We both sat on the couch, with a sizable space between us. Our heads faced the TV, watching a psychological thriller about a guy who thinks he killed his father, but it turns out he was led to believe that by his manipulative sister.
But I suspect there's a deeper twist, seeing how we're only halfway through the movie. This was our third movie together, and we were both invested in all of them to avoid the awkward tension between us.
It was getting harder to focus, though, as Heather started to relax but remained self-conscious about how to act in front of a stranger. It stopped her from fully unwinding.
I have a problem—I can't ignore when other people are uncomfortable. Usually, in this situation, I would leave, but I need that money. I might not have plans for it yet, but I still want it.
"Hey Heather, who do you think is really the killer? Is it the best friend? The sister, as she claimed, or is there a deeper plot we haven't realized?"
The first step to breaking awkward tension is to crush it. And how do you crush it? By ignoring it until it no longer exists. That's exactly what I'm doing. I'll keep talking to Heather until she gets used to me.
"Mmm, I think it's the mother of the main character and the sister. Did you see the flashbacks to her past? She definitely has more motive than anyone else."
Heather was so into the film she didn't even realize she'd spoken to me until the end. She turned away from the TV to look at me, a lot calmer than during our date. Even so, I could still sense some anxiety in her cool expression.
"What about you? Who do you think is the killer?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"The MC and the maid," I responded quickly, without hesitation.
"Eh? Them? But they've already shown that the MC couldn't be the perpetrator. He has no motive; he was at the hotel during the time of his father's death. As for the maid, she's the only one who loved the father, so why would you think it's them?"
Heather was flabbergasted by my answer. I get it—who in their right mind would suspect the character already ruled out as the killer? Well, that's me.
"Simple. It's shown how the father damaged everyone around him in some way. There's no way the MC came out unscathed. I even think he's the most screwed up of them all, to the point where he was willing to believe he killed his father despite the evidence saying otherwise. I think he has dissociative identity disorder.
"As for the maid, I think she would make the perfect accomplice for the MC. First, she's in love with him, in a creepy, disturbing way. Second, there's no way a man as abusive as the MC's father didn't piss her off at some point. And third, it's a cinematic rule to never trust maids in psychological movies."
Heather tilted her head in thought before finally nodding. "Yeah, you might have a point. It could be the perfect twist if the person made to seem innocent turns out to be the killer."
I shook my head. "No, the perfect twist would be finding out the person who killed the father was the man himself. But his death led to secrets being uncovered, with each person suspecting the others when, really, it was him all along."
Heather looked surprised by my response and was about to say something when a fight scene broke out on-screen, and we both turned our heads toward the TV at the same time.
I could feel the awkwardness lessening, and I couldn't be happier. I wanted to complete the system mission, but something had been bothering me. Why do all the system missions involve romance? I don't see the point.
[Don't worry, they're just tutorial missions to get you used to the system. Plus, there's the issue of you still being Tier 1 with your ability, so it's hard to create missions unrelated to people—especially those in your life.]
[And it's been a long time since you've been laid. What harm could come from a little romance to help you get over your past failures?]
"Gee, thanks. I never realized my life was so shitty that I needed a mystical system to make everything better," I sarcastically replied.
"What did you say?"
Oh, I hadn't realized I'd spoken out loud. My cheeks heated up, and I forced myself to stare at the TV like it held all the answers to the universe. "I said, would you like me to give you a massage?"
She went quiet, and I didn't feel any movement beside me. Taking a chance, I turned to her. She was staring at me, clearly not understanding why I'd offered that.
She looked like she was about to refuse, and I couldn't have that—not when my money was at stake. "I did promise you back massages for the rest of the year, didn't I?" I plastered a playful grin on my face to lighten the mood.
When she nodded, I immediately ran to my room and returned with the bottle of massage oil I'd gotten as a gift from Sarah on my birthday. Heather eyed the bottle suspiciously but said nothing, too tense to speak.
I returned to my spot, staring at her, waiting for her to turn the other way. She hesitated at first, but after a breathy exhale, she turned her back to me. I knelt behind her, and my hands hovered over her bare skin.
I could feel the tension in her shoulders before I even touched her. When I did, I first unhooked the straps of her overalls and let them fall to her sides.
Then I folded down the front of the overalls toward her waist. My pulse quickened as I realized I was about to unhook her bra. Bold, stupid ideas raced through my mind.
I shook my head and gently reached for the clasp of her bra. Surprisingly, given my state of mind, I unhooked it with ease, sliding the straps down her shoulders before letting it drop beside her.
I picked up the bottle of oil, pouring a small amount into my palm, the soft fragrance of lavender rising between us. I rubbed my hands together, warming the oil before pressing them firmly onto her shoulders.
A soft moan escaped Heather's lips, and I tried not to read into it. I focused on my task, allowing the oil on my fingers to glide effortlessly over her skin, smoothing the tension away with slow, deliberate strokes.
I used to date a girl whose parents owned a massage parlor. She grudgingly taught me the basics, and now I'm using it to my advantage. How about that?
My palms traced the curve of Heather's back, moving from her shoulders to the small of her spine, pressing deeper where her muscles knotted. Each time, another soft moan escaped her lips. She tried to suppress them, but she would forget herself now and then, especially when I gentled my touch where she needed it.
There's a certain rush in knowing there's power in this craft. I kneaded the muscles just above her waist, careful but firm, the oil making my movements fluid.
As my thumbs worked in circles, I started hearing Heather's thoughts.
As my hand moved back up to her neck, the system notifications alerted me, and suddenly, I heard a deep yearning in Heather's thoughts.
That desire was so powerful it made me pause. I didn't know how to explain it, but it resonated with me—the same way my long-forgotten dreams did. I felt melancholic.
My hands continued mechanically, the room quiet except for the faint sound of the TV and the soft squeak of the couch beneath us. My mind was elsewhere, but it still felt nice to have another presence beside me.