The Better To Kiss You With

by Michelle Osgood

  See you soon – crywolf

  Another picture, this time taped to the bottom of the page: a cut-out of a pair of someone’s eyes. Whoever it was must have been wearing contacts, because his eyes were a strange, almost orange-gold that Deanna knew couldn’t be natural.

  Behind her, Jamie inhaled sharply and stumbled back, nearly tripping over Nathan’s shoes.

  “It’s not that bad,” Deanna said tonelessly. “He’s said worse. If it weren’t for the pictures, it would just be more of the same.”

  “We have to call the police.” Nathan was already looking up the non-emergency police number. “He’s stalking you. This isn’t some cyberbullying trolling crap anymore, this is real.”

  “So he keeps insisting.” Deanna was oddly calm. The note wasn’t as bad as some of his tweets had been. But the pictures…

  Nathan began to speak to whoever had picked up on the other end and turned away to pace in front of Deanna’s windows. Deanna tuned out his words, not wanting to hear what he was telling the police, and focused on Jamie, who still hadn’t said a word.

  “Are you okay?” Deanna reached out and was surprised when Jamie flinched away. “It’s not—I mean, it’s fucked up, and creepy, but.” Deanna shrugged, trying to shake it off. “I’m okay.”

  Jamie stared at her before she shook her head. “It’s not. This is serious, Deanna. He knows where you live.”

  “Yes, and all he did was send me a nasty letter and take a couple of pictures. I’m not taking this lightly,” she added when Jamie opened her mouth again. “We’ll report it. But this guy is a coward hiding behind a computer screen. It’s not hard to find pictures like… like that,” she gestured at the second picture she’d placed face down on the side table.

  “I don’t think—” Jamie began, but Nathan had ended his call and strode toward them. He gathered up the envelope and plucked the letter from Deanna’s fingers.

  “Come on, they want us to go down to the station.”

  Glad she’d kept her shoes on, Deanna picked up her purse and thought, distantly, that she was never going to get her new painting hung.

  Chapter Nine |

  “You should quit.”

  Deanna glanced up from where she was washing the dinner dishes in Jamie’s sink. “I’m almost done. I know you think they can wait, but I can’t stand leaving dirty dishes overnight. Plus, you cooked for me, so it’s really the least I can do.”

  “No, I don’t mean—” Jamie took a breath. She was sitting at her kitchen table, her foot tapping a restless beat against the tile. Arthur was alert on his belly beside her. “You should quit your job,” she clarified, not quite looking Deanna in the eye.

  Deanna arched an incredulous eyebrow over her glasses. She’d traded her contacts for them when they’d returned from the station. “You sound like the detective who told me to just ‘stop using the Internet for a while.’ And trust me, you sound as ridiculous as he did.” Although the police had been polite enough, there apparently hadn’t been anything they could do. Without an ID for crywolf she would have a tough time seeking a restraining order, and that was apparently the only recourse against someone who was “only” accused of stalking. They’d made copies of the letter and the pictures, and had created a file. But otherwise they had been entirely unhelpful, not to mention time-consuming.

  “This is serious, Dee.”

  “I know it’s serious, Jamie.” Deanna reminded herself to be patient. Jamie was concerned, and it was clear now that concern when it came to crywolf was well founded. “Quitting my job isn’t the answer, though.”

  “It’s what he wants. If you quit, maybe he’ll stop.”

  “He doesn’t want me to quit; he wants the whole game to quit. And that’s not going to happen.” Wolf’s Run was gaining popularity, and there was talk on the admin boards that it might hit number one on the top ten list for role-playing games in Vancouver. Right now they were hovering at number five.

  “I’m worried.”

  “I’m worried too. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let an idiot with an Internet connection and Photoshop dictate my actions.” Deanna tugged off her rubber gloves as she turned to face Jamie.

  “It’s more dangerous than that.” Jamie pushed her chair back with uncharacteristic force, and the chair legs squeaked against the tile.

  “I’m a woman with an active online presence. Do you think I haven’t received death threats before? Worse?” Deanna shrugged.

  “Not like this you haven’t.” Jamie’s words rang with certainty.

  “Because he used snail mail instead of email? You know what—don’t answer. It doesn’t matter. I’m not quitting my job.” Deanna dropped the pink rubber gloves beside the sink. She’d brought them after the first time Jamie had cooked for her, when she’d discovered that Jamie seemed to have no regard for the delicate skin of her hands, plunging them into near scalding water without so much as a blink. That was how she took care of Jamie. That was how you took care of someone you were in a relationship with—not by telling them to quit doing what they wanted to do, but by helping them do it well.

  Deanna crossed the kitchen and knelt in front of Jamie. “Let this drop, okay?” She ran her hands over Jamie’s thighs, and was surprised at the tension she could feel through the fabric of Jamie’s jeans.

  “I want you to at least consider it. Deanna, you don’t realize what—”

  “Stop it, Jamie.”

  On the floor, Arthur gave a nervous whine, his gaze jumping between the two of them.

  “I need you to listen to me.” Jamie was rigid, her hand flexing into a fist on the table as though she didn’t know what to do with it.

  “And I need you to stop. This is kind of out of line.”

  “Out of line?” It was Jamie’s turn to sound incredulous. “I’m trying to keep you safe.”

  “I don’t need you to protect me.”

  “You do, Dee. This time you really do. You just have to trust me on this, please.”

  “I trust you, Jamie. But I need you to trust me as well, okay? And that means letting me make my own decisions—even if you don’t agree with them.” Deanna stood. “I appreciate you offering to let us stay here tonight, but Arthur and I are going to go back downstairs.”

  “Deanna.”

  Deanna shook her head, already moving toward the door. The pleading note in Jamie’s voice almost made Deanna change her mind, but she was too tired to want to spend the night arguing with Jamie.

  “Not tonight, Jamie.” Deanna picked up her purse from the couch. Arthur was close on her heels as she toed on her shoes.

  Jamie sat at the table, not looking at Deanna, and, with a sigh, Deanna left.

  Chapter Ten |

  I know you’re sitting in your bed moping but that’s enough of that.

  Deanna scowled at the text Nathan had sent her before tossing her phone onto the pillow next to her. Nathan didn’t know she was in bed. She could have turned it back into the couch. Or be sitting at her desk. Maybe she wasn’t even home. She needed to get groceries—it was actually ridiculous how many groceries a person needed to buy—so for all Nathan knew she could be out shopping.

  Stop ignoring me.

  Deanna.

  Deaaaaaaaaaaaaannnnnaaaaaaaa.

  I’m outside and I can see the light in your window. If you don’t put on pants and come down I’m going to ring your buzzer until the sound of it drives you insane and then you’ll have an actual reason to mope.

  Deanna made an inarticulate noise of irritation and debated turning her phone off. But Nathan had been good not to check up on her until now. She’d texted him last night when she’d left Jamie’s to bemoan the fact that they’d had their first fight. Since she’d ignored her phone all day, she supposed she owed it to him to get up.

  Fine. She rolled out of bed.

  Good. And bring
Arthur. You two are coming over for Pasta à la Nathan and a Girls marathon.

  Of course he’d know the exact combination that would be enticing enough to convince her to go with him.

  Give me fifteen minutes to shower.

  I’ll be waiting, was his prompt reply.

  It took Deanna only a couple of minutes to pull her wet hair up into a bun and throw on a pair of leggings and the large, zip-up hoodie that Jamie had left behind the last time she’d stayed over.

  Snapping on Arthur’s leash, she grabbed her bag and turned off the overhead light. At the last minute, she flicked on the small lamp she kept at her desk. She didn’t relish the idea of coming home to a dark apartment, even though crywolf had been quiet since she’d received his hate mail.

  “Here.” The second she stepped outside, Nathan thrust a shopping bag at her. “You can help me carry dinner.”

  Deanna made a face but took the bag with her free hand as they headed down the street. Nathan’s place wasn’t close, but with a dog they couldn’t hop into one of the city’s car shares, so it was easiest to walk. Between crywolf’s letter and Deanna spending today brooding about Jamie, she figured it was probably for the best, anyway.

  Nathan didn’t ask Deanna how she was doing; instead he kept up a stream of chatter about his day at work and the latest university library gossip. By the time they got to his place, a trendy studio loft in an industrial quarter of the city that was gradually filling with art galleries and craft breweries, Deanna felt better than she had in days.

  As comfortable in his place as he was in hers, she helped him put away the groceries. Arthur, equally comfortable, sprawled in the middle of the floor so that as Nathan prepared their meal he had to engage in a careful dance of don’t-trip-over-the-dog.

  Holding the glass of Chianti Nathan had poured for her, Deanna settled in with her back against the counter to watch Nathan wash vegetables, juggle cookware and chop.

  “It’s a crime against nature that someone hasn’t snapped you up yet,” she opined.

  “Or several someones,” Nathan agreed, blue eyes twinkling through his glasses. “I guess the universe is holding out for someone special.”

  “Probably.” Deanna laughed. The last person Nathan had dated was a professional contortionist. While Deanna was obviously biased, she thought Nathan would either wind up with an actual prince or remain single, and die with a string of ex-lovers weeping hysterically at his funeral. He was just that sort of person—settling for less would never occur to him.

  “Speaking of someone special…” Nathan shot her a meaningful glance as he set onions and garlic hissing and spitting in a skillet.

  Deanna sighed, knowing her reprieve had been too good to last. “She keeps texting. And calling. But I don’t want to talk about it anymore, so…” She shrugged gracelessly.

  Nathan added the rest of the ingredients to the skillet before picking up his own glass of wine and turning to face Deanna. “You should let her know you’re okay, at least.”

  “I know.” Deanna looked away guiltily. When she got home, she’d send Jamie a text and see if the other woman wanted to go for coffee in the morning. If Jamie agreed to respect Deanna’s decision to continue working for Wolf’s Run, then everything could go back to normal. Deanna really, really missed normal with Jamie. Which, since it had been barely twenty-four hours since their sort-of-fight, meant Deanna was falling. Hard. She took a big gulp of the wine and set the table.

  “You really didn’t have to walk me home,” Deanna told Nathan for the tenth time at the door to her building. “It’s not like I haven’t made my way back from your place before.”

  “Yeah, well, there hasn’t been a psycho stalking you before.”

  “That we know of.” Deanna winked, deciding that if she did actually have a stalker she might as well be able to joke about it. Luckily, Nathan was her kind of person; as she fished in her bag for her keys, he struck an obnoxious pose on the steps.

  “I want to make sure he gets my good side,” he informed her, though Deanna didn’t miss the shrewd way his blue eyes scanned the other side of the street.

  “Thank you for dinner.” She drew him close, and he gave her a giant squeeze, dropping a kiss on her forehead.

  “Take care of my favorite person and my favorite dog,” he told her as she opened the door and let Arthur in.

  “Promise,” Deanna called over her shoulder, rolling her eyes to disguise how touched she was that he’d gone all the way to her place and back just to make sure she got home safe, and that now he even waited until the door had closed and locked itself behind her.

  Distractedly composing the text she planned to send to Jamie, Deanna didn’t let Arthur off his leash until she pulled open the door to their floor and he practically yanked it out of her hands. Startled, she looked up to see what was causing him to pull so intently only to see Jamie scrambling to her feet from where she’d been sitting in the hall outside Deanna’s door.

  So much for the text. Not entirely sure how she felt, she kept a tight hold on Arthur’s leash as they made their way down the hall toward Jamie.

  The habitually well-groomed woman looked like shit. Her eyes were bloodshot, her flannel button-up was wrinkled, and the look on her face was one of such intense relief that Deanna wondered if she hadn’t missed a natural disaster or terrorist attack.

  “I didn’t know where you were,” Jamie said, her voice cracking. “You didn’t answer your phone, and you weren’t in your apartment, and I didn’t know…” She was tight with tension, hands shaking, and it looked as though it was all she could do not to reach out for Deanna.

  “I was at Nathan’s,” Deanna said carefully. “My phone was in my bag.”

  “Okay.” Jamie took a step back, shoved her hands into the pockets of her jeans and hunched her shoulders. “Okay.”

  “Are you?” Deanna asked. “Okay?” Her own fingers wrapped tightly around the strap of her bag and Arthur’s leash. She wanted to pull Jamie into a hug and tell her that they were all right, that everything was all right, but wasn’t sure if either of those things were actually true.

  “No,” Jamie admitted, guilelessly. “I’m not. I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

  Deanna glanced at her door. She didn’t need a repeat of the other night, and the last thing she wanted to do was to ask Jamie to leave her apartment.

  “Please. It’s serious.” Jamie pressed her arms closer to her body as if she was trying to make herself seem smaller. “I need to tell you something.”

  Deanna blew out a long breath. It wasn’t the discussion over coffee that she’d imagined, but it didn’t seem as though Jamie would be able to wait. “Okay.”

  She’d thought agreeing would ease some of Jamie’s tension, but now Jamie seemed strung even tighter. With an apprehensive knot forming in her own stomach, Deanna unlocked the door and let Arthur and Jamie in.

  After unclipping Arthur’s leash and pulling off the hoodie—and hoping Jamie wouldn’t recognize it as hers—Deanna tossed her purse onto the side table and headed into the main room, which, she remembered with a mental groan, was her bedroom since she hadn’t folded up the sofa bed. She flicked on the light and hoped Jamie would ignore the disarray. Considering that Jamie herself seemed to be a mess, the odds were good.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, turning to face Jamie and unable to hide the concern in her voice.

  Their fight last night—and really, it had been more of a disagreement than an actual fight—hadn’t been pleasant, but Deanna didn’t think it had been bad enough to cause this level of anxiety in Jamie. Jamie’s arms were still hugged tight at her sides, and she held her body as though it was something brittle waiting for a blow.

  “You, uh, should probably sit down,” Jamie said, a ghost of a wry grin flickering over her face.

  “You’re not pregnant, are you?” Deanna
joked halfheartedly—though even as she said it, a spark of alarm shot through her. Jamie couldn’t be, could she?

  “No.” This time Jamie almost laughed. “No, it’s not that. God. I don’t exactly know how to say this.” She ran her fingers through her hair, turning to stare at her own reflection in the window. “I haven’t had to do this. I haven’t had to tell anyone. It’s not something you really think you’ll ever have to do, you know?”

  “Um, sure?” It was cancer, wasn’t it? Jamie was dying from some sort of wasting illness, and she and Deanna had just fought, and now Deanna was going to feel like a monster for being angry at her girlfriend for just wanting to keep her safe when Jamie was the one who was dying. If so, Deanna definitely wanted to be sitting down, so, with trepidation weighing heavy in the pit of her stomach, she eased herself onto the edge of the mattress.

  “Fuck.” Jamie drew Deanna’s curtains and turned back. From the pale, hollow look on her face, Deanna expected her to be sick any minute.

  “Hey, listen, it’s gonna be okay. Whatever it is, we can—” Deanna started.

  “No.” Jamie shook her head, cutting her off. “Let me talk, all right? It’s just going to sound crazy. And you’re going to think it’s a joke or that I’m making fun of you, but I swear it’s nothing like that, okay? It’s just—it’s important that you know. And it’s important that no one else does.”

  Deanna gave a slow nod, clasped her hands in her lap and waited.