, which confirms my suspicion. “You’re hurt.”

The door shuts behind him. Twitch slumps back against it and laughs.

I’m confused. “How is that funny?”

“Sick and twisty.”

I don’t get the joke.

“This is us, Sid,” he laughs again. “Sick and twisty as fuck.”

I think I missed the punchline.

At my silence, his expression grows serious. Grim. Borderline hateful. “You don’t care unless I get hurt.”

The accusation hits me hard. A sledgehammer I didn’t see coming. I’m stunned speechless. I have zero chance to recover. While I’m still reeling, he takes a second swing…

“And I’d die to make you care. Just like the good old days, right?”