WICKED | WILLIAM FRANKLYN-MILLER

⟶ 13 | NO MEANS NO, NO, NO, NO

LOVEY

⚘

I WASN'T SURPRISED. OR SCARED.

I hardly think I can be scared of him anymore. I feel like I still know nothing about him, but whatever is left to find out won't hurt me. No matter what he does, I'll remember the moment he put aside his job to make me feel safe—actually safe.

I opened my eyes, adjusting to the dark of the room. The familiar damp, musty smell was the first thing I noticed, followed by the flickering of the ceiling light. I could feel a line of warmth wrapping around my waist, and after grazing against it with my finger, I recognized it to be an arm. His arm.

I turned my head, strained from laying flat on my back. Creep was fast asleep next to me, his eyes shut tightly and his mouth parted open slightly. I don't think I've ever seen him sleep. In a foolish way, I thought he never did. I'd always go to sleep with him watching, and wake to him pestering me.

I liked how he looked like this. Calm. At peace. Like all the scars he carried on his shoulders were nothing when he dreamed.

I shifted myself onto my slide slowly, face inches from his. I was drawn to this image in a strange way. I wanted to know where he went when he dreamed. What he saw. What he thought. Oddly, I wanted to know if I was in them. Who was this man, the one who seemed so serene? Where did his anger and madness go?

He opened his eyes.

I drew back in surprise, unsure of what he'd think. I'd just been staring at him for God knows how long, and while he seemed peaceful, I knew the angry exterior that was currently missing was still inside of him.

But he only looked right back at me and said, "Lovey."

I didn't know what to say. He had only said my name, yet it felt like he was saying a million things at once—a million things I couldn't understand. Lovey. There was something so delicate about how he said it.

Almost as if he was saying Love.

But that would be ridiculous. I didn't love him and he didn't love me. My boyfriend—no, not anymore. Percy revealed his true self to me yesterday, and just seeing his face in my mind made me feel sick. Alarmed. Useless and used.

"Hi," I whispered back.

I allowed myself to look at him. Creep; the curve of his jawline, the way his skin could barely hold back the stain of freckles along his cheeks, and the blue of his eyes churning like a wasted sea. When he stared at me, it was like hearing the sound of ice shattering on the ground. Cold, but entracing.

His arm was still around me, but I could feel his fingers graze against the bare of my skin. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth; slowly. It was hypnotic, almost.

"What are you thinking about?" He said quietly.

"Something."

"Tell me."

"You wouldn't want to know," I mumbled, "my thoughts are messy in the morning."

Or my thoughts are of you, and how I'm suddenly feeling differently after last night. How we fell asleep together, and I finally dreamed of wonderful things. How in this very moment, I realized you might not hate me at all.

"It's not like you to keep secrets," he smiled, "you're always running your mouth."

I scoffed. "Excuse me?"

"I like what you say, Lovey. You speak when I can't."

At that moment my stomach gripped uncomfortably. I speak when he can't. This man, he was never able to be himself. From the moment I met him on that train, he had so little to say. Now he speaks to me. Now he knows me. Now I know him.

I looked at him again.

My chest swelled with the feeling of....something. Almost what I used to feel with Percy—when we were young and had barely met—but stronger. I knew I shouldn't have, but I let myself sink into it. Drown in it.

Placing my hand on his cheek, I slid my fingers against the tingling warmth of his skin, scared of my own ambition.

"Can I?" I whispered.

His brow quivered. "Can you what?"

"Kiss you."

God, I sounded insane. I'd known Creep for so little time, hated him for most of it, and had been betrayed by my ex-boyfriend less than 24 hours ago. The truth was I never really loved Percy. I loved the idea of him. But Creep was more than the idea, I was sure of that.

I pried his eyes for a response. I looked at the corners of his lips, the curves of his jaw, and anything that could have told me what he was thinking.

"[y/n]," He said.

I don't remember the last time he said my first name. I'd forgotten I'd even had it. "Yeah?"

"No."

Oh, how foolish I was.

Somehow this felt worse than being betrayed. It felt like nails on a chalkboard, syrup on my fingers, and shattered glass. No. No, no, no, no. The word kept repeating in my head, and I had to respect it no matter how much it hurt me. How could I have expected him to say yes?

I layed there, frozen, watching as he sat up and ran his hands through his hair. Regret was dripping off of his face. Nothing was said as he stood up from the mattress, crossing the room to grab his boots.

"I have to speak to Mori," he said, as if the moment we had seconds ago had never happened. "I'll bring you breakfast when I get back."

It was my turn to stand. "You're leaving?"

"Yes."

"What happened to 'never leaving me behind'?"

My words were tainted with spite, shocked by the turn of the events. I should have expected this. Men, and their feelings, are never easily changed.

"I'm supposed to keep you safe." He paused, eyes trained on the door like he was seconds from running out. He wouldn't look me in the eyes. "Right now that means it's better if you stay here."

"That sounds like the opposite to me."

"You know what I mean."

"Do I?"

The feeling in my chest twisted into something darker. Angrier. He could switch between characters so easily—when he got scared, he reverted into the cold person he'd been when we first met. I didn't like that he was scared. Hadn't he learned to trust me by now?

When he didn't respond, I shook my head in disbelief. What was he afraid of? Surely, it wasn't his job anymore. He'd broken almost every rule with me by now. I didn't need him to like me in return—I don't know if what I was feeling for him was even real at this point—I just didn't want him to be so inconsistent. Like he could never be himself around me.

I had gotten a glimpse of who he really was, and I was greedy for more of it. I wanted him to do it constantly. I didn't want him to hide.

"You're not dangerous to me, William."

He flinched at the sound of his name on my tongue. He was like me—he'd forgotten he had one.

I wanted him to fight back. I wanted him to argue with me, because then things might feel normal again—like how they were at the beginning. Something told me that would never happen again.

"Stay here," he said.

The door shut behind him. I let him leave.