Berries and Greed

The giant squishy couch looked so inviting that I found myself heading that way, skirting around a coffee table cluttered with candles and books and loose sheets of paper. And an ashtray half filled with the burned-out remnants of what looked like dried leaves, crumbly and paper-thin.

Sitting down on the couch—shit, it was comfy—I immediately drew one of the blankets over my lap. Then I lifted it to my nose and sniffed. Quickly jerking it back down, I glanced at the door sheepishly. Why had I done that?

They did smell good—that same warm, sweet scent that had been clinging to Greid’s clothes. Or maybe it was just him. I suddenly pictured him curled up on the sofa under a mound of blankets, lazily smoking and watching TV through bleary eyes.

The image was surprisingly… intimate. But I supposed I’d be seeing it for real soon. I hoped I would. I hoped Greid felt comfortable with me here. Only time would tell.

Curling my legs up under the blanket, I got settled to wait for Greid, ready to truly begin my unexpected friendship with the big, awkward demiurgus.

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Chapter Twelve

Greid

Still cocooned in my big bath towel from where I’d collapsed face-first on the bed after my shower, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling.

This was so fucking weird.

There was a human in my house right now. A tiny human with curly red hair and green eyes and a husky laugh that made my insides go all fucking stupid.

Had she really liked my house? Did she like her room? She kept saying she did, but did she really? Or was she up there right now trying to escape through her bedroom window?

I dragged the towel over my face and groaned into it. I’d been so awkward and lame. She was probably staring into the middle distance with a horrified look on her face, thinking, That guy? I have to hang out with that guy?

Beryl was nothing like me, and she was nothing like Agma—the only other adult I had experience living with for an extended period. Agma had been all cool and aloof confidence that bordered on distant, but initially it had made me pant after her like a dog. She’d been bossy, which I hadn’t minded, but then she’d quickly realised that I would do literally whatever she wanted.

Which had made the relationship very one-sided. When I’d asked for things, she’d flat-out refused, because she said those things weren’t normal. Ultimately, she’d liked some aspects of my submissive nature, but she’d wanted me to fight her for dominance. She’d craved the conflict, the constant push-pull of power—like most demiurgus, I supposed—and I just didn’t have it in me. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want that at all.

Even though I was still a little wounded from the harsh words she’d said before her departure and bitter about the shit she’d told her friends after we split up, I didn’t wish we were still together. I didn’t pine for her. I religiously avoided conflict, so I hadn’t ever brought up how terribly things were going between us even though I hadn’t been happy. I hadn’t really been getting anything out of the relationship.

Agma wasn’t an overly affectionate person, whereas I’d wanted to wrap myself around her and cuddle up on the sofa in the evenings. She’d been sociable and outgoing and always wanting to go for dinner or drinks or to see friends, whereas I liked staying at home. She chastised me for what she called my “terrible diet”, even though I always dutifully ate the salads she made for dinner. But then she’d get annoyed when she found me hunched over the fridge later that night stuffing leftover pizza into my mouth. It wasn’t my fault salad didn’t fill me up.

And that wasn’t even touching on our wildly different preferences in bed.

But I’d put up with it, partly because she’d made me feel like a bit of a freak for what I wanted, and I’d worried that if we split up and I met someone else, I’d be too scared to ever voice my desires, or I’d hear all the same things again if I actually did.

Agma wasn’t a bad person, we just weren’t right for each other. We hadn’t understood each other. We’d clashed, but not in the ways she wanted. She’d wanted me to push back when she got bossy, trying to goad me into heated confrontations that would turn into wild and rough sex where we were both fighting for the upper hand. Which—no. No, thank you.

Beryl seemed kinda bossy too, but… not in the same way as Agma. Not at all. Humiliatingly, I’d already given her plenty of opportunities to take advantage of my submissive nature, and she hadn’t been swayed by any of them.

She was bossy, yeah, but she’d only told me to tie up my shoelaces so I didn’t hurt myself, and refused to back down when I tried to give her jewellery worth thousands of dollars for free.

God, I was such a loser.