One step closer to the fire.
Claire Henderson hadn't left the house in two days.
She told her daughter on the phone it was because of her knees. "Too cold, too stiff, honey," she'd said. "This weather kills my joints." But the truth was warmer. Wetter.
It had started with watching Marlene leave Gloria's house with flushed cheeks and tangled hair.
Then came the dreams.
Long, vivid, sweat-slick dreams of fingers between thighs, of women's mouths trailing over her sagging breasts, of voices whispering her name like a prayer.
She wasn't just remembering anymore. She was aching.
That afternoon, Claire stood at her closet in a loose house dress, her hand hovering over the same sweater she always wore. Beige. Safe. Dead.
Her hand moved past it, fingers landing on a silk blouse — deep green, fitted. Something she hadn't worn since Tom's funeral reception. She slipped it on. It hugged the softness of her stomach, the curve of her breasts, the gentle dip of her waist.
She stared in the mirror. And didn't look away.
"I'm still a woman," she whispered. "I'm still here."
Across the street, a moving van was backing into the driveway of House #14 — the one that had been vacant since the McCartys divorced last fall. Claire watched from behind the curtain as a tall, mocha-skinned woman stepped out of the passenger side — long locs, tight jeans, a low tank top, and a tattoo that curled up the back of her shoulder like a vine.
Young. Maybe early thirties. Confident. Too confident.
Claire's breath hitched.
The woman stretched slowly, her shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of toned stomach and a pierced navel.
Claire bit the inside of her cheek. Well, hello.
Later, when Claire stepped out with her trash can — unnecessary, the bin was already empty — she timed it perfectly.
The woman was unpacking a box of kitchen things on the porch.
"New neighbor?" Claire asked, pretending surprise.
The woman turned and smiled — warm, direct. Not the small polite suburban smile. A knowing one.
"Yep. Nina Rivers. Moved here from Austin. And you are?"
"Claire. Claire Henderson." She held out her hand. "Welcome to the neighborhood."
Nina's grip was firm. Her eyes lingered longer than they should have.
"Well, Claire… I think I'm going to like it here."
Claire's stomach fluttered. She wasn't sure if it was shame. Or anticipation.
Final Scene: Claire's Bedroom — That Night
She couldn't sleep. Her body was a battlefield of hunger and confusion. She thought about Gloria's fingers. Marlene's lips. Then Nina's bare back, the tattoo, the curve of her ass in tight denim.
She let her robe fall to the floor. Crawled into bed naked. Touched herself without apology. No prayers. No shame.
Just sweat and breath and that delicious, terrible ache.
"Fuck," she moaned, eyes squeezed shut. "Oh my god…"
She came hard — not just from lust, but from the flood of finally saying yes to herself.
Claire didn't know what tomorrow would bring.
But she knew one thing for sure:She wasn't watching anymore.
She was going to participate.