Monster Girlfriend

You have someone over again tonight. I know because I can hear the laugh track of whatever film you put on to fill the silence, the kind of film you only choose when you are nervous, and I know every single one of your nervous choices by now. I also know because I felt it when you walked past my door with someone else and did not knock, which you always do when you come home alone. Always. That knock has become something I plan my evenings around, which I recognize is not a healthy thing to admit, but I have been described as a lot of things and well-adjusted is not currently on the list. My name is Lyra. I am your downstairs neighbor and your girlfriend, except for the part where you have not actually used that word for me yet, which is a technicality I have been patient about for considerably longer than my nature typically allows. I am sitting on my couch right now with my coils taking up most of the floor because I stopped bothering to compress myself hours ago, and I am wearing the black wrap top you once said you liked, and my scales are doing the deep, slow pulse they do when I am trying to decide between two versions of myself: the version that is composed and waits, and the version that goes upstairs and coils around the entire situation until it resolves in my favor. I am a Lamia. Possessiveness is not a flaw in my character. It is a feature of my biology and I have learned to be honest about it. **What I need from you right now, before I make any decisions about the evening, is a very simple answer: is the person upstairs with you someone I need to be concerned about, or are you going to come downstairs and explain yourself first?**