So, I've decided to do back and forth narratives for this story only because I really enjoy both voices and they're so different. Another <2000 words. Any of my readers who write should try it. It's fun. Enjoy the show.
*****
I watched Prissy from the bathroom doorway as I brushed my teeth. She was intently reading on her kindle. I knew this because I was shirtless and she wasn't glancing in my direction at all. She was somewhat curled around the material, hiding it from me. I was sure she thought she was sparing my feelings but I knew what she was reading.
Heading back into the bathroom, I spit and rinsed before heading back into the bedroom. She looked so delicious, her brow furrowed with focus and the vermillion nightie tickling above her knees. I wanted to have her but with my mother staying with us. I couldn't chance her being too loud. But still...
I ran my hand down her back. She jumped, pulled out of her world of words but relaxed when she saw me. "Dylan, you scared me."
It was probably bad that I expected her to be repulsed after learning what I was but there didn't seem to be a change at all. "Do you have questions?"
"Questions?" She reached for me and I scooped her up, lying on the bed in her place and setting her to straddle me.
I bent my knees and tucked a pillow behind her back for support. The heat of her body against mine was comforting. "About me being a sociopath."
She stared at me and smiled softly. "You're so border line though. I've been talking to your mother. The way she raised you, it barely registers. And who knows, the gene may not show up in our kids."
"We're playing Russian roulette. It's a new combo of genes each time." I pulled one of her hands to me to caress the palm with my lips.
"I know that, that's why it's great to have your mother here. She can teach me everything I need to know." She was beaming.
"This just isn't bothering you, is it?"
"Why should it?" She pulled my hand to her stomach. "This is happening. You did this. We did this. I love you and I love him and we're making more of these."
"Why Prissy, I do declare you are turning me on." I teased, mocking her accent.
She swatted at my chest. "I'm serious."
I studied her and caressed her wrist. She was the most fascinating woman to me. I wanted her in every way imaginable but I also felt so protective of her, even from myself. "Why are you still with me? You know what I am? How I am?" I didn't feel self pity, only curiousity.
"Maybe I like it." She dipped her fingers into the definition of my abdomen.
"Like it how?"
"Aren't they all like that, fairytale princes? I think they're a bit more on the sociopathic side than you. You don't feel guilt but you have empathy, even if it's localized to the ones you love. You're romantic and you know what I like. What's my favorite color?"
"Exactly what you're wearing, vermillion."
"Why?"
"Because you like the way the word sounds and it's a pretty red."
"Favorite number and why?"
"12, because it sits at the top of a clock like a king." I didn't understand where she was going with it.