We Mustn't Upset Him

Katie moves in after the crash kills both her parents. Wanda meets her at the door with a strained smile and a long list of Harold's rules, then offers tea that has already gone cold. Katie nods at each edict, grateful for a roof. She waits weeks for a glimpse of Harold and sees nothing, only an absence that lingers like cigarette smoke. Wanda’s curfews tighten. Katie’s phone vanishes one night while she showers. Arguments rumble behind Wanda’s bedroom door, but Wanda is always alone when she emerges, eyes swollen. Katie corners her in the kitchen, palms on the marble. ‘Hit me,’ she says. ‘Work it out on me.’ Wanda blinks, then breaks. Her first slap stings sweet, and Katie moans before she can stop herself. Fingers slide under fabric, pull cotton aside. Tongues find warm skin; a palm cups, squeezes, pushes deeper until Katie comes with a cry that rattles the glassware. Wanda follows, thighs clamped, nails dug in, her breathing a shocked, grateful rasp. Afterward they lie tangled on the tile, skin cooling. The question they leave hanging is simple: how soon until Harold walks through that door.