Selena

We have gathered today, to mourn the death of my last little piece of self-respect. It was a quick ending, caused by a vibrator that a certain someone was wearing while sitting on someone else.

Psychologists say I may never recover. The latest MRI scans predict that the traumatic incident will most likely shorten my life on this earth by at least 10 years. Which, doesn't sound so terrible.

Anywho. That's all I can think about on our way to Adam's place with Imaan. Downtown LA is shimmering with sky high buildings. Trendy restaurants are lively with drunken customers, dressed in high heels and button-downs.

But Adam doesn't stop there.

He drives further, until the commercial buildings are a distant silhouette behind me. I've only been in these areas two times in my whole life.

The first time, Imaan and I almost got kidnapped by a questionable business man who promised to give us a free bottle service if we just followed him to a certain bar. We almost did, but logic kicked in when we rounded the empty street with zero hints of any operating establishments.

The second time, I was reading a lovely book on my phone on a sunny day, when a homeless man gave me an excited smile before pulling out his dick out of his sweatpants.

This is the third time.

My social batteries are annihilated from anxiety fatigue. I've drained all my energy on socializing with people, performing in a way that's expected in a public setting—with the exception of the vibrator incident which shall never be mentioned again unless one wishes to crawl into the deepest layer of the planet.

I'm cocooned inside my head, the most dreaded and yet familiar place I know. I'm convinced it's my brain's defense mechanism against freaking out not knowing what to expect from Adam.

Where does he live? What's his sister like?

He parks at the end of a dead-end street.

I step out of the car, wrapping my arms around me. It's freezing. Low-rise, damaged apartment buildings stretch on each side of the quiet street. With broken gates and front yards littered with metal junk and knocked over trash bins.

As we approach Adam's rusted gate, an audacious dog jumps behind it and barks at me.

I bare my teeth and hiss at it.

"Would you shut up?" Adam chuckles. He places his warm palm on my low back to gently nudge me forward.

The business butterflies go nuts, but my brain beats them with a baseball bat, reminding me I'm about to enter a hallway with stained and cracked walls, and overhead lights from a horror movie.

"G-guys, just FYI, I don't know how to fight and I have no physical strength to carry any of you."

"What?" Imaan scowls beside me.

"I'll try. I might be able to save you. But not Adam." I look up at him over my shoulder. "No offense, but you're what, like 300 pounds?"

"Two hundred, jackass."

"Same thing." I get distracted by a brown paper bag left on the ground as we're about to step inside the building.

HI-YA! I kick the crumpled bag into the ground with as much power as I can muster.

Brown creamy substance starts to ooze from the sides of the ripped paper, smearing on my shoes. The foul stench burns through my nose.

Adam starts laughing. "Oh my God. You're such an idiot."

"Selena, why the hell would you do that?" Imaan scolds like a tired grandmother.

"Nooo. Please, no. I did not just step on—"

"Someone's shit? That's exactly what you did," Adam nonchalantly informs me, a little too happy about my predicament.

"The kids do it as a prank. It's very common," Imaan explains.

"Eeew!" I cry out.

"Be quiet," Adam murmurs. "People are sleeping."

I sing. "Pleeease, leave us aloneee. We are sleeping."

"What?"

"You contacted meee."

"I swear to God..." Adam pauses by the last door on the left of the hall and pulls out a small keychain from his front pocket.

I study the white door. It's been painted over so many times, it's become unnaturally bulky.

Who's on the other side? How do I act? Do I compliment the place, even if I don't like it?

"Lee? I'm home!" Adam cracks the door open and pokes his head inside. "Lee? You there?"

What if Lee is a murderer? As we inch down the creaking hallway into the dim living room, I expect a psycho to jump on me from the corner and bash my skull open while screaming.

"Your sister lives here alone?" The panic is too evident in my voice. I'm shaking. "Wow, she must be such a badass." Yes, say it louder so she hears you're kissing ass. Maybe she'll show mercy. "I could never do it, I'm too much of a chicken."

"I don't want her to live here, she's going out to move out as soon we find a—"

"Adam?" A small, red-headed girl around my age rises from the couch in the living room as we step in. She's wrapped with a thick blanket, her damp baby curls clinging to the sides of her cheeks. She's flushed with fever, her round eyes glossy.

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Adam strides towards her and puts his hand on her forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, how are you here right now?" She softly smacks his arm away, then makes eye contact with me.

Oh, God. Quick. Be normal.

I give her a stiff, robotic wave. "Hi."

"Oh my—you brought your clients?!" Leah burns even more, before smiling at me. "I'm sorry..."

"No worries! I'm sorry, I would shake your hand but you're sick..."

"Have you had anything to eat?" Adam asks her.

"Yeah..." It's obvious from her voice that she sucks at lying. She knows it too. "Not really."

"I knew we should've stopped to buy groceries!" I blurt out, more to myself. But they all give me a strange look. "What? I told them."

Adam sighs, pushing his sister to sit down on the couch. "I'll check what we have in the kitchen, lie down. Did you take any medicine?"

He's such a caretaker. I'm assuming their parents aren't around? Are they even alive or is it just the two of them? I zone out for a while, studying every nook and cranny at his moldy, cramped up, and frankly hideous apartment.

Nothing in here matches. The lights are glaring yellow. There's plastic wrapped around the kitchen table. The chairs are an off mixture of metal and wood. The kitchen counters are busy brown with black and gold patterns. And there's a layer of dust on the china collection sitting behind the glass cabinets.

"How rude, you didn't introduce us." I realize minutes later while Adam rummages through the short refrigerator.

"Sorry." He doesn't sound sorry at all. "I don't mix my personal and professional sides together."

"You sleep on my couch and shower in my bathroom. We're together 24/7. I think it's fine if I know one tiny detail about you."

"I prefer my privacy."

"Aw, really? I wonder what that feels like." Sarcasm drips from my voice and he gives me a dry glance to acknowledge it. "Hey, Leah?" I yell, staring at Adam the whole time.

"Yeah?" She responds from the living room.

"How old is Adam?"

"He's thirty-two. Why?"

Adam's dark eyes harden slowly, while I fight against an unapologetic, gloating smirk.

"Old fart."

He scoffs, turning his face aside. My eyes drink up his chiseled profile. The stubbled lower-half of his face and the rugged size of his Adam's apple.

"Is it just you two?" I tilt my head. Maybe that's why he's so uptight. Bearing the burden of a parent, when he was supposed to be a kid.

"Yup." He goes back to rummaging and picking ingredients.

"You really need to do some grocery shopping." I stare at the plastic bag of sprouted potatoes in his hand. "You should've listened to me."

"Did I ask for your advice?"

"Well, what do you want me to do? Stand here and be pretty?"

"No, but you can leave me alone. Why don't you join your friend in the living room and talk?"

"You mean make small talk?" I whisper. As if on cue, Imaan and Leah's voices become louder in my ears. They're laughing about something and my heart beats faster with fear that they might be laughing at me. No. Imaan wouldn't do that, would she? What if she realizes how lame I am and becomes besties with Leah? Besties at first sight.

"No, she didn't." Leah laughs harder. "I don't fucking believe you. And Adam just sat there? No way!"

"What?" I pop my head out of the kitchen.

Leah's crying from laughing. "You avoided a stripper by sitting on my brother's lap?"

"Yeah, that's not even the worst part," Adam grumbles, washing a dirty dish in the sink. "The worst part was the fact that she was wearing a vibra—"

"I'm begging you, shut the fuck up!" I whisper, running up to him. My intoxicated system doesn't respond well to the cardio. The kitchen spins a little and I lean on the edge of the sink.

"You look like you want to throw up," Adam notes, still scrubbing the plates. Something about seeing a big man like him do domestic work makes my ovaries squeeze like horny bitches.

I need help.

"Selena?" Adam pauses. His eyes are so, so direct. My God, how can he make such strong eye-contact without flinching? I could never.

My mouth is dried up. "Can I lie down?"

"Sure." He shuts the water off and dries his hands with a paper towel. The muscles under his forearms twitch with the movement, hiding under a dusting of soft, dark hair. "Come, I'll take you to the room."

"Oh, thank God. I could use some darkness and silence."

He doesn't add anything as we pass his sister and Imaan.

"I'll text you." I mouth to Imaan who's looking at me confused and pull out my phone.

I'm going to snoop. Let me know when he comes back to the room. Keep them distracted.

Death mission? Probably, yes. But I can't stand the power imbalance. He's violated every ounce of privacy I have, invaded my safe cocoon, and all of this without my consent. While refusing to give me a peace of mind by sharing a basic level of information about who he might be.

It's time I take the matter into my own hands. I owe it to myself. I refuse being clueless.

"So, thirty-two, huh?" I wiggle my brows as Adam switches the bedroom lights on.

"What, did you think I'd be younger?"

"God, I hope not. The older, the better. Not really. Thirty-two is as old as I'd go." I approach the two twin-size beds. One is pink and the other is blue. "How gender stereotypical," I voice my disappointment.

"You know, you don't need to say every random thought that pops into your head. Sometimes, it's good to keep it inside." He bends over the pink bed to fix the wrinkled bedding.

"I'm not touching that." I plop on his bed and lay on my side, curling into myself. "Hellooo, she's sick. Remember? I'm using your bed."

"That's fine. Do you need another blanket?" He walks over to the dresser that's facing the beds. It's a large piece of furniture, with 6 compartments and a huge vanity mirror. I notice two Polaroid photos tucked in the top right corner, but quickly look away as Adam turns back to me. He's holding some folded clothes. "Do you want to change out of that robe?"

"No, thanks. I'm good." I don't know what detergent he uses for his clothes or the last time he's washed them. Plus, I can't commit without feeling the material first, and that's too much unnecessary effort for the moment.

"Okay."

"So you and your sister share a room?" I can't mask the weirded-out tone in my voice. "I thought you like privacy."

"Yeah. It's called being poor."

"Oh." I laugh, looking down. "Yeah. Sorry."

"And no, we don't share a room. I used to sleep on the couch."

"That's so uncomfortable."

"I've had worse." He shrugs, heading to leave the room. He hovers his hand over the light switch, pausing by the door. "I'll come to check on you in a little bit. Can I trust leaving you alone?"

"I don't know, can you?"

He glares so deliciously. It feeds my soul.

"Yes, daddy."

He releases a harsh scoff that almost sounds like he's laughing under his breath, before he flips the lights off and shuts the door.

As soon as he leaves, my heart pumps with adrenaline. I feel like a spy in an action movie, risking my life to uncover the truth.

Who is Adam? Let's discover.

Knowing his hearing is sharp like a dog's, I walk on my tiptoes towards the dresser. I turn my phone's flashlight on at the Polaroid pictures.

One is of Adam, maybe a couple of years ago. He's standing next to a man around his age, who's much skinnier than him. They're both smiling ear to ear, their eyes crinkled with genuine happiness. Although, there's that undeniable loneliness lingering in Adam's eyes, like a cloud of darkness refusing to leave.

The second photo is much older. Adam is leaner here, smaller. He has no facial hair. No tattoos. Leah looks like she might be in high school, she's wearing braces. They're standing next to a hospital bed, holding flowers and balloons. And there's a woman with no hair, wearing a hospital gown, sitting up on the bed. She has a cake on her lap and IV needles in her arms.

Is that their mom? Where's the dad? A part of me thinks maybe he took the picture, but why wouldn't he want to be in it, with them?

I need to know more. But I can't stoop to the level of creeping through their drawers. I feel like that crosses the boundaries of basic human respect.

I shall only observe what's readily available. For example...

I drop on my knees and slide under the bed.

What kind of treasures do we have in here?

I cough from the attack of dust bunnies. It's okay. Better than having human poop particles on the bottom of my shoes. I direct my flashlight at the random shoe boxes and canvases stuffed under the spring bed. I hear chatter from the living room, praying Imaan remembers to warn me in case someone comes to the room.

With tingling hands and a thousand possibilities racing in my head, I reach my arm and grab a bunch of notebooks stacked next to the shoe boxes.

The first one is Leah's Spanish homework. She has a color-coordinated and perfect handwriting. Aw, bestie. I get a rush of dopamine at how clean and evenly spaced every letter is. She did such a good job.

Not helpful, though, I shove it away, moving to the next one. English homework. Algebra. History. Chemistry. Biology. Bla bla bla.

Bingo. This one is different. I find a thick binder with a linen cover and flip to the first page.

A handwritten letter is glued to the page. Another one on the next. There's dozens of them. The earliest one dates back to 2007. I skip to the last one, written on February 24th, 2013.

It's definitely not Leah's handwriting. The letters are all a different size, with inconsistent spacing. It looks like chicken scratches, rushed by someone who's never had a proper education.

Dear Lee,

Happy 10th birthday, little sis. I can't believe you're about to start middle school and I'm not there to help you. I'm sorry.

You better focus and get good grades. I'm counting on you. Make sure you also help mom around the house. She won't ask for help, but she needs it.

Now listen, if anyone bothers you at school, don't tell the teachers. They won't do shit. If it's a girl messing with you, then fight back. Even if she gangs up on you with her friends, you stand your ground. Don't show them you're afraid.

If it's a guy...if a guy even breathes in your direction, tell him your brother is in jail and will hunt him down when he gets out. I don't want any douchebag near you. You're way too young to have a boyfriend.

I'm almost out of here. I know I might feel like a stranger to you, because I haven't been there for the last 6 years. But I hope one day you'll realize that I had no other choice. I did what I had to do, to keep you and mom safe.

See you soon, Adam.

Um...

What the hell did I just read? My hands have gone numb. I'm slack-jawed.

Adam was in JAIL? For 6 fucking years!

'He's coming' Imaan texts, buzzing my phone.

I jump and hit my head. Ow. Adam's boots thud closer and closer, then the doorknob turns.

"Selena?"

The lights turn on and my heart regurgitates up to my throat. I'm sooo dead. I'm dead. I'm dead.

"Found it!" I stick my hand out from under the bed, holding my black panty vibrator.

I crawl half of my body out and look up at him, faking a sheepish, embarrassed laugh.

"What the hell are you doing down there?" He stands still, too still. As if he can read my mind.

"I dropped my vibrator." My voice squeezes like a cornered mouse as he paces closer, closer, until he's standing right above me.

"How did it end up under Leah's bed?"

"Um." Think, think. Quickly! "Because I was on my knees and it got really wet and slippery—"

"Selena."

My face is melting off. I'm about to combust into a full-blown meltdown from sheer panic. He could be a potential murderer and here I am, snooping through his private letters. He looks like he could kill without blinking. He could kill me. There's zero, absolutely zero emotions behind his stoic eyes as he looks down at me.

"Were you actually pleasuring yourself while the rest of us were cooking and hanging out?" His calm tone hardens with suspicion. He tilts his head, like a curious predator, almost amused at my pathetic attempts to keep my poker face on.

"Yes," I whisper. I cast my eyes at his boots. I might as well die right now.

He sighs out an impatient groan and crouches down, resting his forearms on his knees.

"Are you always this horny?" He teases me, a scary, cunning humor curving his lips. "Hm?"

Fear jolts me in the stomach. What is he thinking? What is he going to do to me? The calmness. The mystery. Everything about him keeps wrecking me in my bones.

"Come." He opens his palm in front of my face. "Up, up."

In a daze of shock, I place my hand in his and let him pull me out from under the bed. My red velvet robe is covered in dust. I sneeze.

"Are you hungry?" he asks. "Actually, why am I asking. You must be after masturbating all day."

"I wasn't—" Ah, crap. "Yeah. I am."

"Well, they're having soup. But I made you mac 'n' cheese."

"Huh?" My eyebrows bunch together in confusion. "Why?"

"I thought you only eat noodles, no? That's what I always see you eat."

I can't believe my ears. "You made me mac 'n' cheese?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"I just told you." Now he's the one confused.

"Why would you accommodate me?" The question makes me feel more vulnerable than I'd like to admit. I'm throw off guard. Every insecurity and self-doubt coming to the surface. "Why not just call me a spoiled princess and tell me to be grateful that I have something to eat?"

That's what my parents, teachers, friends, strangers have done. I've always felt so selfish and guilty, but I also can't help being picky. I'll force myself to eat, but I get physically nauseous.

"You are a spoiled princess." He gives me a wicked, subtle look. "And you should be grateful."

"I am." I frown, fidgeting with my fingers.

"Good. Then come eat. We're sleeping here tonight."

-A/N-
Mama I'm in love with a criminaaaaal
I hope you guys liked this chapter, if you did, hit that star button to vote and tell me what's your latest smutty kink you're into. BE HONEST, I know y'all are diiiiiiiirty. Wink wink.