# Estrus Week 2

Title: Estrus Week 2
Status: Complete
Characters: Anon, Fang, Samantha, Ripley, Trish
Rating: NSFW
Classification: One Shot
Author: Anonymous
​
A blaring electronic siren blasts through my apartment, jolting me awake as as I flail my arms and fall out of bed. I grab the charging cable attached to my phone and yank it off the nightstand, fumbling with the plastic case as I struggle to get my bearings. 8:03 a.m., who the heck is calling me this early in the morning? Everyone knows that during a week off from school, it's tradition to sleep in until at *least* ten. I don't recognize the number, it must be one of those annoying robotic scam calls. I close the connection and climb back into bed, hoping I'm not already too awake to fall back asleep. As I snuggle back under the covers, my phone rings again, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. With a long painful groan, I swing my arm behind me until I grasp the phone, pulling it to my head.
​
"...Yeah?" I answer, stifling a yawn. I hope this isn't anything important, and I can get back to sleeping the day away.
​
"Good morning Anon." A familiar voice replies, dripping with judgement, "I didn't wake you, did I?"
​
If I wasn't awake before, I sure as hell am now. The sound of that voice is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. I leap out of bed, standing at attention as if he might be in this very room.
​
"Ripley?? No, I'm up!" I lie, my heart pounding in my ears. How the hell did he even get this number? I scan around the room, fearing he might somehow will pop at any moment.
​
"Hmph, right." Ripley replies, not believing it for a second. "I'll be at your apartment in fifteen minutes, meet me outside."
​
He hangs up before I can object, the line going dead. I stare at my phone for a few precious seconds, scrambling into action once reality finally hits me. I tear off my boxers as I bolt for the bathroom, taking the shortest, coldest shower of my life. Before my hair is even dry I'm wolfing down cereal, bowl in hand as I search for the cleanest clothes I can find. I'm bolting out the door as my fifteen minutes are up, struggling to get my shoes on as I hop down the staircase.
​
Sure enough, a police cruiser rolls up the road right as I reach the curb. I'm not sure how Ripley knows where I live, but I get the sinking suspicion he found out not long after we met. I swallow hard as the window rolls down, the infamous police chief sitting inside. The seams on his police uniform look like they're about to burst, his aviators doing nothing to block the intensity of his glare
​
"Get in." He commands, and I rush to do so without hesitation.
​
A thousand horrible scenarios run through my head as I climb into the passenger seat. Why the heck is he here? I'm not under arrest, right? I mentally run through all the things Fang and I have gotten up to in the last couple weeks, wondering if I did something particular to enrage her father. Unfortunately, that list is pretty damn long, but none of it was illegal! I'm sweating bullet as I sit with my hands on my knees, unable to enjoy the novelty of riding in a police cruiser
​
"So, Anon. How has your week been?" Ripley asks, his eyes pinned the road as he pulls away from the curb. I can immediately tell the question is more than idle pleasantry. He wants to know something. Pedestrians on the sidewalk scatter in a panic as he leisurely cruises down Skin Row. Some take off running especially fast once they realize who's driving.
​
"Fine, sir. Principal Spears gave me the week off." I answer, vowing to stick to the literal truth as much as possible. It's obvious this isn't a social call, I'm now stuck waiting for the other shoe to drop. I keep my eyes fixed on the road, afraid to look anywhere else.
​
"Clearly." Ripley huffs, turning at the next intersection and heading uphill into the bluffs. Something buzzes on the police radio, Ripley silencing it with a casual flick of his massive finger. "So, estrus season has been going well for you?"
​
"It's... fine." I answer, choosing my next words very diplomatically. I can't help but feel we're arriving at the point. "Humans, uh... don't really have that."
​
"I know." Ripley deadpans, pulling over to the side of the road. We're only a couple blocks away from Fang's house now, the dingy alleyways of Skin Row far behind us. He kills the engine and turns toward me, the leather seat creaking beneath his massive frame. "That's why I picked you, as much as I really don't want to."
​
Oh boy, here it comes.
​
"Listen up Anon. This is what you're going to do." He commands, his voice offering no room for debate as he points at me, "You're going to stay in my house for the next two days. You will do everything my wife tells you to do. You will let *nobody* else in, and you will do *nothing* with my daughter. Got it?"
​
My jaw drops open a bit as I struggle to wrap my head around what he said. He wants me to stay in the same house as Fang for two days? This is the last thing I would expect to hear from Ripley, but I can tell he's deathly serious. Literally, in this case. Is this some sort of trap, a trick? I should say no, I can't see this ending well at all, but it doesn't seem like he asking. I swallow down my fear, trying to remain calm.
​
"Why?" I lamely ask, unable to think of a better response.
​
"Under normal circumstances, this would be Naser's job." Ripley explains, his expression sour as he tightens his grip on the steering wheel. "However, he's gone out of town to a 'future leadership training seminar' for several days."
​
I can tell by the tone of his voice he doesn't believe that for a second. This has Naomi's manipulative stink all over it. Does she want to stick Fang and I together for a reason, or did she only contrive some excuse for alone time with Naser?
​
Knowing her, it's both.
​
"Why can't you stay home yourself?" I ask, knowing full well there's bound to be a good reason. The police radio buzzes again before Ripley can answer it. He flicks it off again with a frustrated scowl, pointing at it.
​
"That's why. Every delinquent in town is going nuts." He sighs, a faint shiver of exhausting slipping through for a moment, "I'm on call sixteen hours a day. I sleep at the precinct. I get a report every five minutes about more vandalism, destruction of property, or indecent exposure. Most of them are only stupid kids, and we can't hold them for a whole week, so they get let go. I'm chasing them down again within the hour."
​
"But you," he continues, refocusing his glare on me, "You're not running around causing me trouble. You still have half a brain, or at least what's left of yours. I don't trust you, not one bit, but you're the smallest risk."
​
"Besides," He continues, reigniting the engine, "At least if you screw this up, you're the only one facing the consequences."
​
I doubt it’s legal for a police chief to deliver subtle threats like this, but it’s not like anyone will take my word over his. Unfortunately, I’m forced to realize that I don’t have a choice about this. This is as much a test as it is a demand. If I refuse, Ripley will think I’m a coward or worse. He can make it next to impossible to continue dating Fang, and he knows it. As much as he doesn’t approve of me, he has at least shown some modicum of acceptance so far by standing aside. I can’t afford to show weakness to him, or he might change his mind. Furthermore, if I pull this off it'll show I’m capable of handling responsibility, especially when it comes to Fang. Besides, it sounds like this job is important to his family. I can’t abandon Fang if she's depending on me.
​
“Alright, I’ll do it.” I agree, squaring my shoulders. Ripley nods, changing gears and resuming our drive. It’s only a couple minutes before we arrive at Fang’s house, Ripley parking in the driveway. There’s an awkward pause as we both step out of the vehicle, Ripley raising an eyebrow as he gives me a pointed look. I realize he wants me to walk up first, his massive frame stepping in close behind me. I’m not sure if it’s him or the intense sun overhead that’s making me sweat, but I hope it’s not too noticeable. As I reach over and ring the doorbell, Ripley’ hand drops onto my shoulder, his grip firm and unyielding. Does he think I’m going to run away, or is he worried I’ll do something stupid once I’m inside? Samantha opens the door before I can lose my nerve, smiling up at me and clasping her hands.
​
“Oh Anon, you’re here!” She beams, her sunny demeanor still a refreshing contrast to her husband’s, “ Please, come in! That sun must be so hard on you.”
​
The cool air conditioned interior is a welcome relief as I step inside, Ripley guiding me by the shoulder. He leads me into the living room, pushing me down onto the couch as he takes his usual seat in his armchair. I can hear Samantha working in the kitchen as I squirm in my seat, the ticking of the wall clock louder than usual.
​
“Anon, would you like anything in your tea?” Samantha calls from the other room.
​
“No, thank you!” I call back. I’m not sure what the etiquette is for what’s acceptable to add to tea, or what will make me look like a pansy. Better to keep it safe and drink it straight. I can feel Ripley watching me, no doubt judging my every move. Samantha returns a moment later with a loaded tea tray, three steaming cups of tea balanced on top. I reach for the nearest cup, Samantha pulling it away with a deft spin of the tray.
​
“Sorry dear, not that cup. This one is yours.” She chides, presenting me with a different identical cup. I mumble a quick apology as I take it, wondering what unspoken rule I had violated. Taking a tentative sip, I watch as Samantha offers a cup to Ripley, sneaking in a quick peck on his cheek as he leans forward. Samantha takes her seat with a satisfied smirk, Ripley stewing in halfhearted embarrassment.
​
"So, Anon. It's very considerate of you to volunteer to help keep an eye on the house." Samantha smiles at me, taking a small delicate sip of her tea, "I hope it's not too much of an inconvenience."
​
"Not at all, happy to help." I lie, playing along with the story. I eye Ripley over the rim of my cup as I take another sip, but he shows no reaction. That man has a poker face made of stone. The tea isn't as bad as I feared, but it has a funny taste I can't place. It would be impolite to leave it unfinished though, so I force myself to take another deep sip.
​
"I'm sure this all must seem so silly to you." Samantha laughs, setting her cup back on the tray, "Just know that we all appreciate the help. Especially Fang, even if she doesn't say it."
​
"Where is Fang anyway?" I ask, setting down my own cup. Ripley's face twitches at the question, but Samantha doesn't seem to mind. Right as she's about to answer, a familiar voice call out from upstairs.
​
"Mom? Hey, Mom?" Fang shouts, jumping down the staircase several steps at a time. "Can you run to the store and grab some more Supprestrus? We're all out-" She stops on the last step as our eyes meet, her hand still on the railing. Her expression flashes between shock, confusion, joy, then settles on utter embarrassment. She turns tail and runs back up the staircase in a flash, a door slamming shut upstairs a second later.
​
"I told her to stay upstairs." Ripley grumbles, crossing his arms as Samantha laughs at my expense.
​
"She's not a prisoner dear, this is still her home." Samantha narrows her eyes at Ripley. He actually withers a bit under her glare, leaning back into his chair as he finds something else to look at. I guess everyone has their weaknesses. The phone clipped to Ripley's belt vibrates, his face falling as he unclips it and checks the screen. With a deep weary sigh, he stands up, pushing himself out of his chair. Samantha holds up a hand, stopping Ripley as he's about to speak.
​
"I know, I know. Duty calls." She sighs, standing up from her seat. She steps forward, rising up on her toes to fix Ripley's tie. Ripley leans down to nuzzle Samantha's snout, displaying a gentle kindness I didn't expect from the man. Heading for the exit, Ripley pauses for a moment at the door, looking back over his shoulder at me. His eyes convey more than a thousand words ever could, promising me all the pains I would endure if I screw this up. I give him an almost imperceptible nod, a lump rising in my throat. Finally he leaves, stepping back out into the hot, humid day. The atmosphere of tension is the room deflates as I sigh in relief, finally relaxing.
​
“Oh, don’t worry about him dear.” Samantha smiles, gathering up the tea tray. “Ripley likes to intimidate you, but he won’t do anything drastic. He worries about his little girl. Thank you again for letting him drag you here.
​
“Then you know that he, uh…” I trail off, struggling to find a polite way to phrase this.
​
“Kidnapped you? Yes.” Samantha winks at me with a knowing look. “Three decades of marriage has given me some insight into how that man thinks.” Well that’s a relief, at least Samantha is likely to back me up on the home front. Still, I can’t help but wonder how much is genuine affection, if she's only happy to see Fang together with someone.
​
“So…” I tap my hands on my knees, feeling awkward now that it’s only the two of us. “What exactly do I need to do? Is there something I can help with?”
​
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” Samantha waves me off, heading back into the kitchen. “Go ahead and make yourself right at home."
​
Easier said than done. It's more than a little awkward, sitting here alone in my girlfriend's house. I'm still not sure what I'm supposed to be doing here, standing guard I guess? Would somebody actually try to break in here? Considering what I saw at school on Monday, I could see that happening. For now though, I'm at a bit of a loss on what to do. I fish out my phone, loading up one of the prerecorded lectures Principal Fang assigned me. If I'm stuck here, I should at least be productive. Being sent home for the week isn't a free vacation. All the female students get assigned a thick stack of homework to get through while they're stuck inside. Since I'm now excused from class as well, I received the same assignment. I had intended to ration it out over the week and get a little done each day, but procrastination got the better of me. Now is as good a time as any to do some catching up. I lean back against the armrest and get comfortable as Fernsworth launches into his lecture. Jumping past the unnecessary bits will get me through this twice as fast, so I start skipping ahead whenever he starts to ramble. As the minutes tick by, Samantha starts completing chores around the house. Dusting shelves, vacuuming the carpet, preparing something in the kitchen. It's all a little nostalgic, it reminds me of lounging around at home as a kid.
​
Every so often Samantha heads to the second level, presumably to talk to Fang. It's strange sitting here alone in my girlfriend's house, especially when I know she's right upstairs. Pausing the lecture, I strain my ears to see if I can hear anything they're talking about up there. I can't hear anything from here, and I know I should leave well enough alone, but my curiosity is getting the better of me. Standing up, I creep over to the stairwell, craning my neck up towards Fang's bedroom. I can almost make out a pair of voices coming from behind Fang's door, the words too muffled to discern. Fang sounds like she's wound up about something, I can hear her voice overpower her mother's. I think I hear my name a couple times, but my mind might just be playing tricks on me. This is starting to feel like an invasion of their privacy, Fang wouldn't appreciate me trying to listen in like this. The sound of the door opening upstairs sends me scrambling back to the couch, jumping back into the same position as before. I hope Samantha won't suspect any eavesdropping.
​
"Anon, sweetie?" Samantha descends the staircase, her expression as innocent as ever, "Would you mind doing me a little favor?"
​
"Yeah, sure!" I stand up, eager to distract both of us. I need something to pass the time before I get myself into trouble and work off this nervous energy.
​
"Would you be a dear and mow the back lawn for me?" Samantha asks, "Naser was supposed to do it yesterday, but it seems forgot before he left." With the heat outside, I doubt him 'forgetting' was an accident. This isn't what I had in mind when I volunteered earlier, but it's not like I can backtrack so soon .
​
"Yeah, I can do that." I try to hide my reluctance as I head to garage. I know it's attached to the rest of the house through the kitchen, but I've never been inside before. The air inside is hot and musty, filled with the smell of dust and used oil. I stumble around a bit in the dark, swinging my arm in front of me until I grasp a frayed pull string. A dim overhead bulb flickers on, illuminating the garage in a pale yellow light. The garage is about what I expected, filled with old cardboard boxes, disorganized tools, and other miscellaneous junk. There's a battered green lawnmower tucked against the far wall, hidden behind a generic white sedan. Dragging the lawnmower across the concrete and into the light, I give it a quick inspection. The skills of a mechanic were never something my dad ever passed down to me, so I don't know what to look out for. I can at least tell there's gas in the tank, so it should be good to go. Ripley doesn't seem like the type to let his equipment rust away from disrepair.
​
There's a door leading outside to the backyard, luckily the lawnmower can fit through with a bit of awkward finagling. By now it's even hotter out, the afternoon sun blazing in the cloudless sky. Luckily the lawn isn't that big, enclosed on all sides by a stereotypical white picket-fence. Eager to get this over with and spend as little time out here as possible, I grab the pull-cord and try to get the mower started. The engine sputters and chokes as I yank over and over, almost throwing out my back in the process. Sweat begins to drip off my forehead as I grow frustrated, kicking the plastic wheels. Racking my brain for memories of mowing the lawn as a kid, I try to remember if I'm missing something. Groaning at my own stupidity and slapping myself in the face, I kneel down and try actually priming the engine for once. Sure enough, the engine roars to life on my next try, settling down into a steady putter. Squinting into the sunlight, I wish I had a pair of sunglasses, even an old hat would do.
​
The minutes tick by and I work up and down the yard, cutting the grass into perfect rows. Well, as perfect as I can manage anyway. The smell of cut grass is nostalgic, and I can't help but feel a little introspective as I work. It's nice to get out of Skin Row, to remind myself what it's like to live in a real neighborhood. A neighborhood where I don't have to look over my shoulder every five minutes, or where the only privacy I can get comes from a locked door. As nice as the scenery is, that scorching sun overhead completely ruins it. It's so humid my sweat does nothing but soak my shirt, the sodden fabric clinging to my back. Stopping about halfway through the yard, I bunch up the front of my shirt and attempt to wipe down my face. Eyeing the fence to make sure nobody can peek in, I resort to pulling the damn thing off and ditching it. Normally I would be reluctant to reveal my unimpressive chest, but nobody else is out here, and dammit it's far too hot out. The cool breeze across my skin is a godsend, this already feels so much better. As I get ready to resume my work, something moves out of the corner of my eye. I look back to the house, squinting at the second story windows. The blinds are down, but I swear I saw something move for only a moment while my back was turned. Oh well, it's probably nothing. I get through the rest of my work as fast as possible, I'm pretty sure I can feel the top of my head beginning to burn.
​
I'm drenched in sweat by the time I finish, thick droplets running off my forehead. I leave the lawnmower out in the yard, too exhausted to bother bringing it back into the garage. I can always do that later, after I cool off. Stepping back inside feels like walking into a freezer, goosebumps rising across my chest. I take a moment to bask in the cool breeze, waiting for the sweat to stop running down my shoulders.
​
"Oh my, it must really be hot out there." Samantha laughs, startling me. Oh god, I'm standing in front of my girlfriend's mom, literally covered in sweat. I restrain the sudden urge to cover my chest, the undignified reaction would be only make this more embarrassing. Samantha is holding a fresh folded shirt under her arm, so I reach out to take it before things get even more awkward.
​
"It's one of Naser's old shirts, I hope you don't mind." Samantha offers, holding her other hand out, "I can throw yours in the wash while you freshen up." I hand over the soaked garment while I pull the new shirt down over my head, taking my first good look at it. The floral Hawaiian pattern is atrocious, the bright neon colors clashing into a schizophrenic mess. Yeah, this is Naser's style alright. While I'm busy grasping Naser's severe lack of taste, Samantha grabs a large pitcher of iced lemonade from the coffee table, pouring me a tall glass.
​
"Here Anon, you must be thirsty." Samantha hands me the glass, which I eagerly accept. I take several greedy gulps, I hadn't noticed how parched I am. I only stop once I'm out of breath, panting for air.
​
"Finish up dear, you need to stay hydrated." Samantha insists, topping off my glass with more lemonade. I take another long chug, taking the time to appreciate the flavor for once. It must be homemade, nothing from the store ever tastes this good. There must be some kind of secret ingredient, there's a subtle flavor on the back of my tongue that I can't quite place. It seems somehow familiar though. Samantha only leaves once she's convinced I'm going to drink it all, carrying the pitcher back into the kitchen.
​
While I finish off my glass, I decide a cold shower sounds pretty good right about now. Even with the fresh shirt, my skin still feels sticky and gross. I climb upstairs to the second level, slowing my steps as I round the corner. I don't know why I start sneaking my way across the hall as I near Fang's room, but I can't help but feel like I'm trespassing. It was probably Ripley's veiled threats from earlier. Muffled rock music is playing from behind Fang's door, the band and song unfamiliar to me. I tip-toe closer to doorframe, planting a hand on the wall as I lean in closer. I can't pretend this is only innocent eavesdropping, but I can't help but try to hear something from Fang. I didn't expect spending all this time in Fang's house would get on my nerves so much. Now that I'm so close, the urge to see her is unbearable. Alas, I can't hear anything behind the door, the music is too loud. Defeated, I continue to sneak my way to the bathroom at the end of the hall.
​
Easing the door closed behind me and locking it, I turn to look at the rest of the room. My heart skips a beat, blood rushing to my face. With Ripley and Naser out of the house, Fang and Samantha let themselves get very comfortable. Several bras hang off the curtain rail, one black lacey piece in particular drawing my eye. There's another ball of embroidered pink fabric bunched up near my foot, and I can already guess what that is. There's a faint feminine scent in the air that tickles a deep rooted instinct in the back of my mind, making my head feel light. My heart beats in my ears as I weigh the viability of abandoning the whole shower idea. A quick sniff of my armpits tells me that I don't have much choice, I'm more than a little rank. I pick up the nearest piece of underwear with the tips of my fingers, trying not to guess who it belongs to. Before I can think too long about how soft and delicate the fabric is, I fling it into the laundry hamper in the corner of the room. What was Samantha thinking, sending me up in here with no warning? Now that I think about it, I pray these all belong to Fang. If not, Ripley might have another reason to want me dead.
​
Once the nerve-wracking process of clearing the shower is over, I turn on the faucets. I hesitate to take off my clothes as the room fills with steam, feeling exposed. I've used public showers before, in the gym or at campsites, but somehow this feels worse. I can't help but check behind me as I pull my shirt off, as if someone might materialize behind me. It's a relief once I climb behind the shower curtain, the hot water cascading down my back. I've become accustomed to lukewarm showers in my apartment, the old water-heater unable to provide for all the building residents. Compared to that, this is luxurious. It's a little annoying how many different bottles are in here, every available surface stacked with them. This must be what it's like to grow up with a sister. In the corner is a bottle that must hold over a gallon at least, judging by the name it's some kind of soap for feathers. I guess that makes sense, it must take a lot to wash an entire wing. I take some time to zone out and relax, letting the warm water ease my muscles. It's nice to let my guard down for once, ever since Ripley woke me up it's been one thing after another. Although, now that I'm able to slow down and think, a thought nags at the back of my mind. There's something I can't put my finger on. Something my subconscious noticed that my forebrain hasn't latched onto yet. The more I think about it, the further it slips from my fingers. Damn it, what is it? I suspect it's important, like a warning sign I've walked right by.
​
As I turn off the shower and step out, I still can't figure out what's bothering me. Damn it, now it's going to bug me all day. I grab a fresh towel from the rack, nudging the bathroom door closed with my heel. It must have slipped open while I was showering. As I rub my face dry with the towel, I hear something strange outside. It sounds like somebody yelling, but I don't recognize the voice. Pulling on my pants and Naser's gaudy shirt, II run downstairs as I fumble with the buttons. Peering through the blinds, I look into the front yard at whoever is outside.
​
"Ey Girl! You want some fuck?" A greasy looking pterosaur shouts up at the second level, his shoulder length hair glistening with styling product. Oh god, I know this idiot. He's a total loser, even by my own pathetic standards. He's wearing an oversized denim jacket, paired with studded leather pants. Skull patches cover his shoulders, and even from here I can tell he's wearing at least three necklaces. He looks like a seventh grader's idea of a 'total badass', and he can't pull it off in the slightest. What the fuck is this ponce doing here?
​
"He's looking for Fang." Samantha steps up from behind me, answering my mumbled question. I groan, watching the embarrassing loser strut about the front yard like a peacock. I dealt with enough testosterone drunk morons on Monday, I don't need this shit following me here. Dammit, so this is what Ripley drafted me to take care of? I don't want to go out there, I'm cringing enough in here already.
​
"Swiggity-swooty bitch, where you at?" He shouts again, grabbing his crotch thrusting it forward, "Get down here let me grab that tail!"
​
Okay, yeah. This guy need a beating.
​
"Any suggestions?" I ask, turning to Samantha. She cocks her head with a smile as she draws Ripley's trusty driver out from behind her back, dropping the steel club into my hands. I give it an experimental swing, the head slicing through the air like a blade. Oh yeah, this will do fine.
​
While that moron is busy thrusting and grunting on the lawn, I psyche myself up and think of a plan. Even armed, I'm not comfortable getting into a fight. I've never even thrown a serious punch before, much less challenged a rutting dinosaur. I decide intimidation is the best course of action, come out strong and try to chase him off. This guy is a total dweeb, he should run away if I scare him enough, right? Taking a deep breath I square my shoulders, straighten my back, and put on my best war face. I kick the front door open, storming outside with the club in my hand. He stops mid-strut, staring me down with a mixture of derision and confusion. He puffs out his chest, flaring his wings behind him as he sneers, "Who the fuck are you?"
​
Oh god, this isn't what I expected. I thought this guy is a total loser, why the fuck is he standing up to me? My throat seizes up, my brain scrambling as I try to remember what I was going to say. In a panic, I can't decide between yelling 'You want some of this?' or 'Get the fuck out of here, you dick!'
​
So, like a genius, I say both at once
​
"You want some of this fucking dick?!" I shout hysterically, my voice frantic. Whatever he was expecting me to say, that isn't it. My words seem to echo through the neighborhood, even the birds falling silent. His eyes widen as I hyperventilate on the front step, the gears in his head beginning to turn. I bolt forward with an insane yell, swinging the golf club over my head. The pterosaur's nerve break, tripping over himself as he sprints down the sidewalk in a panic. I skid to a stop on the end of the driveway, watching him run like the devil himself is hot on his heels. Well, that worked out well enough, I guess. Stepping back inside, I hand the club back to a smirking Samantha.
​
"Why Anon, I had no idea!" She teases, suppressing a laugh, "Oh my, does Fang know?"
​
"Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up." I drop onto the couch, fishing out my phone. Damn, it's already so late in the afternoon, I somehow missed lunch. I realize that spending the night here means I'll get a homecooked meal for once. That alone almost makes this all worth it, no frozen pizza for me tonight. My stomach growls in anticipation as I boot up another lecture. Might as well do something to pass the time as quickly as possible.
​
It's hard to keep my focus as delicious smells begins to waft in from the kitchen. By now I'm starving, the impending promise of real food unbearable. Samantha walks out of the kitchen wearing oven mitts, looking up the stairwell, "Fang honey, Dinner's ready! Come and get it!"
​
That startles me as I get up from the couch. I had assumed Fang is under orders from Ripley to stay in her room, but Samantha must have other ideas. Is it okay for her to come down with me still in the house? I remember how all the male students had gone berserk in school. I hope Fang won't do anything so drastic. Before I have a chance to worry too much, Fang runs down the staircase, jumping onto the landing.
​
"Sup dork?" She smiles, just like she always does. She looks fine to me, nothing appears to be different about her. She's not trying to bite my head off or gore me to death, so that's a relief. I can help but smile as I get to see her again at last. Something about her seems ever more attractive than usual, but I don't know why. Maybe the suspense of being so close all day is playing tricks on me.
​
"I hope you're hungry sweetie." Samantha leads Fang into the kitchen, "I made your favorite!" On the kitchen counter is a big bowl of mashed potatoes, a pot of green beans, and two whole trays of freshly baked chicken nuggets shaped like dinosaurs.
​
"Mom!" Fang whines, trying to hide an embarrassed blush from me, "You know I'm not a little girl anymore!" As much as she tries to protest, I can see how her tail is wagging behind her. I already knew about Fang's fondness for dino-nuggets, but it seems a mother can make anything embarrassing.
​
"You'll always be my little princess." Samantha teases, making Fang groan again, "Now dish up you two, before it gets cold."
​
Despite her indignation, Fang isn't about to turn down food. I follow behind her with my own plate, loading up on mashed potatoes. I don't try to fight Fang for the chicken, I know I'll lose that battle. She ends up taking almost half of it.
​
Since it's only the three of us, we use the smaller informal table in the kitchen for dinner. I can't remember the last time I sat down to a casual family dinner, I know it was well before I moved to Volcadea Bluffs. Fang choses a seat next to my left, trying to remain subtle as she inches the chair a little closer. Samantha sits across from us, looking very pleased with herself.
​
"Look at this, the three of us sitting together like a family." She beams, while Fang and I each find something to look at other than each other. We lapse into a comfortable silence as we eat, Samantha asking the occasional question about school and our friends. I nearly choke as something creeps along my thigh under the table, a set of fingers tracing the fabric of my jeans.
​
"Are you alright dear?" Samantha asks as I take a drink of water.
​
"I'm fine." I cough, as Fang's fingers intertwine with my left hand. I can see her smirk in my peripheral vision, glancing at me for just a moment. I return the favor, our fingers dancing and stroking beneath the table. It's not the most scandalous behavior, pretty tame to be honest, but the knowledge we're doing it right under Samantha's nose adds a certain thrill.
​
"Anon, is everything okay? You seem tense." Samantha looks concerned. I realize she had just asked me a question I failed to answer.
​
"No. No, I'm fine." I smile, trying to keep a straight face while Fang does her best to distract me. The fact Samantha hasn't noticed Fang is eating with her left hand is a miracle, I've embarrassed myself enough today already. Fang doesn't try to push her luck any farther, content to hold my hand for the rest of dinner.
​
Fang heads back upstairs after dinner, waving me goodnight with a wink. I return to my familiar spot on the couch, content to browse through aimless junk for the rest of the evening. Samantha joins me after dinner, falling back into her own recliner with a weary sigh. Reaching into the drawer in a nearby end table, she pulls out a thick photo album and opens it in her lap.
​
She opens it to the very beginning, looking wistful as she pages through old photos. I glance between her and my phone, not that interested in the usual internet banalities. Pushing myself up from the couch, crossing the room and leaning over the back of the armchair.
​
"What are you looking at?" I ask as Samantha looks up at me. I already have a good idea, but I have the suspicion she would prefer to talk about it herself.
​
"Oh, just looking through old photos." She sighs, paging through photos of a much younger Ripley as a police cadet. She flips past the next several pages, accelerating through the early years of their marriage. She stops on a page of pictures showing two adorable pterosaur toddlers. It's hard to tell if they're fighting or playing, but it still brings a smile to my face.
​
"I know it's cliché, but they really do grow up so fast." Samantha flips to the next page, looking at a photo of Fang's first day at school. It's hard to imagine that little girl in the fluffy pink dress and the punk rocker upstairs are the same person. I snap a quick photo of Pirate Princess Fang and save it for future blackmail material. Samantha continues paging through the album, her two children growing up as they move through school. It looks like Naser's terrible taste in fashion developed in junior high, and I'm shocked to see it used to be far worse. I'll have to bring it up the next time he and Naomi try to drag me into something.
​
"There's nothing more fulfilling than raising children." Samantha turns through the last pages, photos of Fang and Naser becoming less common as they enter adolescence. She closes the album with a smile, looking back up at me, "What about you Anon, have you ever thought about having children?"
​
"Oh, um. Heh, not really, no." I chuckle, scratching the back of my neck. "I think it's a little early to be thinking about that."
​
"Oh, I wouldn't be so sure." Samantha winks. "You may think you know where you're headed, then one day life throws a curveball you at you. A few years later, and you can't imagine it all going any other way."
​
I laugh nervously, letting the conversation drop there. Maybe she's only try to instill some motherly wisdom, but I can't help but feel a little awkward. I'm sure she didn't mean to make me uncomfortable, I may be reading too much into things.
​
Later that night, I settle in to sleep on the living room couch. Samantha had offered to let me use Naser's room while he's away, but I turned that down. Who knows what he and Naomi got up to in there, and the idea of sleeping in that bed makes my skin crawl. So, I had opted to just use the couch, Samantha providing a spare set of thick blankets and pillows to use. I don't have the luxury of heading home and grabbing my usual nightwear, but it isn't the first time I've slept in jeans. It's much quieter here compared to Skin Row, even with the gentle hum of the kitchen appliances in the next room. There's no sirens, car alarms, or muffled arguments coming from adjacent floors. The streetlights outside paint the dark room in a faint orange glow, a chorus of crickets chirping somewhere in the backyard. It's not long before I roll over, finding a comfortable position to fall asleep.
​
---
​
"Anon...?"
​
Something pokes me in the chest, dragging me back into consciousness. I groan and try to roll away, but I have nowhere to go, there's a strange weight trapping my lower body.
​
"Anon?"
​
The poking becomes more insistent, rocking me back and worth. I blink my eyes open, trying to remember where I am. It's still the middle of the night, the room steeped in deep shadows cast by the streetlights outside. I'm startled awake as I see Fang's amber eyes reflecting the light, her snout only inches away from my face. She's climbed up onto the couch and is straddling my waist, the blanket I had been using discarded on the floor behind her.
​
She throws herself at me, mashing her lips against mine with reckless abandon. My head is forced back against the armrest, her hands pining my shoulders down. Her long sinuous tongue slides into my mouth as she turns her head back and forth, trying to find the the comfortable position we had discovered back in my apartment. I squirm and flail, struggling to wrap my head around what is happening. Fang refuses to let me go, her tongue coiling around mine like a snake. She's throwing herself at me like a starving animal, ravenous and insatiable. My lungs begin to burn, struggling for fresh air as she continues her relentless assault. Just as the strain becomes unbearable she pulls back, a long string of saliva breaking between our lips. Her eyes are alight with hunger, gazing at me as I pant for breath.
​
"Fang, what the heck are you doing?" I whisper, my heart pounding in my chest. Now that I can see her, I notice the only thing she's wearing is a shirt. My shirt. The back is bunched up above her wings, the front only long enough to barely cover her modesty.
​
"What I've been waiting to do all day." Fang coos, wiggling her hips. "I wanted to jump you as soon as you walked in this morning. This entire day has been torture, you have no idea. But now you're here," She leans closer, fingers dancing up my chest, "We can finally make up for lost time."
​
"Fang, wait. Your Dad will kill me if we-"
​
"It'll be worth it~"
​
She dives in again, trapping me in another feverish kiss. Her hands fumble at the buttons on Naser's old shirt, tearing it open when her patience runs out. My head swims as her palms glide over my chest, exploring every inch of me she can find. Fang's taste is all I can think about as our tongue's wrestle, my mind fogging beneath a haze of hormones and desire. I've never seen Fang like this before, so forward and demanding, it's intoxicating. My hands search support as I'm lost in a vortex of conflicting emotions, like a sailor drowning in a stormy sea. I grasp Fang's thighs, squeezing them under my palms. I can feel the thin layer of fat moving over the muscles as I knead, her legs are perfectly toned. My fingers slide up, tracing the subtle bumps of Fang's skin. She's so warm to the touch, hot even, as if she has a fever. My breath hitches in my throat as I squeeze something round and yielding, my fingers digging into the pliable fat. Fang isn't wearing any underwear.
​
"Ooh, that's the idea Anon." Fang giggles, her tail wagging with excitement between my fingers. "I've seen the way you stare at my ass when you think I won't notice. You must have been eager to get your hands on it."
​
"Fang, wait. Hold on." I crane my neck, trying to turn my burning face away from her as she nibbles at my throat, "We can't. Your Mom is right upstairs-"
​
Fang chuckles, "You moron. Who do you think convinced my Dad to let you stay over?" She grinds herself against my leg, needy and impatient. She leans in to whisper in my ear, her voice dropping into a deep husky tone. "First she parades you around the yard, all hot and sweaty. Then she sends you into the shower when she knows I'll peek. Relax, she wants this to happen."
​
Panic starts to build in my chest as I realize no help is coming. I can feel my willpower fading away the longer I'm trapped here, her wings surrounding me in a downy prison. It's as if the entire outside world no longer exists beyond the two of us. It's getting harder and harder to convince myself we can't do this, logical thought slipping through my fingers like sand. Fang reaches back and takes hold of my hand, guiding it up under the hem of her shirt. I trace the curve of her side as my hand moves higher, fingers splaying across Fang's chest. She gasps as I fill my palm with her breast, my thumb brushing against a small nub of stiff flesh and two metallic beads.
​
Holy shit, Fang has piercings.
​
Fang throws her head back as I tease and circle her nipple, sighing and squirming atop me. She's enjoying this. I'm making her feel good, the idea of it filling me with a primal sense of triumph. I want to worship her, fill her. I need to please her until she's writhing in bliss beneath me, begging for more. Nothing is more important to me right now than giving her everything she wants.
​
"Oh god Anon, I need this. I need this so bad." Fang whines, her hand trailing down between her thighs. "I know you want it too, I can feel how hard you are. Just say it, say 'yes'"
​
"Fang, no..." I meekly protest. It sounds weak and pathetic even to me. My last shred of self control is hanging on by a thread, demanding I put up one last thin veneer of reluctance. I'm still squeezing and pinching every inch of her body I can reach, marveling at the way she moves above me as I touch her.
​
"Oh, Anon..." Fang smiles lecherously as her hand cups my cheek, the tips of her fingers slick with her excitement. She knows she can take me at any moment now. She's savoring this, taking sweet pleasure in watching the last of my willpower crumble. "We both know this is going to happen, just let go. I want this. Everyone says it feels so much better when you're in heat."
​
That last word hits me like a bucket of ice water.
​
This isn't Fang. Fang would never do something like this. Estrus is making her crazy, filling her head with hormones and chemicals. I wanted our first time to be special, something memorable. But this? This is wrong. This is no better than getting her drunk, or slipping drugs into her drink. My stomach churns in revulsion, bile rising in my throat. The acidic taste cuts through the fog of arousal like a knife, utter disgust surging up in it's place.
​
"Fang, get off." I take my hand off her breast, planting it against her stomach.
​
"C'mon Anon, don't be like that."
​
"Fang. No." I repeat, trying to push her off. She can tell she's losing me.
​
"I'll make you feel good-"
​
"I said, get off!" I shout, shoving her with all my might. Fang falls backwards off the couch, crashing into the wooden coffee table. I scramble to my feet, backing away from her as I catch my breath. That was close, way too fucking close. I shudder as I think about how close I came to something I would regret for my entire life.
​
"Anon?" Fang looks up at me from the floor. Her face breaks my heart, it's hurt and full of confusion. I tear my gaze away, focusing on buttoning up Naser's shirt. Several of the buttons have been torn off.
​
"Fang, I'm sorry. It's just..." I gather up my resolve, steeling myself. A small part of me insists it's not too late to go back, to give in and enjoy myself. I crush it down, committing myself to this. "This isn't right. I want our first time to be special, okay? Not like this. I'm sorry, but... no. Just, no."
​
I gather up the blanket and pillow Fang had tossed aside, bundling them in my arms. I'll need to find a new place to sleep. Naser's room should have a lock, so that might work. If I'm being honest though, I'm starting to think heading home might be the best option now. Things may be too awkward to stay any longer. As I turn to leave Fang wraps her arms around my waist, pinning my arms to my side. She presses her head against my back, nuzzling me.
​
"Fang, c'mon. Let go." I squirm, trying to unwrap her arms. I appreciate the affection, but this isn't the time. "We can talk about this in the morning."
​
"No." Fang insists, tightening he grip. She tries to pull me back to the couch, kicking at my legs. One of her hands claws at my belt buckle, fighting to get it open. "You're not going anywhere until I get what I came for!"
​
"Fang, what the fuck?? Get the hell off me!" I shout, trying to fight her off. I can't get my arms free, Fang is stronger than she looks. I begin to panic as I try to twist free, Fang growing more violent and aggressive.
​
"GIVE ME THAT DICK." Fang snarls like a feral beast.
​
Terror grips my throat as the reality of the situation hits me. Fang isn't taking no for an answer, and I'm not sure I can fight her off. Thinking fast, I throw myself backwards, slamming Fang into the couch armrest. She grunts in pain, her grip loosening long enough for me to wrench myself free. I scramble into a sprint, taking off in a blind panic. I look back and see Fang is already on her feet again, her face twisted into an enraged grimace. I snatch up a pillow from the nearby armchair, pitching it at Fang's face. It smacks her right in the eye, stunning her long enough for me to reach the stairs. I leap up the stairs several steps at a time, Fang cursing up a storm behind me. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, so I run like the devil himself is on my heels.
​
My feet almost slip out from under me as I round the stop of the stairs, heading for the first door I see. I tear it open and slam it behind me, fumbling in the dark for the lock. The door shudders as Fang slams into it, a mere second after I found the lock.
​
"Anon! Open this fucking door!" Fang pounds against the wood, my blood running cold. I take a look at where I am. Based on a tasteless décor and the track-team paraphernalia, this must be Naser's room. I may have fucked up, there's no other exits in here. What was I thinking, running upstairs? I should have gone for the front door. I run for the the window as the door shakes behind me, the doorknob rattling as Fang tugs at it. There has to be some way to escape form here. Sliding the glass open, I look down at the backyard below. I could pop open the screen and climb onto the roof, but running across slick shingles in the dark doesn't seem like a bright idea. If I jump down to the ground, I may be able to land without twisting an ankle, but that isn't a risk I'm willing to take.
However, Fang doesn't know that.
​
I pop the screen off the window frame, tossing it down onto the lawn below. With the window now wide open, I look for a place to hide. Crawling under the bed is a bit cliché, but I don't see any other options. I have to suck in my chest to squeeze under, but I manage to force my way in. It sounds like Fang has stopped trying to force her way in, but I doubt she's given up. Sure enough, I hear Fang's footstep stomp back up to the door. Something slides between the doorframe, the lock popping open with a loud click. I can see Fang's feet as she storms in, stopping into the center of the room. She sniffs the air like a bloodhound, looking around the room for me. I'm afraid to even breathe as she paces the room like a stalking predator. She leans on the windowsill, cursing under her breath. She no doubt sees the window screen discarded on the back lawn, now I can only pray she falls for it. I sigh in relief as Fang stalks out, her footsteps stomping down the stairs soon after. I wait for a few seconds to be sure she isn't coming back, then worm my way out form under the bed.
​
I've bought myself a couple minutes, now I need to think of a plan. It won't take Fang long to figure out I'm still in the house. I could make a break for it, but if Fang sees me outside she'll run me down for sure. What I need is a way to calm her. There has to be some way, right? I need advice, I don't know anything about dinosaur biology. By sheer dumb luck, my phone is still in my pocket. Pulling it out, my heart sinks as I see it only has 2 percent of it's battery left. I have enough for one call, if that. I need to make this count.
​
I could call Ripley, but I dismiss that idea. He's the last person I want finding out about this whole fiasco. Besides, I don't know where I would even begin to start that conversation. 'Hey so your daughter is trying to sexually assault me. Any advice?'
​
Naser? Ugh, no. That would be just as awkward, and I doubt he would even pick up. Naomi likely has him pinned down at this very moment. Reed? After that debacle in the cafeteria, I've been keeping my distance. Besides, he might not be the most knowledgeable resource. I need to talk to somebody who knows what Fang's going through. I could call Stella, but she might ty to use some bullshit hentai-plot garbage to fix this. Rosa? She would help out of principle, but I don't want to survive this only to be beaten to death by a chancla the next day. That only leaves one other option. With a groan, I hit 'purple trigger' and steel myself.
​
"Ugh...what?" Trish groans, answering on the last ring, "Anon? It's two in the morning you ass. What do you want?"
​
"Trish!" I hiss, keeping my voice down. "Shut up and listen to me. I'm in Fang's house, she's gone absolutely nuts and-"
​
"Wait, hold up. You're in Fang's house?" Trish wakes up completely, not happy to hear this in the slightest. "You pig! What do you think you're doing?"
​
"It's not my fault!" I retort, "Ripley asked me to stand guard or something. This wasn't my idea."
​
"Well that was a stupid." Trish huffs, "So what happened?"
​
"Fang has gone completely nuts." I peek out the window, trying to see if Fang is still looking for me, "I was sleeping on the couch and she threw herself at me. I need a way to calm her down, any ideas?"
​
"Mmm, how bad is it?" Trish asks.
​
"Bad." I answer, "She was straddling my waist when I woke up, then she nearly choked me with her tongue. She kept whispering all these dirty things in my ear too."
​
"I see. Keep going, what else?"
​
"The only thing she's wearing is my shirt. That's it. No underwear at all."
​
"Oh yeah, that's bad. How far did things get?"
​
I hesitate to answer, "Second base, I guess? Plus, I grabbed a hold of her ass."
​
"Did she have her piercings in?" Trish asks, impatient.
​
"Yeah? Wait, hold on. How do you know about those?"
​
"Don't worry about it." Trish snaps, sounding breathless, "Keep going, what else did she do? Did she start jacking you off?"
​
"Wha- No! What does that have to do with-" I stop, noticing a faint rustling noise on the other end of the line. "Trish, what the fuck are you doing??"
​
"Don't stop now, it was just getting good!"
​
"Focus Trish!" I snap, disgusted. Raptor Jesus, save me from these horny dinosaurs. "Just tell me how to calm her down!"
​
"Hmm, I don't know..." Trish sighs, taking her time, "I suppose I could. What's in it for me though?"
​
"I'll... um-" I try to think of something I can trade. I'm too broke to bribe her, and I don't have anything that she would want.
​
Unless...
​
"If you help me out..." I swallow. Oh god, am I actually considering this? "If you help me out, maybe I'll come visit you tonight?"
​
"Pfft, in your dreams." Trish scoffs, "As if I would ever let you within reach of this perfect triceratops ass."
​
"Oh, you wouldn't 'let' me do anything." I forge ahead, hoping I had Trish pegged right. "I'll force my way in there and take it."
​
"You wouldn't dare." Trish counters, but I can hear the crack in her voice.
​
"Yes I would. I'd conquer that thick ass of yours like the new world. I'll grab your hair and force you down like the subservient little dino you are."
​
"I always knew you were an ass, you skinny prick." Trish pants. I can tell she's starting to get worked up again.
​
"Oh, nothing about me is 'skinny' at all." I continue, trying to keep my rhythm going, "By the time I'm done, you'll be begging for more from your new master."
​
"I would... never call you master." Trish gasps, that rustling back louder than ever.
​
"Oh yes you will, you little trigger bitch." Oh god, this hurts to even say. I need to wash my mouth out with soap after this.
​
"Would you... grab my horns?" Trish asks.
​
"I'd use them like handlebars while I mold you."
​
"You brute..." Trish sighs. This is it, time to see if that worked.
​
"But none of that is going to happen if I don't get out of here. So I'll ask again, how can I calm Fang down?"
​
"Nggh... Fine!" Trish concedes, "It sounds like she stopped taking her Supprestrus. Get her some, and she should be fine."
​
"Supprestrus, got it."
​
"Good. Now hurry up and get over here. I want to see what you can do with that big, monkey-"
​
My phone dies, cutting Trish off before she can inflict any more emotional scars. Good, I doubt I could have kept that act up for much longer. I wipe down my face, shuddering in shame. One thing at a time, I'll unpack that suitcase of future trauma later. So Fang is off her meds, makes sense to me. Where can I find them? I remember there's a medicine cabinet in the bathroom, that should be the place. I creep out the door, checking the hallway for any signs of Fang. I tip-toe to the bathroom, trying to remain as silent as possible. I dare not turn on the light, I'll have to use the nightlight on the wall to see. I pull the mirrored cabinet open, sifting through six different varieties of Tylenol. I find the box in the back, my hopes dashed as I grab it. It's empty, not a single pill to be found. I check under the sink and in all the drawers, hoping there might be another box somewhere. No such luck. I pace back and forth, trying to think of anywhere else I can find some. I think there's a small bathroom downstairs in the laundry room, through the kitchen. Maybe there's another medicine cabinet in there? It's a long shot, but what choice do I have?
​
I creep down the staircase, each creak and whine of the floorboards making me wince. I skirt around the mess Fang and I had made on the couch, heading for the kitchen. I’m not sure how I’m going to get Fang to take this medicine if I find any, but one problem at a time. I curse as my foot slams into something in the dark, a metal trash bin overturning onto the kitchen floor. Empty cans and bottles clatter and bounce, raising a terrible racket. I freeze in place, blood running cold as I strain my ears. Dammit, there’s no way Fang didn’t hear that. I need to move. A white plastic bottle catches my eye as it rolls into a beam of the light cast by the streetlight outside. I recognize that infamous logo. I pick it up, reading the front label.
​
“New 24-Hour Omniceptive! Surprise your lover! Betray your Species!”
​
What the hell is this doing here, and why the hell is it empty? Ripley doesn’t need this, could it be for Naser? No way, he’s not that stupid, and he would have brought it with him. It’s not Naomi’s, she would never sabotage her own life by having kids in high school. Then who-
​
*Sorry dear, not that cup. This one is yours*
​
*Finish up dear, you need to stay hydrated.*
​
*Who do you think convinced my Dad to let you stay over?*
​
*She wants this to happen.*
​
It hits me like a ton of brinks, that subconscious suspicion lurking in the back of my mind snapping into clarity. I’ve been looking at the wrong Dino this whole time. This entire disaster isn’t the work of Naomi, it’s a set up by Samantha! She's using me to get grandkids. She’s been slipping me drugs all day and tempting Fang, hoping I would give in. She probably ensured there's no Supprestrus left in the entire house. This is bad, if I get caught now Ripley will do more than just kill me. The front door slams open, Fang’s head whipping toward me as soon as she enters.
​
“There you are!” She growls.
​
Oh right, that.
​
My feet slide on the linoleum as I take off running, heading for the garage. Fang’s fingers graze the back of my shirt as I wrench the door open, leaping for the parked car. Her arms try to wrap around me as I squirm and kick, getting the car open. With one last burst of strength I throw her off, jumping into the driver’s seat. I slam down the lock moments before Fang pulls the handle, pounding the roof in frustration.
​
“Anon!” Fang shouts, yanking on the door as I scramble over the center console, “Open this door right now!”
​
“Hell no!” I answer, checking all the other doors to make sure they’re locked. Fang paces around the vehicle like a caged tiger, fists clenched at her sides. I force myself to calm down, slowing my panicked breathing. Okay, this might work. I may be trapped in here, but Fang can’t get in either. The keys are on the dash, so she can’t unlock the doors. I can wait her out, hope she calms down by morning.
​
Confident I’m safe for the night, I climb over into the backseats looking over where I’ll be sleeping. It’s not as comfortable as the couch, but I’ll make do. I lie down, trying to find a position where the seatbelts won’t stab me in the back, when I notice Fang at the window.
​
“Anon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Fang pleads, her eyes wide and watery. She’s changing up her strategy, trying the same tactic she always uses when she wants to manipulate me. It almost works, it’s hard to resists the adorable way her lip trembles when she pouts. I turn away, making a point to look somewhere else.
​
“I’ve been a bag girl.” Fang whines, biting her lip as she presses her chest up against the window. “Maybe I should be punished~.” God dammit, not this shit again. Even through the shirt, I can see the little details of her chest as she slides up and down the glass, making all kinds of soft pleading noises. I roll over, stuffing my dface into the cushions and clamping my hands over my ears. This is going to be a long night.
​
---
​
I'm awoken hours later by stern rapping on the glass. I wipe my eyes clear, my back screaming in protest. God damn, I'm stiff. I see a familiar police uniform outside the door, the garage illuminated by sunlight through the windows. I unlock the door and poke my head out, looking up at Ripley's scowling face.
​
"Good morning Anon." He says
​
"Yep, it's definitely a morning alright." I reply
​
He looks me up and down, noticing the torn open shirt, bite marks on my neck, and several hickeys. He raises a questioning eyebrow, but I don't give him the satisfaction of an excuse. I ran out of tolerance for bullshit a long time ago, now I flat out don't care anymore.
​
"Humph, come on then." Ripley huffs, standing aside. "Come get breakfast."
​
Well, looks like I'm not going to die today. I climb out of the car, cracking my abused back as I stretch. That had to be one the worst nights of my life. Following Ripley into the kitchen, I'm met with the mouthwatering smell of a fresh breakfast being prepared.
​
"Oh! Good morning Anon! I was wondering where you went." Samantha smiles from the stove, holding a pan of sizzling bacon. I glare at her, the memory of yesterday still fresh in my mind. She set me up, tried to use me in order to get grandchildren. Every scratch, bruise, and ache is her fault.
​
"Anon. Is there something I should know?" Ripley asks, his voice like gravel. I look to him, then back to his wife, weighing my options. Samantha still has her innocent smile, but I see a faint glimmer of mischief in her eyes. She knows I figured her out. She also knows Ripley will never, ever believe me. I can't let him know how close I came to disaster last night. If I try to expose Samantha, I would only be burying myself, and she knows it. She's untouchable.
​
"No." I lie through my teeth, "Everything's fine." I take a seat at the table, Ripley picking up the morning newspaper. Now that I'm sitting, something else occurs to me. "Hey Ripley, I thought you were supposed to be gone for two days?"
​
"Oh, that." Ripley clears his throat, hiding behind the newspaper. "Things are slowing down at the precinct, so I was able to come home a day early."
​
I nod along, not buying it for a moment. He never intended to be gone for two days. I bet he planned to come home a day 'early' so he could catch Fang and I in a compromising position. Thank God I managed to fend her off last night, or I'd be outside digging my own shallow grave right now.
​
Speak of the devil, and she shall appear. Fang descends the staircase, looking into the kitchen. I almost jump out of my chair as we lock eyes, but it seems that she's calmed down. She keeps her distance, looking rather ashamed of herself.
​
"Uh, hey Anon..." She waves, ignoring the look her father is giving her. It looks like she's afraid to come any closer to me. "You sleep okay?"
​
"Not really, no." I reply between bites of toast, gesturing to the table. "You want some bacon?"
​
She nods, taking that as her invitation to join us. Even so, she takes a seat as far away from me as possible, unwilling to look me dead in the eye. I load up my plate as Samantha brings over a bowl of scrambled eggs. My grudge isn't strong enough to make me turn down fresh food.
​
"After you're done eating, I can take you back to your apartment." Ripley offers, loading up his own portions as Samantha pecks him on the cheek. "I'm sure you're eager to head home."
​
"It's fine, I'll just take the bus." I insist, finishing up my plate as Ripley glares at me. I know he meant it as a command, not an offer. If I've learned anything from this experience, it's to start calling people's bluffs. If he wants to interrogate me in his police cruiser, he can damn well say so.
​
I get up before he can reply, heading for the front door. My old shirt is neat and folded on the couch, so I quickly switch clothes. I hope Naser wasn't too fond of this old one, because I doubt it will ever be fixed.
​
"Hey, um... Anon?" Fang stops me by the door, looking sheepish. "About...last night."
​
"Don't worry about it." I cut her off with a raised hand. "No harm done, it all worked out. Let's just pretend this never happened, and never ever talk about it again. Okay?"
​
"Yeah. Yeah, sure." Fang nods, eager to put this all behind us. "I guess I'll see you on Monday?"
​
"Yeah, I'll see you then."
​
Fang surprises me with a quick kiss on the cheek, smiling innocently. I open the door and step outside, the cool morning air not yet turned into a baking oven. I pause on the front step, looking back at Fang.
​
"You know..." I scratch the back of my head, not sure if this is the right thing to say. "Last night was... not totally awful. Maybe, if you're up for it, I could visit again next year?"
​
There's a brief flash in Fang's eyes, her smile growing predatory and lecherous. Her fingers curl around the doorframe, nails scratching the wood.
​
"I'll be waiting then."