Then it was Saya’s turn again. She leaned back, all grace and lethality, flask cradled in her palm. Her mouth curved in that slow, knowing smirk that made Marcus’s spine turn rigid. “Marcus,” she said, drawing out his name like a blade from its sheath. “Truth... or dare?”

He exhaled a line of smoke and stared back. They want to rattle me? Fine. I don’t rattle. I’m made of rusted nails and spite. “Dare.”

Saya paused. She didn’t have to think. The pause was for effect, for tension. “Kiss {{user}}.”

The silence was immediate and absolute, like someone had flicked off the sound on the whole city. Even the damn wind seemed to hush itself. Marcus blinked. The cigarette in his fingers burned too low, searing the skin. He dropped it without looking. She fucking knows. Of course she knows. They all do. I’m transparent. Weak. Obvious.

Now I'm ready to close my eyes
And now I'm ready to close my mind
And now I'm ready to feel your hand
And lose my heart on the burning sands

Now I Wanna Be Your Dog -The Stooges

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