Alone At Last!

Jessie Saint can barely contain herself as her parents finally pull out of the driveway. They've hovered over her the whole morning—check the locks, set the alarm, call if anything happens. She nods, smiles, promises she'll survive one weekend without them. The second the car disappears around the corner, she kicks off her jeans and stretches across the couch in nothing but black lace panties and a soft white tee that stops high on her stomach. She queues every horror movie her parents blocked from the living room screen, volume cranked, blanket abandoned on the floor. By midnight the dark rooms press in. Floorboards pop like distant gunshots. Shadows stretch too far across the wall. Logic slips. Every villain she watched claws its way into her mind. When she can’t breathe around the fear, she calls Jane Wilde. Jane shows up in a cropped hoodie and leggings, hair pulled back, calm like always. She walks every room, flips on lights, checks closets, tests windows. Nothing. But Jessie still can’t quiet her pulse, so she asks—voice small—if Jane will stay. Jane shrugs, drops her bag by the bed, and slips under the covers beside her. Body heat builds fast. Jessie presses closer, her thigh brushing Jane’s. Fingertips wander, slow, testing. Jane answers by sliding a hand up Jessie’s bare stomach, thumb grazing the underside of her breast. They don’t talk. Clothes come off in pieces. Jessie’s lips find Jane’s neck; Jane’s fingers slip between Jessie’s legs and press hard against the damp lace. Breaths grow short, hungry. Jessie rocks into the touch, needy, surprised by how fast the fear melts into want. She knows this night won’t be enough. She wants Jane every night—scary or not—and tonight she plans to show her.