The door clicked shut behind me, a soft sound that felt louder than it should have in the stillness of the hallway.
Charlene stood three feet away, nightgown hanging loose, one strap already fallen off her shoulder.
The hallway bulb was weak, yellow, throwing shadows across her face.
I could see the sleep still clinging to her eyes half lidded, lips parted just enough to show she wasn't fully awake yet.
I closed the distance in two steps.
My hand found the back of her neck.
I kissed her like I'd been starving for it.
She shoved me back hard.
Her palms slammed into my chest, nails scraping through my thin T-shirt.
The force surprised me.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she hissed, voice low but sharp enough to cut.
"You think I'm some whore you can just fuck around with? You dumb fuck."
Her words landed like a slap, but I didn't step away.
I looked at her...really looked.
Her chest was rising and falling fast.
Her eyes were wide, angry, but there was something else flickering in them too.
Confusion.
Maybe fear.
Maybe the same restless hunger I'd been carrying for months.
I stepped forward again.
I pushed her against the wall beside the TV.
The small glass shelf above it rattled, then gave way.
It hit the floor and shattered sharp, sudden, a spray of tiny shards and dried flowers scattering across the tiles.
From the bedroom down the short hallway, Rohan's voice came through the dark, thick with sleep.
"Charlene? What happened?"
She froze.
Her eyes went huge.
I clamped my hand over her mouth before she could answer.
Her teeth sank into the meat of my palm hard.
Pain flashed white behind my eyes.
I let out a short, choked yelp and yanked my hand back.
Blood welled up in two crescent marks.
"Nothing, honey," she called back, voice steady, almost casual.
"I just dropped something."
A low grunt from Rohan.
The bed creaked as he rolled over.
Then snoring again deep, even, oblivious.
Charlene looked at me.
Her breathing was ragged.
She didn't scream.
She didn't run.
She nodded once toward the stairs.
We moved fast and quiet.
Past the living room where Maya's plastic toys lay scattered in the dark.
Past the tiny bedroom where the two year old slept in her crib, one arm thrown over the railing, breathing soft and even.
Up the narrow staircase to my room.
The door shut with a quiet click.
I kissed her again harder this time.
She bit my lower lip in return.
The copper taste of blood filled my mouth.
It hurt.
I liked it.
She pulled the nightgown over her head in one quick motion.
I tore at my boxers.
No words for a moment.
Just skin against skin, the mattress creaking under our weight, the sound of our breathing loud in the small room.
Then she stopped.
Pushed herself up on her elbows.
Looked me in the eyes.
"Why are you doing this?"
I didn't think.
I just answered.
"Because I want you to be mine.
No matter what.
We have something real.
Deep.
This is how we show it.
The primal way."
She stared at me for a long second.
Then she smiled—small, crooked, almost sad.
And we did it.
It was fast.
Rough.
The bed frame banged against the wall once, twice.
Her nails raked down my back.
I buried my face in her neck and bit down just enough to leave marks.
We came apart gasping, shaking, then collapsed together on the cheap mattress.
Sweat.
Heat.
The smell of sex and cigarettes hanging thick in the air.
We fell asleep like that naked, tangled, her head on my chest.
The knock came sharp and loud.
I jolted awake.
Charlene was still beside me, bare skin warm against mine.
The room smelled like us.
It wasn't a dream.
The knock came again.
Harder.
"Charlene?"
Rohan's voice.
Right outside my door.
Charlene's eyes snapped open.
She looked at me, then at the door.
Panic flooded her face in an instant.
Tears welled up.
She started crying quiet, desperate sobs.
I didn't think.
I scrambled for my pants and shirt.
Pulled them on half-blind.
Leaned over her.
Kissed her once hard, possessive, tasting salt from her tears.
"This is just the beginning," I said.
I didn't know what I meant.
The coin?
The sex?
Us?
Didn't matter.
I opened the window.
Cold night air rushed in.
I looked down at the courtyard three floors below dirt, weeds, a broken plastic chair.
Then back at her.
She was crying, but she smiled through it—small, broken, beautiful.
I jumped.
Landed hard.
Knees buckled.
Pain shot up my legs.
I rolled to my feet, dirt on my palms, blood still on my lip.
From upstairs, Rohan's voice again.
"Charlene? What happened?"
Her reply came clear through the open window.
"Nothing, honey.
You were snoring so loud I came upstairs to sleep."
I stood there in the dark, heart hammering.
Breath ragged.
Alive.
The coin had spoken.
I'd answered.
And I wasn't done yet.