He knew the stories about her—the ones that accused her of being "too much" for anyone to handle, too demanding, too… inconstant. But when she turned, her eyes meeting his in the reflection, the doubt seemed to melt away, replaced by a desperate, hungry need.
"Stay woke," he whispered, a mantra he couldn't help but repeat. “Too late,” the song seemed to echo in his mind. Redbone
“If you want it, you can have it,” he thought, looking at her in the mirror. He knew the stories about her—the ones that
Marcus was tired, his heart heavy with the paranoia that had become his constant companion. He loved her—God, he loved her—but the insecurity was a cold weight in his stomach. He’d seen the way she looked at others, the way she seemed to exist in a space that he couldn't quite reach. “Too late,” the song seemed to echo in his mind
He’d heard the whisperings, the suggestions that she was too much, too captivating, too… scandalous.
"You coming?" she asked, her voice soft, breaking through his thoughts.
He was in too deep. The paranoia was his own, his own "n-s creepin'," his own, private, self-inflicted hell. But as she walked toward him, the red light bathing her in a kind of surreal, dreamlike beauty, he realized that it didn't matter. The risk, the fear, the, yes, scandalous nature of it all... it was worth it.