✧

"I am just horrified for you and your family," Marcy expressed, her voice filled with empathy, as she sat at the end of the grand dining room table. Joey was seated next to her, having just made a call to the realtor who sold them the house to explore their options for selling it. Ophelia entered the room, placing a tray of freshly prepared tea on the table before taking a seat across from her father. Her mind was racing with the weight of recent events, and she couldn't help but feel a mix of anxiety and anger.

"I hardly know what to say, really. And I can just imagine how you might be feeling a little anxious, given all this," Marcy continued, turning her attention to Ophelia.

"If you mean not being able to sleep at night... then sure. I'm anxious," Ophelia admitted, her fingers curling around the warm teacup. She took a sip after blowing on it gently to cool it down. "I'm more angry than anything."

The memories were haunting Marcy too. "You know that's how I felt when the boys, you know, did what they did. We'd gotten rather close... they'd have me over for Bloody Mary's and omelets on a Sunday," she recalled, her thoughts drifting back to the past. "So, to find out what nasty little perverts they were... you probably heard about the poker from the fireplace being rammed up his—"

"Marcy," Joey's voice rose slightly to halt her in her tracks, pulling her back from her disturbing recollections. "We have to put the house back on the market... and we have to make back everything I put into it. I just can't afford to take a bath on this."

"You know, you might want to adjust your expectations. The housing market is dropping daily... and these things aren't about to change until 2013 when we vote that bum out," Marcy informed, taking another sip from her tea. Ophelia let out a long sigh, feeling disheartened about the prospects of selling the house.

"Well, here's the bottom line," Joey leaned forward, his arms resting criss-crossed on the table. "You owe our family. Under the law, you were obligated to disclose any material facts that might have influenced my decision to buy this house."

"Excuse me, dear, but the law requires us to disclose any death on the premises within the last three years," Marcy corrected, placing her hands on her chest. "I did that." She then reached for her teacup, growing visibly upset. "Nobody's buying me cooking classes, Dr. Bishop. Nobody's looking out for me... do you know where I live? I live in a 350-square-foot guesthouse... in Valley Village... with rats! I'd kill to live in this house, regardless of the history."

Setting her cup back down, Marcy realized she had been so engrossed in her words that she forgot to sip from it. "You know, you probably need a more seasoned realtor. Someone who specializes in—"

"Oh, you think you were my first call?" Joey's sarcasm grew evident as his patience wore thin. "I called every realtor in the city this morning— Coldwell Banker, Century 21, no one will take this listing. So, here's the plan: you are going to bake cookies, you are going to buy beautiful, expensive, fresh-cut flowers. You are gonna maybe make up some nice stories about all the lovely people who have lived here over the years. You're gonna do whatever the fuck it takes, and you are gonna sell this house, and then my daughter and I are gonna go live somewhere safe. In return for that, I'm not gonna sue you for gross criminal negligence."

The room fell into an awkward silence, Ophelia feeling like a spectator in the tense exchange. A moment later, her father spoke again, "We on the same page?" Marcy nodded, visibly shaken by Joey's sudden change in demeanor. "Good."

Joey picked up his cup of tea, taking a sip. "See? Someone's looking out for you."

✧

Ophelia sat on the brick ledge that encased her house, her legs dangling just a few inches above the ground. As she took a drag from her cigarette, the smoke enveloped her lungs, mingling with the fresh breeze and warmth of the sunny day. Lost in her thoughts, she reflected on everything she had experienced since moving into this house.

Suddenly, her attention was drawn to a black truck pulling up outside her home. A man with a megaphone stood amidst a group of people, who seemed to be on some kind of tour. Ophelia squinted to read the label on the truck, which read "Eternal Darkness Tour." Confused, she wondered what they were doing here, referring to her house as the "Murder House." Tourists took photos, and once they were done, the truck drove away, leaving her puzzled.

Her focus shifted when she heard a familiar voice. Tate emerged through the grass and walked up to her. It had been a week since she saw him the night of the break-in. "Hey," she greeted him.

"How are you doing?" Tate's voice held a gentle and caring tone.

Ophelia met his gaze and forced a smile. "I'm getting there," she replied softly, a hint of vulnerability in her voice. "It was pretty scary, but I'm trying not to let it consume me."

Tate leaned against the brick pillar near her. "I'm glad you're okay," he said sincerely.

A small, genuine smile curved on Ophelia's lips; her heart warmed by Tate's words. Tate, feeling a mix of emotions, glanced down at the ground, trying to hide his vulnerability as he stuffed his hands into his pockets. "And, hey, about the basement—" he began tentatively.

Ophelia shook her head, her eyes filled with understanding and reassurance. "Don't worry about it. We're cool." Tate looked up to meet her gaze, finding comfort in her words and the way she looked at him. Her appreciation touched something deep within him. "Thanks for saving me," she added sincerely.

Tate's mind drifted back to the harrowing invasion in Ophelia's home, his jaw clenching at the memory of those ruthless intruders attempting to harm her. The thought of her in danger filled him with a fierce protectiveness he had never known before. He would do anything to safeguard her, even if it meant killing. And he did. Softening his gaze, he shrugged his shoulders with nonchalance, trying to downplay the intensity of his feelings. "Anytime."

As he spoke those words, Ophelia caught a glimpse of the vulnerability he tried to conceal, and it made her heart skip a beat. There was something magnetic about Tate's protective demeanor, something that made her feel safe and cherished in his presence. A playful thought crossed her mind as she wondered how far this connection between them could go. But for now, she savored the comfort of his companionship and the unspoken understanding they shared. The two shared a longing glance, but their moment was interrupted by the arrival of Ophelia's father. She didn't want her father to know she was talking to Tate again, so she quickly urged him to hide. Tate moving behind a brick wall where Joey couldn't see him.

Joey walked up to his daughter, carrying a bag of trash to take out. "Hey, I was hoping to talk to you about everything you went through last week."

"Dad, seriously... I'm fine." Ophelia sighed, exchanging a subtle glance with Tate. "It'll make a great essay at some point."

Joey smiled, but he still had some concerns about his daughter's state of mind. "Okay... but if you ever want to talk to somebody—"

"Dad," Ophelia shook her head, not wanting to discuss her traumas with him.

"I mean, not me. You know, I'm way too expensive," Joey joked, earning a stifled laugh from his daughter. "But we can find you someone."

Ophelia thought about it for a moment and considered that talking to someone might not be such a bad idea. "Okay, yeah... sure. I'll think about it."

Before Joey headed inside, he placed a comforting hand on his daughter's leg then disposed the trash. Ophelia turned her attention back to Tate, who peeked his head out to check if her father was gone, making an 'oh shit' face before joining her on the brick ledge.

"He's a good dad... he really cares," Tate noted, looking at Ophelia as he spoke. "You're lucky like that."

"Yeah, I guess I am," Ophelia agreed, pursing her lips and reaching for a cigarette from the box. She leaned forward, and as she brought the cigarette to her lips, she looked up at Tate with a hint of longing. Without hesitation, Tate flicked open his zippo lighter and lit the tip of her cigarette. Their eyes locked in an intense, lustful gaze, and Tate smiled charmingly at her.

✧

"I'm at the end of my rope," Sally, a new patient, admitted with a hint of weariness in her voice. Joey hit the record button on the recorder, capturing the session's dialogue. "He's going through with it, and there's nothing I can do to stop him."

Joey tried his best to focus on Sally's words, but her monotonous tone made it challenging to stay engaged. "We're supposed to sign the papers next week, and that's it... 23 years gone with the stroke of a pen. I'm so upset, and I wonder if I'll ever be able to love or be loved again."

As Sally revealed her struggles, Joey mustered his professional demeanor despite feeling bored to tears by her lackluster delivery. He probed gently, "What was the reason your husband is seeking the divorce?"

"He says I'm very boring," Sally replied, and although Joey wanted to chuckle at the straightforwardness of the statement, he maintained his composure, understanding why her husband might have such an impression.

Sally continued dully, "I've tried to converse with him on a variety of subjects. Sports, for instance. I even learned the names of the football teams he follows... the Chargers, the 49ers, the Raiders, the Seahawks up in Seattle, and the Cardinals in Arizona. I memorized them for him. I'm very good at memorization. I can still name all the states and their capitals, which I learned in sixth grade. My memory helps with my work; I'm an accountant by trade, but I'm branching out into taxes."

Joey struggled to maintain focus as Sally droned on about her abilities and interests, his mind wandering to other matters. Suddenly, an overwhelming sense of disorientation washed over him, and he found himself outside his house with blood on his hands. Confused and alarmed, he hurriedly washed the blood off with a hose before returning inside to find Moira deeply engrossed in cleaning something on the floor.

"What are you doing?" Joey asked, still grappling with the unsettling events that had just transpired.

"Cleaning up your mess," Moira replied matter-of-factly, continuing her task without missing a beat.

Joey's mind raced back to the blood on his hands, the memories of what had happened remaining elusive. "My mess?"

"Well, it's not my blood," Moira replied calmly, still scrubbing away.

Concerned and desperate for answers, Joey pressed Moira for information about what she had witnessed. "How long have you been out here? What did you see?"

Moira maintained her evasive stance, offering little insight. "Nothing at all, if anyone should ask. Don't worry," she assured him, getting up from her position on the floor then pointing toward his office. "I did this room first. It's all ready for your next patient."

Growing increasingly frustrated with Moira's reticence, Joey tried to recall something that might shed light on the situation. "Where's my tape recorder?" he asked, both of them entering the office to search for the missing item. "It was right here."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I never touch the things on your desk," Moira replied, feigning innocence.

Feeling a surge of anger and frustration at Moira's unhelpful responses, Joey's impatience escalated. "Where is it?!" he demanded, determined to unravel the mystery of what had transpired.

✧

Still harboring irritation from his housekeeper's unhelpful demeanor from the previous day, Joey made his way into the kitchen where Moira was in the midst of filling a cup with coffee. "Where's my tape recorder? I need it for my work," he demanded, hoping for a more responsive answer this time.

Seemingly unfazed by his question, Moira calmly turned to hand him the cup of coffee. "Here's your coffee, Dr. Bishop."

"I don't want any damn coffee," Joey retorted, his patience wearing thin. "I want my tape recorder. It was in my office until you cleaned up. I need it."

Unperturbed by his frustration, Moira made a comment that further puzzled him. "I hope you don't mind... your next patient is in the office," she stated, seemingly ignoring his questions and placing the cup on the kitchen island.

Joey's irritation now mingled with confusion; his expression clouded with uncertainty. He hadn't been expecting any more patients for the day. "My next patient?" he repeated, trying to make sense of the unexpected development.

Moira nodded before leaving the kitchen. Joey sighed and made his way to his office to see who it was. As he entered the room, he found a woman with her back to him, patiently waiting. "I'm sorry. I didn't have anyone on my schedule," Joey said, leaning over to check his paperwork, hoping he hadn't missed anything. When the woman turned around to face him, he froze, realizing it wasn't one of his patients.

"What are you doing here?" Joey's heart skipped a beat, his mind racing. She couldn't be here, especially not in his home where his daughter could see her. He watched her approach him. "This is my house."

"I'm not stupid, Joey," she retorted, settling smugly on the couch in front of him. "I saw her leave." Joey continued to stare at her, shocked and unsure how to react. "I just wanna talk."

"Not in my house," Joey replied, his nerves growing as her presence made him uncomfortable. "Jesus, Hayden. I've called you a dozen times since I left Vegas."

"You left me there, Joey," Hayden recalled, her eyes fixed on him. "Without a word. By myself."

Joey sighed, feeling a pang of guilt. "I know, I know. I'm sorry... but I told you in my messages there was a home invasion here. My daughter was alone. I had to come back."

The room fell into a tense silence as the two of them stared at each other. Joey sat on the table in front of her, his fingers intertwined, gathering his thoughts before speaking again. "Did everything go alright?"

"Oh, I didn't have the abortion," Hayden stated simply, a smirk on her lips.

Joey's breath caught in his throat, his mind racing with the implications. Her presence here could reveal secrets that his daughter must never know. He cherished the closeness he had with Ophelia and feared that any revelation about his past would push her away. The guilt of misleading her weighed heavily on him. "What?"

"I decided to keep the baby," Hayden smiled, "Our baby... I'm moving here and you're paying. You're gonna be a father to our child... I've already started looking for a place. I think I really like Marina del Rey."

As each word left Hayden's mouth, Joey's stress grew. "Hayden, y—you really haven't thought this through, my daughter can't know."

Hayden stared at him for a moment before realization dawned on her face. "She doesn't know about me, does she? About me being one of your students and falling in love, actively cheating on your wife, well, when she was alive."

"Hayden," Joey warned, panic setting in as Hayden's smile seemed to taunt him. "As far as support, you have to believe me—the move out here took everything I had. I—I don't have the financial resources."

"I'm not a whore, Joey," Hayden stated, leaning forward. "I matter."

"I didn't say th—"

"I matter!" Hayden shouted, cutting him off.

A sudden ring of the doorbell pierced the intense atmosphere that had enveloped them. The man's eyes remained fixed on her for a moment before he reluctantly made his way to answer the door. Hayden quietly followed. As the door swung open, they were met with the presence of a detective.

"I'm looking for a Dr. Joseph Bishop," the detective stated with a professional tone.

"That's me," Joey acknowledged, his mind grappling with confusion over the unexpected visit.

"Detective Jack Colquitt. L.A.P.D.," the man introduced himself, displaying his identification. "I need a moment of your time."

Joey glanced back at Hayden, who patiently waited, fully aware of the detective's request. "The detective wants to talk to me," Joey informed her, his mind racing with curiosity and apprehension.

Hayden took a moment to respond before agreeing, "Fine, meet me tomorrow at 3:00. There's a Norms down the street."

As Hayden departed, Joey held the door open, allowing the detective to step inside. After shutting the door, he led the way to his office, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty. "I told the other officer everything. My daughter was the one those animals terrorized," he shared, referring to a previous conversation with the police.

"Sorry. That's robbery/homicide. I'm missing persons. I'm here about Sally Freeman. She's a patient of yours," the detective clarified, guiding the conversation to the reason for his visit. Joey's breath hitched, haunted by the knowledge that Sally was missing after their session and the unsettling discovery of blood on his hands.

"Our first session was Tuesday," Joey explained, attempting to maintain composure while the detective scribbled notes to document the information. "I'm sorry...missing persons?"

The detective glanced up, confirming his focus on Sally's disappearance. "Her husband hasn't seen her. She didn't come home last night. He didn't seem too concerned. They're getting a divorce. Her online calendar listed you as a 3:00 appointment. Did she show up?"

"Yes," Joey replied, his mind grappling with the possibility that he might be somehow involved in this mysterious turn of events. "Then you were the last one who saw her," the detective noted, his eyes returning to his notepad. "She also had a Power Point class down at the Learning Annex, but she bailed on that."

Joey's memories of their session remained hazy, and he struggled to recall the details before his blackout. "Well, I can't tell you what we talked about, but I can say it was nothing extreme."

The detective appeared unsurprised, having already heard a common sentiment about Sally. "Just between you and I, everyone I talked to about that gal said she was the most boring person they'd ever met," he admitted, reflecting on others' opinions.

Joey clenched his jaw, understanding the sentiment all too well from his own encounter with her. "Anyway, like I said, it's probably nothing. But if you hear anything, give me a call?"

"Yeah, yeah, no problem," Joey replied, his mind still haunted by the uncertainty of what had transpired during that critical session with Sally.

"I'll let myself out." The detective motioned toward the door.

✧

Ophelia found herself sitting in the back of the "Eternal Darkness Tour" truck, having been curious about it since she saw it the other day. As the tour guide began recounting stories of death and tragedy, she couldn't help but feel a mix of fascination and discomfort.

"San Mineo was thirty-seven years old when he died... A golden globe winner and two-time Oscar nominee. His father was a coffin maker who never accepted that his son was gay. They sent away a petty criminal; African American Lionel Raymond Williams, for the murder. Calling it a robbery gone wrong. But you'll have a hard time finding anyone who believes that in this town. Most people believe Sal Mineo died of a hate crime."

As they drove away from the scene, the truck pulled up to Ophelia's house. "Our tour concludes with one of the most famous houses of horrors in the City of Angels. Better known as the Murder House."

Ophelia's breath hitched, anticipating the guide's continuation. "Built in 1922 by Dr. Charles Montgomery, acclaimed surgeon to the stars, for his wife Nora, a prominent East Coast socialite. But when Montgomery fell on hard times, he became addicted to drugs... and developed a terrifying Frankenstein complex. An estimated two dozen girls went under Dr. Montgomery's knife, thanks to his wife, Nora. But the souls of the little ones must have weighed heavily upon them as their reign of terror climaxed in a shocking finale in 1926."

The memories of the basement and the invasion overwhelmed Ophelia's thoughts, recalling the gruesome murder-suicide of the previous couple who lived there and the nurse that had apparently been murdered by the killer her attackers praised. The weight of the haunting past of the house she lived in felt suffocating. Her breaths became shallow and rapid, and panic set in. She struggled to undo her seatbelt, urgently making her way down the aisle of the tour truck before stepping out the door. With quick strides, she moved as fast as she could through the front yard.

"Ma'am, you can't go in there," the tour guide called out to her.

"This is my house!" Ophelia managed to say before rushing inside and closing the door behind her. She leaned against the door, sliding down as she fought to catch her breath. The sensation of her racing heart further convinced her that she was dying. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to steady her breathing as the haunting past of her home overwhelmed her.

Unaware of his daughter's distress, Joey descended the stairs, worriedly asking, "What's wrong, honey? Are you okay?" Seeing her visibly shaken and struggling to breathe, he immediately tried to comfort her.

"I can't breathe," Ophelia forced out, her breathing becoming more labored.

"Hey... Hey... it's okay." Joey sat down, placing his hands on either side of her shoulders. "You're just having a panic attack, just focus on your breathing."

"I can't," Ophelia shook her head, her chest heaving.

"Yes, you can. Come on... In," Joey instructed, taking a deep breath, and she followed suit. They held their breaths for a few seconds before he said, "And out," exhaling through his nostrils. Ophelia mirrored him. Joey continued guiding her through a few more calming breaths, and gradually, she began to regain control.

"Better?" he asked.

"Yeah," Ophelia nodded, letting her hands fall into her lap.

"What got you so worked up, kid?"

Ophelia took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Just... everything."

"I really think it would help if you saw someone, Ophelia." Joey sighed, concerned for his daughter.

"It's fine, Dad, really." She tried to reassure him, though deep down, she knew she needed to confront the trauma that haunted her. "Actually... it wouldn't hurt to try."

✧

Joey frantically scoured his office, his heart racing with anxiety as he continued to search for the elusive tape recorder. Despite his efforts, it remained stubbornly hidden, and his anxiety grew with each passing moment.

"Fuck." He breathed, placing his hands on his hips in bewilderment before finally looking under the couch. It was as if he had blacked out momentarily, only to regain consciousness in his backyard, sprawled on the ground. His head throbbed with a heavy headache, adding to his concerns as he grappled with these inexplicable moments of blacking out at random intervals.

As he reached up to touch his temple, trying to make sense of it all, Constance made her presence known, holding a cigarette between her fingers. She looked down at him with an air of curiosity, questioning his unexpected presence in the dirt.

"You won't find any gold buried out here," Constance quipped, observing him with an amused expression. "What are you doing down there in the dirt?"

Joey desperately attempted to piece together memories that seemed to elude him. "I don't know. I keep finding myself waking up here," he admitted, still perplexed by the recurring phenomenon. "The same spot."

Constance offered her insight, attributing his experiences to stress. "Well, there's no mystery to it. It's stress. Everything with your daughter..." she trailed off, chuckling softly. Joey used a nearby shovel to assist himself in getting up off the ground, still grappling with the unexplained occurrences. "And your business hasn't found its footing yet... I can tell by the cars on the street, or lack thereof... But you'll find your way," Constance remarked, her words laced with a touch of rudeness. Joey fought the urge to roll his eyes at her candidness as he began to dig up the spot where he had awakened.

"Mm-mm," Constance mused, her voice smooth and low as she brought the cigarette to her lips, lighting it with a practiced flick. "I must warn you about this property," she began, her words flowing like a well-rehearsed tale. "You see, the previous owners soaked this ground in pesticides. Any fruit from this soil would be poison." Her eyes held a glint of wisdom, emphasizing the seriousness of her warning. "With soil this toxic, the best you can do is just to cover it up."

Her imagination seemed to take flight as she continued, her eyes dancing with vivid scenes. "You know, I see a brick patio with a gazebo under the shade of this pepper tree," Constance visualized, gracefully gesturing towards the tree in question. Her gestures seemed to paint the picture she described, as if she were an artist bringing her creation to life. "Imagine a tall glass of Long Island iced tea in your hand, while you recline on a plush chaise lounge," she continued, her words painting a serene scene of relaxation. "Oh, the sweet hum of cicadas in your ears, creating an ambiance of pure bliss." Her chuckle, warm and knowing, added to the enchanting allure of her vision. "Heaven. Sheer heaven."

Shaking his head, Joey continued to dig, his mind preoccupied with the strange events of the day. As Constance departed, another presence made itself known, and he looked up to find the detective who had inquired about his missing patient, Sally Freeman.

"Dr. Bishop," the detective greeted, a touch of sarcasm in his tone. "A little late to be planting, isn't it?"

Joey straightened up, setting the shovel aside and placing a hand on his hip. "How can I help you, Detective?"

"We found Sally Freeman," the detective stated, holding up the recorder that had caused him such distress. A sense of relief washed over Joey, thankful that his worst fears about being involved in her disappearance were unfounded. "She had something of yours on her person."

"Let's talk inside," Joey suggested, motioning toward his house, led the detective into the kitchen.

Once seated at the island, the detective delivered the shocking news. "Sally was admitted to University Hospital two days ago. Failed suicide attempt, found in a downtown hotel. She took one too many pills, put herself in a coma. She was brought in without an I.D., which is why it took a while to find her in the system. Could have saved a lot of people a lot of trouble if you told us."

Joey shook his head, fully aware of his obligation to doctor-patient confidentiality. "I'm bound under doctor-patient confidentiality," he defended himself, feeling he had done nothing wrong based on the knowledge he possessed at that moment.

"Who are you trying to protect, Doc—Sally Freeman, or you?" the detective probed, hitting play on the recorder to reveal the distressing session with Sally. The raw emotions in her voice tugged at their hearts as they listened to her desperate plea for attention.

The recording revealed Sally's anguished words, and then it took a horrifying turn as she seemingly slit her wrists. The gravity of the situation hung heavily in the air as Joey and the detective absorbed the harrowing revelation. "Finally. I got a rise. Now I know what I have to do," Sally's voice echoed through the room. The recording ended, leaving the detective staring at Joey with a critical gaze. In his own defense, Joey asserted, "I didn't do anything. You heard it on the tape. She did it to herself."

The detective's response was biting, emphasizing the impact of Joey's actions, or lack thereof. "Right. It's not a crime to be an asshole."

✧

Ophelia's bedroom is a sanctuary softly illuminated by delicate fairy lights draped along the walls, casting a warm and enchanting glow. The room exudes a cozy and intimate ambiance, Ophelia having decided a hang out with Tate and Elliot would be perfect to relax and let go of her worries. They are comfortably seated on plush pillows arranged in a circle on the floor, forming an intimate gathering space. A deck of cards and a selection of drinks, containing vodka and orange juice, are set on the floor between them.

"Alright, boys, ready to get your asses kicked?" Ophelia playfully declares, eager to distract herself from the troubling thoughts that have been plaguing her mind.

Tate grins mischievously, while Elliot chuckles, taking a sip from his cup. The soft music playing in the background creates a relaxed and comfortable atmosphere. With a flourish, Ophelia deals the cards, and the game begins.

"Don't underestimate me, Ophelia. I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," Tate teases, rolling up his sleeves as if preparing for battle.

Elliot raises his glass, proposing a toast, "To a night of good company." They clink their glasses together, and the game proceeds amidst laughter and playful banter. As the evening progresses, their conversation becomes more animated and spirited. The competition intensifies, with each player trying to outwit the others.

"Oh, trying to bluff your way out of this one, Eli?" Ophelia inquires, raising an eyebrow.

Elliot smirks, pretending to be nonchalant. "I've learned not to reveal my hand too soon." Meanwhile, Tate's eyes twinkle with amusement as he studies his cards.

The game continues, and as they play, they share stories and jokes, growing more comfortable in each other's company. The drinks flow freely, adding to the relaxed atmosphere, and the laughter becomes more infectious.

Tate turns to Elliot, reminiscing, "You remember that time in high school when we sneaked into that old abandoned movie theatre?"

Elliot laughs, the memory coming back to him vividly. "Dude, yes! I thought we'd get caught by a security guard for sure."

"Who knew you guys were quite the criminals?" Ophelia chuckles, feeling a warm, affectionate buzz from the alcohol.

Tate and Elliot share a knowing glance, their connection palpable. "Oh, you have no idea," Tate replies with a smirk, shuffling through the cards in his hand.

As the night progresses, their camaraderie deepens, and they find themselves opening up more to each other. The card game becomes an excuse for them to bond, to share their dreams and fears. Ophelia watches the boys mess with each other, loving their friendship. The sight of them laughing and talking shit to each other brings a smile to her face. However, her mind wanders to her feelings for both of them. She couldn't help but imagine what Tate and Elliot would feel like. The girl brought her lips between her teeth in thought, images of nasty explicit scenes infiltrating her mind. Though, her heart aches at the thought of ever coming between them. The kiss she shared with Elliot weeks ago keeps replaying in her thoughts, but the curiosity of Tate's lips lingers as well. Her feelings for both are equally strong, and the idea of having to choose between them fills her with dread. She honestly just wished she could have both, as selfish as that sounds.

"I love you guys," Ophelia says softly in a drunken stupor, a dreamy smile on her face as she reclines on the floor. "I'm really grateful I have you. God, you guys have helped me through so much." She rubs her eyes before using her arms as a makeshift pillow, her knees bent in a relaxed position. The two boys listen intently to her vulnerable words.

"This house is entirely fucked. Every time I feel like I'm getting my shit together, something happens." Ophelia sighs, continuing her drunken rant. "You know I found out that even more people than I originally thought have died here? I can't help but think there's a reason that so much bad shit happens in this house." Ophelia sits up from her position, wrapping her arms around her bent knees. Unbeknownst to her, the two boys exchange a knowing glance, recognizing the weight of her words.

"It's California, bad shit happens everywhere," Tate offers in an attempt to comfort her, taking a swig from his drink.

"I guess you're right," Ophelia sighs, feeling grateful for their presence. "I'm probably overthinking it."

✧

Ophelia stood groggily in the kitchen, having slept in until late morning. Her head throbbed with the aftermath of the alcohol she had consumed the night before, leaving her feeling slightly nauseous. Grumbling, she shielded her eyes from the piercing sunlight that filtered through the windows. Seeking relief, she reached for a bottle of pain relief from the cupboard, swallowing a couple of pills with water to ease her discomfort. The sudden sound of the doorbell jolted her senses, intensifying her headache. She sighed, placing her cup of water down and approached the front door, her mind briefly flashing back to the night of the invasion, but she pushed those memories aside, trying to stay calm and cautious.

Peering through the peephole, she spotted a blonde woman standing on the porch. Steeling herself, Ophelia asked, "Can I help you?"

The woman inquired, "Are you the woman of the house?"

"Are you here to look at the house?" Ophelia responded, hoping that was the reason for the unexpected visit. "Did you have an appointment?"

The woman nodded, "Yes."

"Well, you'll have to call the realtor," Ophelia stated matter-of-factly.

"I can come back another time," the woman offered.

Contemplating whether to allow her in, Ophelia hesitated for a moment. On one hand, she couldn't turn away a potential buyer, but on the other, fear of another invasion loomed in her mind. Ultimately, she decided to let the woman in, clutching a nearby candle holder hidden behind her back as she opened the door.

The woman started to walk away, but Ophelia called after her, "Wait." The woman turned around, and Ophelia stepped aside, inviting her in. "My dad's upstairs, so..." She lied, hoping the presence of her father would deter any malicious intent.

As the woman entered, she appraised the house with keen interest, taking in every detail with a knowledgeable eye.

"Oh, this wood—it's so lovely and warm. One almost never sees chestnut anymore," the woman admired.

"I never knew what kind of wood this was," Ophelia admitted, but her words seemed to fall on deaf ears as the woman continued her observations, her eyes wandering across the entryway.

"The wainscot," the woman reached out to touch it. Ophelia hummed in response, uncertain of what else to say.

Moving her gaze to the stained glass in the door beside her, the woman identified it, "Louis Comfort Tiffany glass."

"Yes," Ophelia nodded, though she had no idea what she was talking about.

The woman's hand rested on the blue-green glass, remarking, "Inspired by the iridescence on butterfly wings... and look at the blue...matches my eyes, doesn't it?" She turned her gaze towards Ophelia, who managed a forced smile.

"It does," Ophelia replied, feeling a bit unnerved by the woman's intense energy. The woman stepped closer to get a better look at her own eyes.

"Your eyes are a beautiful blue too," the woman complimented, her smile warm and captivating.

"Oh, uh... thanks," Ophelia replied awkwardly, still feeling wary of the stranger's presence. A moment passed before the woman glanced up at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

"And this must be one of the chandeliers he imported from New York," the woman observed.

"Really? That's cool. The house has four of them," Ophelia added, rocking back and forth on her feet nervously. "Would you like to see the kitchen?" The girl offered, eager to change the subject.

The woman nodded, and Ophelia led the way into the kitchen, the woman following closely behind. As they entered, the woman remarked, "It has been modernized quite a bit."

Ophelia turned to face her, wondering how she knew that. She then noticed the woman appearing visibly shaken by her surroundings. "I don't like this. It's not right. It's not what I want," the woman said, pointing to a faucet-like kitchen add-on.

Confused, Ophelia glanced at the item she was referring to. "Oh this? I'm pretty sure it's a... Pasta arm? Like for filling up large pots with water. I can talk to my dad about removing it if you decide to get the house before you move in," Ophelia suggested, trying to be helpful.

The woman seemed on edge, "Do you think I could have a glass of water?"

"Sure. I was actually about to make some tea, would you like that instead?" Ophelia offered.

The woman nodded, and Ophelia fetched some cups from the cupboard before filling them with water and placing them in the microwave.

"Ugh, I would have to get rid of that machine," the woman remarked with disdain.

"Eh, I don't mind it, it makes my life easier. We're just addicted to our conveniences," Ophelia chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

"We? Do you have children?" the woman inquired.

"Oh, no," Ophelia laughed nervously. "I just started college, I definitely couldn't handle that right now."

The woman nodded, drifting off into her own memories. "I had a child once."

Ophelia pursed her lips, feeling a mix of sadness and confusion as the woman seemed to unload her emotions onto her. The sound of the microwave going off snapped her back to the present. She went to retrieve the cups that contained hot water from the microwave, but when she turned around to serve it, the woman was gone.

"What the fuck?" Ophelia breathed, startled by the woman's sudden disappearance.

✧

Ophelia and Joey followed the leasing office woman to the apartment they had decided to look at. In the distance, the sound of police sirens wailed, adding an unsettling backdrop to their apartment hunting adventure. The woman unlocked the door with a set of keys and swung it open, inviting them inside. "So, as I mentioned on the phone earlier, the carpet will be steam cleaned before move-in," she informed them, gesturing towards a dock for an iPod or other devices. "There's a dock there for your iPod or whatever."

Ophelia glanced around the apartment, taking in her surroundings. "I definitely like the security guy at the door," she remarked, finding comfort in the thought of having security nearby. Joey, on the other hand, sighed with uncertainty, grappling with the decision to move. The financial burden of paying for his daughter's tuition and the uncertainty of selling their current home weighed heavily on his mind.

"Can my daughter and I have a moment, please?" Joey requested politely, hoping for a private conversation.

"Sure," the woman replied with a hint of annoyance, placing her clipboard down on a nearby table. "I'll be in the rental office. I have someone coming in twenty minutes." She then left, giving them some privacy.

Joey turned to face his daughter, trying to reason with her. "Look, kiddo, I don't think it's a good idea right now to sell the house."

Ophelia frowned, adamant about her decision. "That house is messed up, dad. I can't be there."

"I understand it's a constant reminder of what happened, but it's also a place where you survived," Joey urged her to see the other side.

Considering his words, Ophelia hadn't really thought about it that way. The house held painful memories, but it was also a symbol of her strength. However, the fear and unease she felt there outweighed any positive associations.

"We can wait and see if there are any serious offers on the house, okay?" Joey proposed as a compromise. "But if not, I'm sorry, but you're going to have to get used to it."

Ophelia let out a deep sigh, feeling torn between her desire to escape the haunting memories and her father's financial concerns. "Maybe I can get a job and just move out by myself," she suggested, trying to find a solution that would provide her with a sense of safety.

"No, Ophelia, that's not an option. You need to focus on school," Joey firmly rejected the idea. "Do you even understand how expensive it is to live out here?"

"Then maybe I can get a dorm, I don't know," Ophelia shrugged, still searching for an escape.

"I can't afford to pay for a dorm, I'm already under the water," Joey admitted, visibly stressed by their conversation. Guilt gnawed at Ophelia as she realized how selfish she was being.

"Okay," she finally nodded, accepting that she might have to endure staying in the house for now. "I'm sorry."

✧

Ophelia, having finally agreed to her father's persistent attempts to attend therapy, sat in the waiting room, nerves coiling within her. The walls seemed to close in around her as she anxiously awaited the female therapist her father had found. A gentle knock on the door signaled her cue to enter, and she followed the woman into her office, trying to steady her racing heart. Taking a seat on a plush couch, she found herself facing the therapist, who now held a notepad, ready to listen.

Dr. Lane's warm smile washed over Ophelia, providing a flicker of comfort amidst her trepidation. "Hello, Ophelia. I'm Dr. Lane. It's nice to meet you."

Ophelia managed a small smile in return, her fingers unconsciously twisting in her lap. "Nice to meet you too," she replied, her voice almost a whisper.

"Thank you for coming today," Dr. Lane began, her tone gentle and understanding. "I want you to know that this is a safe space, and anything you share with me is confidential. We can take things at your own pace."

With her gaze still slightly averted, Ophelia nodded in acknowledgment. "I appreciate that," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Leaning forward, Dr. Lane focused her attention solely on Ophelia, conveying an air of genuine concern and empathy. "If you're comfortable, I'd like to hear about the home invasion you experienced. Whenever you're ready to talk about it, know that I'm here to listen and support you through this process."

Feeling a mix of relief and tension, Ophelia took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. Summoning her strength, she began recounting the haunting details of that fateful night, her voice trembling at times. With each word uttered, a burden seemed to lift from her shoulders, as if the weight of her experiences found release in the therapeutic space.

As Ophelia shared her story, Dr. Lane listened with unwavering attention, occasionally nodding in understanding or offering a comforting word. Creating a sanctuary of safety, she ensured Ophelia felt free to express her emotions, providing validation without judgment.

"It sounds like an incredibly distressing experience," Dr. Lane acknowledged, her eyes reflecting genuine empathy. "I can't imagine how difficult it must have been for you to go through that... Your father mentioned that you were experiencing panic attacks?"

Ophelia nodded, her lips pressed together in a mix of anguish and uncertainty.

"I want you to know that it's normal to have these feelings after such a traumatic event," Dr. Lane reassured her, her compassion evident. "Have you experienced panic attacks before the invasion?"

Ophelia's thoughts took her back to the moment she first experienced a panic attack. "Uh, yeah..." The girl glanced down at her hands. "Right after my mom died."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Dr. Lane empathized before continuing. "How would you describe your relationship with her?"

"We were close." Ophelia recalled, "Other than the usual mother-daughter problems, she was always the person I went to. She was kind, even to those who didn't deserve it. Anytime I was depressed she would make me dance with her... make me laugh... help me forget about the world even for a moment. When we got the call that she was in the hospital I freaked out. On the drive over, I was thinking to myself how mad I was going to be at her for scaring me like that but when we got there... well, I never got the chance." Tears began to well up in her eyes at the memories she fought daily to suppress.

✧

The doorbell rang, abruptly pulling Joey out of his thoughts. Startled, he hurried towards the door and opened it to reveal an enraged Hayden, who barged in without a word, seething with anger.

"Hayden, Jesus, I am so sorry..." Joey began, attempting to explain.

"You left me waiting in the Norms for three hours?!" Hayden's voice echoed through the house as she frantically searched for Ophelia, calling out her name, but to no avail.

"Hayden, hey." Joey followed after her, trying to reason with her, but she continued her desperate search.

"You're acting crazy." Joey observed, trying to reason with her, but her frustration was evident.

"Do not call me crazy. I am not crazy." Hayden warned fiercely, her emotions spiraling.

"Calm down..."

"I'm angry!" Hayden corrected loudly, her emotions reaching a breaking point. "And I'm pregnant! Ophelia?!"

Joey tried to approach her, but she pulled away, facing him with a fierce determination. "Do not put your hands on me!"

"You're upset. You have every right to be, but before this spins completely out of control, let's go someplace and talk."

Hayden's tear-filled eyes and heavy breaths reflected her distress. "Ophelia needs to know. She needs to know the type of person her father is."

"We can discuss that, too," Joey lied, desperate to find a resolution.

"I'm not going back to that Norms," Hayden finally calmed down.

"Anywhere you like."

A smile flickered across Hayden's lips as she said, "Well, I am eating for two." She then leaned in, and they shared a kiss, Joey complying to prevent her from taking any reckless actions. He guided her out of the house to find a place where they could talk and eat.

As they walked, Hayden mentioned something she would love to have, but her words were abruptly cut off when she was struck by a shovel, sending her crashing to the ground. Shocked and horrified, Joey looked up to see the man who had been berating and following him for weeks - Larry Harvey. Panic and anger overwhelmed Joey as he watched Larry hit Hayden again.

"What the hell have you done?!" Joey's mind raced as he tried to comprehend the situation.

In a fit of anger and despair, Joey grabbed Larry's blazer and forced him down, attempting to choke him in his fury. "What'd you do?! What'd you do?! What'd you do?!"

"Easy!" Larry struggled to speak, but his sinister demeanor remained. "So far you haven't killed anybody!"

Larry managed to knock Joey over. Joey then shakily crawled his way over to Hayden to check her pulse but, to his dismay, was nonexistent.

"Yeah. She's gone," Larry coldly confirmed, sitting up from the ground.

In shock, Joey cradled Hayden's lifeless body, tears streaming down his face as he tried to process the unimaginable tragedy. "You're a murderer. You're a murderer!" Joey's anger turned towards Larry.

"Yeah. But you're not. And now all your problems are solved. She was going to tell your daughter everything. We couldn't have that."

The gravity of the situation engulfed Joey, causing him to panic even more.

"I'm gonna-- I'm gonna call the police." Joey struggled to get himself up, his mind racing with fear and grief.

"You, uh, you sure you want to do that? I mean, she was your mistress, Joe. And she was carrying your baby. I mean, how's that gonna look? I just don't see that going well for you."

The weight of the reality sank in as Joey's tears continued to flow uncontrollably.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay." Larry tried to comfort, attempting to touch Joey, but he shoved him away. "You just got to get yourself cleaned up before your daughter gets back."

"Oh, God..." Joey's voice trembled, his emotions spiraling out of control.

"I'll take care of the body," Larry said, shifting his attention to Hayden's lifeless form. "It's not a problem."

In the midst of chaos and despair, Larry noticed a hole that Joey had started digging earlier. "Hey, hey... hey... what were you digging up here? You got a nice good hole started here. See? We're halfway there."

Joey fell to his knees, overwhelmed by the reality of the situation and the horrors that had unfolded.

Larry's grimy hand reached out to grasp the shovel, the glint of malice in his eyes not escaping Joey's trembling gaze. "Hey, Joe? I could really use that thousand bucks," he sneered, his voice oozing with sinister intent.

As the memory of Larry's relentless pursuit resurfaced, Joey's heart pounded loudly in his chest, and he could feel the weight of their past encounters pressing down on him like a suffocating shadow. Larry had persistently hounded him, about the house, asking for money for headshots.

The recollection of their previous interactions flooded Joey's mind, each moment a reminder of the fear and helplessness he had experienced at the hands of this menacing figure. But now, with Hayden's lifeless body lying nearby, the stakes were unimaginably higher, and Joey felt trapped in a horrifying nightmare with no escape. The air around them seemed to thicken with tension as Joey's thoughts raced, his mind grappling with the overwhelming chaos of the present. He was torn between the instinct to fight and the paralyzing fear that Larry's ruthlessness could lead to even more devastation.

✧

Ophelia stood in the warmly lit kitchen, her eyes scanning the contents of the refrigerator as she felt a sudden craving for something sweet. Retrieving a carton of eggs, she used her leg to shut the refrigerator door before placing the eggs on the kitchen island. The pantry beckoned, and she grabbed flour and sugar, gathering all her ingredients on the island. Just as she was about to start baking, the doorbell rang, interrupting her thoughts. Nervousness crept in, but she mustered courage and approached the door. Peering through the peephole, she spotted Elliot, and relief washed over her as she opened the door.

"Hey, what're you doing here?" Ophelia inquired.

"Is your dad home?" Elliot asked, "I was bored and wanted to see if you wanted to hangout."

"No, he's out right now," Ophelia replied, making way for him to enter. "I was about to make some cookies. Wanna help me?"

"I'm terrible at baking, but I'll assist you," Elliot grinned, stepping inside. Ophelia closed the door behind him, leading him to the kitchen.

"Where's your other half?" Ophelia glanced back at him, realizing Tate wasn't with him. They were usually together.

"Busy," Elliot shrugged, leaning on the kitchen island.

"Ah, I see, I'm your last option to hang out with." Ophelia playfully teased, pulling down a mixing bowl and placing it on the island.

"You're most definitely my first," Elliot smirked, and Ophelia blushed, causing him to notice. "Are you blushing, Phi?"

"Shut up," Ophelia joked, shoving him playfully before grabbing measuring cups from a nearby drawer.

"You're definitely blushing," Elliot crossed his arms with amusement.

"You're definitely blind," Ophelia retorted, walking back to him.

Elliot adjusted his glasses dramatically before speaking, "What made you think that?"

Ophelia shook her head, stifling a laugh as she poured the flour into the mixing bowl.

"What do you need me to do, boss?" Elliot asked, rolling up his sleeves.

Ophelia noticed this, the attractiveness of his forearms and hands sending a shiver up her spine. Pulling herself out of her thought's she pointed over by the counter. Having left butter out earlier to soften. "Uh, could you grab the butter over there. Just unwrap it and toss it in."

Elliot took his orders, unwrapped the butter and tossed it into the mixing bowl.

"Alright, now we need to add the sugar," Ophelia instructed, but before she could reach for the bag, Elliot grabbed it instead. He was now surprisingly close to her, looking down at her with an intense gaze. Nervous by his sudden closeness she slowly averted her gaze up at him, the scent of musk and smoky vanilla emanating off of him.

"I got it," Elliot smiled charmingly, causing Ophelia's knees to weaken a bit. He measured the sugar, causing her to chuckle when he went overboard with it.

"You really are bad at this," she teased.

Feigning offense, Elliot placed a hand over his heart, "Whatever do you mean?"

"Seeing as we're both going to get diabetes from the ungodly amount of sugar you just put in there, I stand by my statement," Ophelia joked.

"Oh yeah? You don't like my cooking skills?" Elliot playfully teased back, reaching for some flour and tossing it on her clothes.

Ophelia gasped, looking down at her flour-covered outfit. "It's so on." She smiled devilishly, reaching over and grabbing an egg.

Elliot began to back away with his hands up, feigning fear. "Whoa, Whoa, it doesn't have to be like this."

"Come here." Ophelia grinned, slowly walking toward him but he continued to back away, then ran to the other side of the island. The girl caught up with him, backing him up into the corner against a counter. The boy had seemingly given up so Ophelia took her chance to reach up and crack the egg on top of his head. Giggles escaped the girls' lips as yolk ran down his curls. His mouth formed the shape of an 'o', feeling its slimy texture slide down his neck. The both of them broke out into a fit of laughter that slowly subsided when both of them realized how close they were.

They found themselves staring at each other, their eyes filled with longing. Elliot placed a gentle hand on the back of Ophelia's neck, and their lips met. The kiss was soft at first, then Elliot placed another hand on the side of her cheek to deepen the kiss. Ophelia sunk into him, their kiss getting increasingly more heated. With a bout of bravery, the girl took his bottom lip and gently sunk her teeth onto it before resuming their kissing. Her doing that had seemingly sent Elliot over the edge so he dropped his hands from her face and neck, to then reach down behind her and grab the back of her thighs to lift her up onto the counter. The heat of their kiss intensifying, Ophelia wrapped her arms around his neck while his large hands ran along the thighs he stood between. Elliot left her lips and trailed hot kisses down to her jaw, then down to her neck.

A moan escaped her when he gently bit the area, proceeding to suck on the crevice of her neck. Elliot's jeans grew tight by the chorus of her moans, his hands venturing further up the sides of her thighs and under her skirt. His hands met the fabric of the panties that rested near her hips, tugging them down as he moved his kisses back to her lips. Ophelia felt him break away from the kiss, her eyes opening due to the sudden vacancy. She watched him pull her underwear further down her legs till they were completely off of her.

The boy lowered himself down to place soft kisses and bites up her inner thigh that led to the destination he intended. Ophelia reached down to pull up her skirt, providing him with easier access. Leaning back, she felt his tongue glide along her folds, causing a gasp to erupt from her mouth. As Elliot guided his tongue to her clit and skillfully padded at it, intense pleasure rocked through her. The breathy moans from Ophelia were music to Elliot's ears as he felt her weave her fingers into his hair. Holding her left thigh with one hand, he guided the other to slip a finger into her, feeling how soaked she was for him as he slowly pumped it.

"Fuck." Ophelia breathed, an intense sensation building up in her abdomen. As his tongue continued to massage her bundle of nerves, he slipped in a second finger. After awhile the girl brought her bottom lip between her teeth as she felt herself get closer and closer over the edge. "I'm gonna—" With a final whimper of satisfaction, Ophelia's mouth mirrored the shape of an 'o', her vigorous climax coursing through her. As she came down from her high, Elliot rose from his position, causing her to awkwardly take in the whiplash of events that just happened. The boy smiled at her, placing a quick kiss on her lips before turning around and clapping his hands together.

"Let's finish up these cookies."

✧

Walking out into the backyard, Ophelia marveled at the sight of her father diligently building a gazebo. The warm afternoon sun bathed everything in a golden glow, casting long shadows as he worked. She couldn't help but be amazed at how quickly the structure was taking shape, a testament to her father's skill and dedication. "Wow, you got through this fast," Ophelia remarked with admiration, stepping up onto the bottom of the gazebo to get a closer look. Her father, sweat glistening on his brow, placed another strip of wood along the top before descending from his ladder to greet her. "I made some iced tea," she offered, extending the glass of the refreshing beverage. Her father's grateful smile warmed her heart as he accepted the drink.

"Thanks, kiddo," Joey replied, his voice tinged with a mix of pride and exhaustion. As he sipped from the glass, Ophelia took in the almost fully built gazebo. The idyllic scene, however, concealed the turmoil that her father had been secretly grappling with. Behind the façade of this picturesque moment, he carried the weight of traumatic events and dark secrets. The unfinished gazebo held an unsettling truth beneath its surface – the lifeless body of his mistress, a haunting reminder of the choices he had made.

As Ophelia savored the moment with her father, unaware of the shadows that loomed over them, he wrapped a loving arm around her shoulders. It was a gesture of affection and protection, yet beneath the surface, he bore the burden of guilt and regret. The knowledge of the lies and hidden truths threatened to cast a shadow on their relationship, and he struggled to reconcile the image of a caring father with the man who had been entangled in a web of deception and violence. The gentle breeze ruffled their hair as they stood together, taking in the sight of the nearly completed gazebo. Ophelia cherished these moments with her father, finding comfort and reassurance in his presence. Yet, unbeknownst to her, their serene surroundings concealed a secret that could shatter the fragile peace they now shared.

✧

Ophelia luxuriously reclined on her bed; her body nestled against the soft pillows as she immersed herself in a captivating book. The melodic strains of gentle music played in the background, adding to the enchanting ambiance of her sanctuary. With her feet casually propped up against the headboard, she was lost in the world of her imagination when a sudden thud against her window interrupted the tranquility.

Curiosity piqued; she glanced over to investigate the source of the disturbance. To her surprise, another thump followed, leaving her no choice but to abandon her book and get up to investigate. As she approached the window, she noticed Tate outside, playfully tossing pebbles in an attempt to capture her attention.

She opened the window, allowing a fresh breeze to caress her face as she leaned out. "Tate?" she called out, her eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion.

"Can I come up?" Tate inquired, discarding the remaining rocks he had intended to throw.

"Sure, go to the front door," Ophelia replied, a mix of intrigue and uncertainty lingering in her mind as she wondered about the purpose of this unexpected late-night visit.

Ophelia gracefully descended the stairs and cautiously opened the door for Tate. She motioned for him to be quiet before guiding him back up to her room. Once inside, she turned to face him, leaning casually against the door, which she gently shut behind them. "So, what's the reason for this surprise visit?" she inquired, seeking an explanation for his impromptu appearance.

Tate took a step closer, his presence now looming over her. Ignoring her question, he held her gaze with intensity before tenderly placing a finger under her chin and leaning in to kiss her, a rush of emotions enveloping the room in that moment. His lips met hers in a gentle caress, their softness fitting together like pieces of a perfectly matched puzzle. The sweetness of the moment enveloped them both, but all too soon, Tate pulled back slightly, his eyes fixed on her to gauge her reaction. Ophelia's face displayed a mixture of surprise and curiosity, and as she opened her eyes to meet his gaze, a silent understanding seemed to pass between them.

The intensity of their connection urged her forward, and she closed the gap between them once more, their lips meeting in a second kiss. This time, the lingering touch ignited a spark that seemed to electrify the air around them. In the depth of that moment, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the palpable chemistry between them. Their emotions danced in perfect harmony, and the seconds stretched into infinity as they explored the sensations that had suddenly consumed them. The room seemed to hold its breath, encapsulating the two in a cocoon of shared emotions and desire. Each delicate touch of their lips conveyed volumes of unspoken words and unsatisfied yearning.

As they finally pulled back, the air filled with a hushed silence, heavy with anticipation and newfound emotions. Ophelia's heart raced, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts, and yet, a serene stillness enveloped them both. Tate's hand stretched toward the door handle positioned behind Ophelia, and with a subtle twist, he opened it just enough to prompt her to step back. She observed him, a mix of emotions swirling within her, as he departed without uttering a single word. With a soft click, he gently closed the door behind him, leaving her standing there, bewildered and shocked, trying to make sense of the unexpected turn of events. The lingering silence filled the space he left behind, and Ophelia found herself grappling with a cascade of unanswered questions and a sense of uncertainty that now enveloped her surroundings.

"Fuck," Ophelia breathed, her mind racing as the reality hit her like a tidal wave. She found herself confronted with the startling truth that both of the people she was undeniably drawn to might have harbored feelings for her. A whirlwind of emotions engulfed her, and she couldn't help but wish that maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't reciprocate her feelings, sparing her from this complex and precarious situation. However, beneath that flicker of hope lay a deeper longing, an unquenchable desire for them to want her just as much as she wanted them.

In the depths of her being, she couldn't deny the allure of being wanted by them, but with desire came vulnerability. Ophelia felt herself teetering on the precipice of an emotional turmoil, knowing that her heart could be both invigorated and broken in equal measure. A wave of guilt washed over her, engulfing her heart with a heavy burden. The thought of being the catalyst that could potentially shatter the friendship between the two boys weighed heavily on her conscience. As she wrestled with her inner thoughts, a vivid image of the boys' camaraderie flashed before her eyes, reminding her of the bond they shared. The laughter, the inside jokes, the unspoken understanding they seemed to have with each other - all of it threatened by her presence in their lives. She found herself grappling with a moral dilemma, caught between her own desires and the potential repercussions her choices might inflict upon Tate and Elliot's relationship.

In the silence of her contemplation, she couldn't help but wonder if there might be a way to preserve their friendship while still acknowledging and exploring her own emotions. Ophelia grappled with the idea of confronting her feelings head-on or retreating to the safety of denial. She chose the latter.

✧