Ririko came back from the restroom to find the sofa empty.
The roast chicken was unfinished, and so was the soda, but Jerome was gone.
"Jerome?" Ririko called.
She stopped and looked around.
Sofas, wardrobes, and desks were piled together. Who knew whether that bastard was hiding in the shadows?
Footsteps sounded behind her.
Ririko turned around, and a figure emerged from behind a bookcase that stood about waist-high.
Jeremiah said coldly, "I don't understand. What exactly do you see in that shit-stirrer?"
He wore something he had clearly stripped off a mannequin. Though it didn't quite fit, it made him look a little more docile than his usual defiant self.
Ririko looked at him, the corner of her mouth lifting as if she had heard an amusing joke:
"You don't stop him from stirring shit, though. Next time he falls into a cesspit, you'll end up in there too."
Jeremiah took two steps forward and cupped Ririko's face.
His palms were warm and dry. He looked down at her, her face reflected in his amber eyes, his voice thick with a possessiveness that had been suppressed for so long it was about to burst its banks:
"As long as you admit you like me more... I'll bury that idiot in Gotham Cemetery forever."
Ririko's face was pristine and delicate, but her eyes were filled with sick madness.
She smiled and reached up to unbutton his shirt, which still smelled of plastic.
"Why are you talking like you're two separate people?" She slipped the jacket off his shoulders and tossed it over a nearby chair. "If you bury yourself, won't you just have to crawl back out?"
Jeremiah stared steadily at her.
"Not this time. I have a way to make sure he never appears in front of you again."