CHAPTER 108: THEATRE SEDUCTION

Alice could barely breathe. It felt like she was already standing in the aftermath of a silent explosion. Her heart thundered in her chest, but she couldn’t tell whose funeral it was. His? Hers? Maybe both.

She stared at him, dumbfounded, her face still tingling with leftover embarrassment and something far more dangerous. Hotter. Needier. Stupid.

Pervert? Her?

Her mouth parted, a protest forming. What was she supposed to say? ’Sorry for feeding you popcorn and slapping you because I got scared that you ate it sexy’? No. Absolutely not.

He didn’t look at her again. He simply faced the screen with perfect indifference, as if she hadn’t just offered him snacks and violence in the span of ten seconds. But Alice couldn’t stop stealing glances. The way he leaned back casual, at ease. The tilt of his head. The flicker of amusement that ghosted across his features whenever he blinked too slowly. It was as if her slap had intrigued him. As if he liked it.

She wouldn’t be surprised if he did. He looked like he was both a sadist and masochist.

She crossed her arms tightly, sinking low into the seat. Her skin was burning. Her neck felt like it had been set on fire and the flames were sliding down her spine like wine. Another scene erupted on the screen, a woman screaming as a cult surrounded her with torches. The crowd flinched. This time, she did too. She was hyperaware of everything. Her arm twitched toward him but she caught herself.

She silently took out her mobile phone to check her cycle update.

Was she surprised to find it was truly her ovulation era? No.

This was insane.

Twenty long minutes passed. She didn’t eat another bite. Her appetite had packed its bags and fled the country. Then, just when she thought the tension had plateaued, he moved.

He turned his head slowly, like a lion deciding whether to pounce or wait. She felt it before she saw it. His gaze landed on her, calm, heavy, inevitable. He leaned in the barest inch and whispered, "Your phone."

She blinked, confused. Her phone? She reached for her purse, heart thudding louder than the movie, and handed it to him.

She was nervous wondering why he needed it. She kept thinking about all her texts and call log and search history. She had been careful. Priscilla had always hammered it in her head so she wouldn’t forget.

He didn’t even hesitate. He took it. For five seconds. Maybe less. Maybe a lifetime. Then he gave it back.

She looked down. A number. Just digits. A contact with no name.

Huh?

"Who..." she paused. She looked at it and then at him. Was this by chance his?

"W-Why?" She whispered.

She stared at it. Then at him. His face was already back to the screen, impassive, like nothing had happened. But then, slowly, he raised one finger to his lips. Shh.

A silent command. Don’t talk. Don’t ask. Just keep it.

She eyed him warily. Suspicious. Curious. Shaken. Why now? Why here? It was so random. So deliberate.

But deep down, something warm and traitorous bloomed in her chest. She was ridiculous, she knew. Because somehow, somehow, it felt like progress. From strangulation to sharing contact details. If you squinted hard enough, it almost looked like trust.

She should have deleted it. Thrown the phone into the next bucket of soda. But she didn’t. She saved the number. Labeled it with a single letter: H. And then she stared at the screen, unseeing.

The movie rolled on. Screams. Fire. Rituals. Chaos. And all she could hear was the echo of his voice ’your phone’ and the way his lips had brushed her fingers like a secret. There was no way she could use those fingers to eat the popcorn.

His lips.

They had been soft. Unlike him.

She shook her head. Ridiculous. Just popcorn. Just fingers. Just a number.

Then he moved again.

His hand slid, slow and lazy, toward the popcorn bucket between them. She tensed. Watching from the corner of her eye as his fingers slipped in. But he didn’t grab any. Not right away. He picked one kernel. One. Turned it in his fingers like it was something delicate. And then, he faced her.

Their eyes locked. The screen flickered red and black, casting shadows that turned his features sharper, hungrier.

Then came the word. Bare. Soft. Dangerous.

"Open."

Her throat closed.

He brought the popcorn up to her lips. Not teasing. Not laughing. Just waiting. His hand didn’t shake. His eyes didn’t waver.

Alice couldn’t move. Every inch of her felt like it was holding its breath. Then, slowly, traitorously, her lips parted. His fingers brushed the edge of her mouth as he placed the piece against her tongue.

Warm. Dry. Intentional.

She closed her mouth. The kernel of popcorn rested briefly on her tongue. He didn’t look back at the screen, he watched her. His gaze was molten and unreadable, except for the tiniest flicker in his eyes, like he was cataloguing every second of this moment.

Like he was waiting for something in her to break.

Alice didn’t chew. Not yet. Her teeth finally came down on it slowly, like her brain had to reboot just to remember how to function. It was a kernel of popcorn. And it tasted nothing like popcorn. The world tilted. His fingers withdrew slowly, dragging along the curve of her chin.

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing, her pulse wrecked. She didn’t even know why her hands were shaking. Why she suddenly felt like the theater was made of steam and all the air was crowding inside her. He turned back to the screen, as if nothing had happened. She did the same.

She dug her nails into the plush seat and tried to ignore the electricity buzzing in her skull.

They didn’t speak for the next ten minutes. They didn’t need to. The movie’s final credits rolled eventually, but she hadn’t registered a single plot twist. It seemed like the main character in the movie died. Or her husband died. Or the cult members exploded. Either way, someone had died. Or maybe two people. Her mind was shattered.