Absolutely Not Jealous

Stacy had expected to feel relieved once they got home. Instead, she sat alone on the couch with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, staring at absolutely nothing while the sounds coming from upstairs made it impossible to think about anything else.

The bedroom door was closed. That accomplished nothing. Evan and Debbie were not being subtle.

Stacy squeezed her eyes shut.

"Oh, for God's sake."

The bed frame struck the wall again. A moment later came Debbie's unmistakable voice, followed by Evan's. Words blurred together beneath the old floorboards, but their meaning wasn't exactly difficult to interpret. The entire house seemed determined to make sure Stacy understood precisely what was happening in the room she needed to enter.

And that was the truly irritating part. She needed to be in there. Not because she wanted to join them. Not because some hidden part of her had suddenly decided that listening from downstairs was a wonderful way to spend the evening. The idea alone made her want to throw something.

No, the problem was sleep. Every attempt to fall asleep without Evan nearby had ended badly, either in pain or intense arousal. The magic had made its expectations abundantly clear. Whatever ridiculous rules governed her new existence, one of them required proximity to him at night.

The Master Manual had an opinion about that, naturally.

You can only truly rest peacefully when your Master rests. Find comfort in the security of his presence.

"Shut up."

Stacy glared at the empty room. The manual did not shut up. Instead, another line drifted through her mind, perfectly recalled from the hours Evan had ordered her to spend studying the damned thing.

Never resent the comfort your Master provides simply because others are permitted to share in his affection.

Her jaw tightened.

"Oh, I absolutely resent that."

That wasn't true. Or at least, it wasn't entirely true. The realization made her even angrier.

She shouldn't care what Evan and Debbie were doing upstairs. She really shouldn't. The woman sitting on the couch was not the same Stacy who had existed after Evan's first magical mistake. That version of her had been completely, hopelessly in love with him. She had wanted his attention. His affection. His future. That Stacy would have rearranged her entire life around a nineteen-year-old boy she'd once thought of as her stepson.

Thankfully, she was gone. Stacy remembered her, of course. Remembered the feelings. Remembered how real they had been at the time.

The most disturbing part was that she had been happy.

Truly happy.

And now? Now she knew it had been magic. A false personality. A rewritten version of herself who had looked at Evan and seen the centre of the universe.

Still, remembering the feeling was like remembering a beautiful dream after waking up. She knew it hadn't been real, but that didn't mean she couldn't remember how perfect it had seemed.

Another dull thump sounded upstairs.

"Jesus Christ."

Arms folded more tightly. There were plenty of reasons to be angry. She didn't need jealousy.

The restaurant, for one.

Having to crawl beneath the table while Evan and Debbie sat above her had been humiliating. It didn't matter that nobody else had thought it strange that a grown woman was sitting on a dog's bed, her head on the lap of the man holding her leash. If anything, that acceptance of her treatment had made the entire experience worse.

The leash.

The collar.

The way people had looked at Evan as though he was some kind of celebrity while Stacy barely seemed to qualify as a person.

And, most infuriatingly of all, the fact that some of it had felt good. Her head had rested against Evan's knees, and something inside her had relaxed. His hand had touched her hair, and she had felt calm.

Safe.

Comfortable.

Normal.

Stacy grimaced. Nothing about that had been normal.

Comfort and safety are among the greatest gifts a Master can provide.

"You're not helping."

She rubbed both hands over her face. If Evan hadn't told her to study the manual, none of this would be rattling around inside her head. She could have remained blissfully ignorant of all the ridiculous little rules the universe seemed determined to impose upon her. Instead, she knew them. Remembered them. And occasionally found herself thinking them before she could stop herself. That alone would have been enough reason to be furious with Evan.

Then there was the second potion. Stacy lowered her hands and stared toward the staircase. That was the one she couldn't quite get past. For one brief, ridiculous stretch of time, she had been happy. She had been in love.

The relationship had felt right. Her future had felt secure. She had known exactly who she was and where she belonged. Even now, knowing that the entire thing had been created by magic, some part of her remembered the certainty of it with uncomfortable fondness.

Then Evan had decided to fix everything. Because of course he had. Why couldn't that dipshit have just gone with it? The thought appeared so suddenly that Stacy actually snorted. A fucking superhero. That was Evan's problem. He couldn't simply accept something. Couldn't sit still and let things happen. He had to intervene. Had to fix things. Had to fulfil his promises.

And where had that got them?

She was sitting alone on a couch while the universe apparently expected her to sleep in the same room as Evan, who was currently upstairs fucking her best friend.

Another noise from above interrupted her thoughts. Stacy looked toward the ceiling.

"Are you people trying to demolish the house?"

No answer came.

For all her anger, though, a small and deeply irritating part of her understood. Evan was nineteen. Debbie was beautiful. And Debbie had spent the entire evening acting as though she'd won some sort of cosmic lottery by ending up with him. How much resistance was anyone honestly expecting from a nineteen-year-old boy?

Stacy sighed.

Maybe he needed an outlet. Maybe, after days of having Stacy throw herself at him, magical or not, he was simply taking the path of least resistance.

The thought lasted approximately three seconds.

Then the bed struck the wall again.

"Nope." She stood. "Absolutely not. I am not going to sit here feeling sorry for him."

Pacing began almost immediately. One end of the living room to the other. Turn. Back again. The hardwood floor creaked beneath her feet as Stacy tried to work through the situation without listening to the sounds coming from above.

It wasn't working.

Her thoughts drifted unexpectedly toward David. Before everything had gone completely insane, David had been her husband. Her strength. Her man.

The thought still felt strange.

She remembered their life together. The routines. The arguments. The quiet evenings. The way he would fall asleep almost immediately afterwards, leaving her lying beside him and wondering how anyone could possibly lose consciousness that quickly.

A faint smile touched her lips. David had been almost impressive about it. Five minutes. Sometimes less. One moment awake. The next, completely gone.

Was Evan the same?

The question stopped her in the middle of the room. If he fell asleep upstairs with Debbie, what happened to Stacy? Would the magic punish her because she wasn't nearby? Would Evan be the one who's punished as long as she stayed awake? Would the rules make an exception because Debbie was present?

Nothing about any of this came with an instruction manual.

Well...

Except for the actual instruction manual, which was useless.

Your responsibility is to remain available for whenever your Master requires you.

Stacy stared at the ceiling.

"Don't you fucking start."

The manual remained silent.

For about two seconds.

Your Master should never be kept waiting.

She groaned.

Sleep was becoming an increasingly dangerous prospect. She could stay downstairs and refuse to acknowledge what was happening upstairs, but eventually exhaustion would win. The thought of accidentally falling asleep on the couch and waking up to another magical punishment was enough to get her moving.

With a deep sigh, Stacy headed for the staircase. One step. Then another. The sounds from the bedroom became clearer.

"Oh, good," she muttered. "Wonderful."

By the time she reached the top of the stairs, there was absolutely no pretending she couldn't hear them. Every moan. Every grunt. Every time one of them shakily said the other's name. It was...

A lot.

Stacy stopped outside the bedroom door. Hand raised toward the handle.

No.

Absolutely not.

She was not walking in there. The possibility of opening that door, even by accident, was more than enough to make her stomach twist. Whatever she needed to do, whatever bizarre rule the magic had created for her, barging into the room wasn't going to be part of it.

So she stood there. And waited. The house creaked. The bedroom remained occupied. Stacy clasped her hands, fingers interwoven. Ten minutes, she thought. That's all. They can't possibly keep this up for more than ten minutes. Not if they were actually putting as much effort into it as they sounded like they were.

There was a brief lull, then the bed began to creak inside. Her eyes widened. They were starting up again.

"Oh, come on."

The hallway offered nowhere comfortable to sit, and sitting down was dangerous anyway. The moment she relaxed, exhaustion might catch up with her. So she paced. Three steps toward the bathroom. Turn. Three steps back toward the bedroom. Wait. Listen despite herself. Turn away.

It is not your place to complain about the time required to attend your Master. His pleasure is your priority, not your own needs.

"Fantastic."

Stacy leaned her shoulder against the wall. Of all the things she had imagined happening in her life, waiting outside a bedroom while Evan spent the evening screwing her best friend had not made the list.

Neither had being collared.

Neither had crawling beneath a restaurant table.

Neither had needing permission to get dressed.

At this point, though, she was starting to understand an important lesson about magic: things could always get weirder.

Another few minutes passed. Then another. Stacy looked at the closed bedroom door. Nothing suggested they were slowing down. With a frown, she pushed away from the wall and resumed pacing. There was nothing else to do. She couldn't go downstairs and risk falling asleep. She couldn't go into the bedroom until they were finished. And apparently, she couldn't trust Evan to wrap things up on anything resembling a reasonable schedule.

So Stacy waited.

She listened.

She paced.

And every time the sounds from behind the door made her wonder exactly how much longer this was going to take, she reminded herself that she wasn't jealous.

Absolutely not.

Not even a little.

That was what she kept telling herself, anyway.