Staaaaahpt it…

“I was watching a movie,” she told him. “I took the pills a few minutes before I was planning to go to bed but I fell asleep on the couch. There was the sound of breaking glass…but I don’t remember who or what happened…”

“The meds may have interfered with your memory of events,” he said. “Do you know of anyone who might go to these lengths?”

“Yes. No. Yes. I don’t know why they would. I’m really confused right now. And so is the author. She can’t quite nail down my reaction.”

“She’s confused, as well. Just woke up and wrote down those last two sentences. She’s trying to figure out if Shark should be the one to point out the meds or should it be Egger because he’s the possible bad guy in this scenario.”

She nodded. “As well, she wants Shark to look like a romantic foil, because you guys are having sex and there’s obviously sexual tension between you and I.”

“There is.” He nodded. “And we are. And it’s good hot sex. And Shark will get jealous but it’s more like a dog with a bone than a love thing… although we’d both take a bullet for the other, according to the first draft.”

“She’s also trying to figure out how much I remember of the night. I mean, how am I supposed to not remember anything. Holy mother of god, would you believe she started writing what I just said yesterday?”

“Yes, I can. She’s been busy.”

“No, she fucking hasn’t. She’s been fucking stoned.”

“She has a day job. An exhausting day job.”

“She had TWO DAYS OFF.”

“Yeah, but, you know. She doesn’t write at night and her days off of work sometimes she’s too exhausted to-“

“Not too exhausted to binge Sense8 and Harlots.”

“She considers that to be-“

“Don’t you dare say research.”

“She had the memorial yesterday.”

“I’ll give her yesterday, no problem. She had to work and go to the memorial. But one thousand words a day… that’s all I ask and it’s not much. One thousand words a day and I would have been out of these wets clothes weeks ago. Wait, which one of us is talking? One of us is in wet clothes.”

“I think it’s you. Hang on. Yeah, it’s you.”

“Okay, I know that and you know that and she knows that but will anyone else?”

“Um. Pretty sure nobody’s going to read this part.”

“She’ll probably post it on her fucking blog. Ha ha ha, look at the writing process, ha ha ha.”

He shuddered. “No. She doesn’t want anyone to read her blog. Not yet.”

She winced at the thought. “True. I really thought she’d been done with the second draft of us right now. I mean, she’s got the basics already written. She knows where we end up and how we get there. What is her issue?”

“Fear of success/failure/premature publication? Shit, did you notice it took her another 24 hours to have me speak again?”

“Yes. We clipped our dog’s nails and binge-watched Atlantis.”

“You, me, or her?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“You have a dog?”

“Wait, which one of us is talking right now?”

“Fuck this. Let’s skip the whole plot and get to the sex.”

“I’m not that kind of girl, er, boy… I give up.”

“Did she just go back and edit, like three of those sentences as though it were necessary? OMG she did it again while I was talking.”

“Your sentences or mine?”


“Oh sweet mother of mercy, she’s posted this draft on the blog and she’s editing it AS WE SPEAK.”

“I can’t live like this.” He pulled out his gun.

“Wait,” she said. “Do me first.”

About Violet Graves

Writer of Urban Fantasy and Paranormal Sex with a Vengeance
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