Things weren't supposed to change like this, not so quickly. For the first time in her life, the bitch was making good on a promise, and it had the potential to really fuck him over. It wouldn't last, though; she'd be back. He gave it a week tops until she was looking for that street-grade shit. Amber didn't change, not like that.
It was almost unnerving, how quiet it was. No, not quiet-everything shifted just to the left. The change left him tense, constantly ready to catapult himself out of the situation, should it come to that. That wasn't so different, though. It was almost a let-down, the stillness; no ending that spectacular should peeter out so easily. He knew better, though; it wasn't over, just… waiting. They were all waiting. He could live with waiting, boring as it was. For the umpteenth time that evening, he caught himself wondering what the kid was up to.
He had been watching her, sure she was catalyst to whatever this great undoing would be. But no, she had closed the doors to her gate, disappeared into that house. And who could blame her, really? That was how she'd spent the first half, after all. So he waited. Watched. It wasn't just that getting in would be a problem; he didn't want to find himself in the heart of the Undoing. He planned to survive this as well. His skin positively itched to jump the fence, find out what the hell she was doing, but even that wasn't entirely true. He also just wanted to see the look on her face when he did so. It wasn't that he cared, it was that he cared too much. She'd be angry, sure, but more importantly, she'd be there. Lonely maybe. Ready for an indecent savior. Who could blame him for his fascination? For weeks, every tabloid had bragged "New, previously unseen photos of The Girl!" Everyone wanted a peek. But that wasn't the problem either, necessarily. Or at least, it hadn't been a problem until he found himself more willing then normal to be plied with sex. It was a harmless thing to do; everyone got what they wanted and no one got hurt. Still, he had to open his eyes eventually.
The first time it had happened, it had been a surprise. He had let his mind wander, as he was wont to do, having fallen easily into the rhythm. He listened to the junkie's overplayed moans, felt her skin beneath his hands. He bent her over, pressed his open mouth to the back of her neck. As he held her hips, thrusting quickly, she had cried out in high pitched, outsized noises. Business as usually. And then, gritting his teeth, he had damned himself with a groan, "Ah fuck, Kid, I'm so close."
That might have been the first time he had felt embarrassed since… ever, really. Desperately, he had hoped she hadn't heard. If she had, she didn't say anything, content to let sleeping dogs lie. Even dregs weren't graceless. Or perhaps she just cared about the fix more. Regardless, it had been a rather preoccupying discovery.
He looked up at her window, saw a light go on somewhere else in the house. Two stories up, three to the left… he could make it. Calculating the quickest path, he turned, walking away, leaving his thoughts to jump the fence, scale the lattice, knock on glass. Not tonight.