Take the Lead

Stacy sat on the toilet, shoulders hunched forward, elbows braced against her thighs, face buried in her hands as the last of the tears worked their way out of her.

Breathing came uneven. Not sobbing anymore, past that, but still catching, still fragile.

Out of control. That was the only way to describe it. What happened last night, what she'd done, what she'd been doing in that bed this morning...

A shaky breath slipped free.

That wasn't her. It didnt feel like her. Didn't think like her. Didn't choose like her.

And yet...

Her stomach twisted.

Evan had been right. He'd stopped her. Not just this morning, either. Last night, too. Drew a line. Held it. Even when it would've been easier not to.

A bitter, humourless laugh caught in her throat.

God.

A few days ago, she'd been the one laying down the rules. Distance. Boundaries. Control. Treating him like some kind of reckless idiot. Worse, like a creep, for bringing that potion into the house. And now?

Now she was the one who couldn't keep her hands to herself. Now she was the one crossing lines in her sleep. While Evan...

Her jaw tightened.

Evan was the one saying no. The one trying to hold things together. The one acting like the adult in the room.

That stung more than anything else.

Silence settled around her again. The kind that pressed in from all sides. The kind that replays shameful memories, causing you to feel every moment of humiliation over and over again.

Eventually, muscle memory took over. She finished. Wiped. Flushed. The small, ordinary sounds felt distant, like they belonged to someone else's life. But they offered her respite from the overwhelming feeling of hopelessness that had threatened to take root in her heart.

At the sink, cool water ran over her hands. Soap. Rinse. Repeat. Movements precise, automatic.

Then the mirror. Stacy looked up. Red-rimmed eyes. Damp lashes. Skin flushed unevenly across her cheeks. A face that almost looked like hers, but not quite. Something was off. Not physically. Deeper than that.

"How long?" she murmured to her reflection, voice rough.

No answer came. How long until she didn't recognize herself at all? How long until the line between right and wrong blurred so badly it stopped mattering?

A flicker of panic sparked low in her chest. Because it wasn't just about losing control. It was about not knowing anymore that she'd lost it.

And worse: knowing, but not caring.

She didn't want to go back to the nights before. The ones where distance from Evan meant punishment. Pain. Or that relentless, gnawing arousal that wouldn't let her think straight. If she were given the choice between the supernatural torment or crawling into bed with Evan, she already knew what she would do.

Her grip tightened on the edge of the sink.

Even at the thought of him, the now-familiar response bloomed instantly, sharp, intrusive, unmistakable. A quick pulse of arousal, low and insistent, like a reminder carved into her nerves.

"Jesus..."

Fingers curled against porcelain until the sensation faded. It wasn't natural. None of this was natural. But it was consistent. Predictable. And that meant something: a hint of control, a sense that she wasn't lost in chaos, but navigating dangerous waters.

Evan.

The thought came slower this time. More deliberate. But still with the tingle of arousal

He wasn't reacting the same way she was. Not completely. Yes, it was obvious that he felt it, she'd seen that, but he still seemed to be able to push back. He could still draw lines.

Maybe because she had been the one that had taken the potion, not him. Maybe because this was all anchored to her. Or maybe she was just **** enough to start inventing reasons.

Didn't matter. Again, it was something. And right now, something was better than nothing.

Stacy grabbed a towel, dabbed at her face, **** her breathing to steady. The reflection didn't improve much, but it would have to do.

She turned and stepped out of the ensuite. The bedroom was empty. Relief came quick and quiet.

Good.

From down the hall, the shower ran, steady, distant. He was getting ready. A normal day. Or at least trying to be.

Stacy didn't linger. Sweatpants were pulled from a drawer, an oversized t-shirt from the back of chair. Soft. Safe. Impersonal. At least that hadn't changed.

Downstairs, the house greeted her with stillness.

Coffee first. The machine clicked on. Water filled. Grounds measured without thinking. Routine carried her forward where intention struggled to keep up.

What was today even supposed to look like?

Yoga. Coffee with Melissa. Maybe shopping after.

A normal day.

The idea felt almost absurd. Could she do normal right now? Should she? It wouldn't be difficult to cancel everything. Stay home. Reset.

Would that help?

Or would being alone just make it worse?

Toast slid into the toaster. A pan warmed on the stove. Eggs cracked one-handed, the motion automatic, practiced. Control, in small things. That was something. Or it should have been.

Because somewhere between the second egg and the second slice of toast, between reaching for a second plate and pouring another cup of coffee, something shifted.

Quietly.

Seamlessly.

Unnoticed.

---

Footsteps pulled her attention back.

Stacy turned, plate in hand, and froze.

The table. Two settings. Two plates. Two coffees.

For a second, she just stared.

Then her gaze snapped to Evan as he stepped into the kitchen. Then back to the table. Then back to him.

"Oh."

The word came out thin. Realization hit all at once. She hadn't meant to, hadn’t even noticed, but she'd done it again. Her body, having gone into autopilot, had made a meal for her magically-**** husband.

"Shit," Evan muttered, glancing between her and the table. A hand rubbed the back of his neck. "Well. I guess... thank you?"

He didn't sound grateful. He sounded unsettled. Like he was stepping around something fragile. He must remember the night before, how upsetting it was for her to find that she'd made a romantic meal for the pair of them, all completely unnoticed.

Evan pulled out a chair and sat, shaking his head slightly.

"Yeah. This is... this is getting worse."

The understatement almost made her laugh.

Almost.

"I'm sorry," he added, quieter now. "About earlier. In the bedroom. I didn't mean to..." A pause. A small exhale. "I mean, I did. But I wasn't trying to make you feel like..."

"Like I'm the problem?" Stacy cut in, sitting down across from him.

Evan winced slightly.

"Yeah."

Silence settled between them.

Stacy picked up her coffee, took a slow sip, more for something to do than anything else. Toast followed. Mechanical. Thoughtless. Across the table, Evan hesitated.

"There's something else."

Of course there was. Her eyes lifted, unimpressed.

"What?"

He shifted in his seat, suddenly looking a few years younger.

"Yesterday. At school. The potion..." He gestured vaguely between them. "It set something up."

A pause.

"A study group."

Stacy blinked.

"That's it?"

"It's not just a study group," he said quickly. "It's... apparently, you organized it."

That got her attention.

"I did what?"

"I don't remember it," he added. "At all. But everyone else does. It's the potion. You invited half my class over. Tonight. Big pre-exam thing. Food, studying, the whole deal."

Tonight.

Her stomach dropped.

"And it gets better," Evan muttered. "You also invited Professor Caldwell."

A beat.

"Am I supposed to know who that is?"

"He's a hard-ass professor who hates my guts. Well, hated my guts, until my lovely wife invited him over to help us study in exchange for a home cooked meal."

Stacy leaned back slightly, processing. Pieces clicked into place, fast and uncomfortable. Of course it would do that. Of course the magic would expand. Involve other people. Raise the stakes. Trap them deeper.

Her first instinct rose sharp and immediate.

Cancel it.

The words were already there. Ready. Waiting. But they didn't come out. Because even as the thought formed, something else followed right behind it. A quiet, creeping certainty.

That wouldn't work.

If anything, it would make things worse.

The magic didn't like resistance. It adapted. Punished. Escalated.

Stacy stared down at the table.

"I know I should try to find a way out of it, but I kind of feel trapped. I've already screwed up our lives so much, and now this. I really should... wait... are you wearing my shirt?"

Stacy moved her eyes from the table surface to the shirt she'd grabbed from the chair back. Black. Oversized. Band logo. It had felt so right to wear. So comfortable. So natural.

"Fuck."

That did it. That pushed her over the edge. That showed her exactly what she needed to do.

"No."

Evan blinked.

"No?"

"We're not cancelling it."

Confusion flickered across his face.

"Are you serious?"

"No," she said flatly. "I guess. But that doesn't matter."

Her gaze lifted, steady now.

"If we try to shut this down, it'll just push harder. You know that."

He did. She could see it in the way his shoulders dropped.

"Yeah," he admitted quietly.

A pause stretched between them.

"I'll do it," Stacy said.

Evan straightened slightly.

"Yeah?"

"One condition."

"Anything."

The answer came too fast. Too easy. And somehow, that made this harder. For the first time since sitting down, Stacy hesitated. Words stuck in her throat. Resisted being said. This wasn't easy to say. Didn't feel right to say. But that didn't make it less true.

"I don't trust myself right now."

Evan went still. Stacy pushed forward anyway.

"Last night. This morning. Even now, sitting here, I..." A breath. "I don’t know what's real anymore. What I actually want versus what this thing is making me want."

The admission hung between them.

Heavy.

Raw.

"You seem to," she added, quieter. "At least more than I do."

A flicker of discomfort crossed his face.

"You want me to... what?"

Stacy met his eyes.

"I need you to take the lead."

The words felt strange in her mouth. Unnatural.

"I need you to call it when something's off. When I cross a line. When this..." she gestured vaguely between them "...starts getting out of control."

Evan didn't respond immediately. So she finished it. Voice steady, even if everything underneath it wasn't.

"Because I'm afraid if you don't..."

A beat.

"I won't stop."