Page 6 of Broken Desires

I can’t help but chuckle. Eva’s always been this perfect blend of sweetness and fierceness. She’s protective and caring yet unafraid to speak her mind—a balance I deeply admire.

A small voice inside me whispers, acknowledging that I share that protective streak. I would go to the ends of the earth for them, ready to emasculate the two boys who are making trouble in their lives.

Me: I’m going. Need some action.

Eva: Stay safe!

My eyes drift to the kitchen drawer where I’ve stashed a box of communal condoms. There’s a thin line between love and hate, desire and repulsion, passion and indifference. Poppy’s unwittingly treading this line with Ethan, oblivious to the surrounding undercurrents. To be prepared, I’ve made sure condoms are easily accessible in our apartment, a just-in-case measure I informed both about.

Me: Always am.

I send the text with a sense of resolve. Tonight’s about letting loose, maybe finding a bit of fun amid all the chaos. With a final glance at the drawer, I start getting ready, the anticipation of the unknown adding an edge to the evening ahead.

I slip into something that strikes the perfect balance between sexy and edgy. My skirt, a vibrant red, ends mid-thigh, complementing the black corset that’s doing wonders for my modest bust, courtesy of a strategically chosen push-up bra. Tonight, my hair cascades freely down my back, a change from my usual style since headphones aren’t an option. I hesitate, holding them in my hand, feeling their smooth surface. With a resigned sigh, I set them down. Wearing them would draw too much attention—too many questions.

Lacing up my knee-high boots, I grab my coat and step out into the cool night air. The short walk to the Delta Sigma party is refreshing, a welcome sensation against my skin.

Entering the party feels like walking into a palpable wall of energy. I don’t need to hear the sounds to feel them. It’s not a superpower but an acute awareness of the vibrations under my feet, the rhythm of the music pulsing through the floor. The sight of students dancing, laughing, and conversing fills the room with a noticeable liveliness. I can almost discern the cacophony of voices and music amid the vibrations, blending with the distinct scents of alcohol, sweat, and that unmistakable party aroma.

Yet, almost immediately, a sense of displacement washes over me. I’d hoped to rediscover the untamed side of Nessa, the one who thrived in these settings. But standing here, among the revelry, I realize it’s not that simple anymore. Maybe it’s the lack of alcohol dulling my senses, or perhaps it’s just me changing. Either way, the wild, carefree version of myself feels just out of reach tonight.

Shrugging off my jacket, I head straight for the drinks table, hoping a strong drink might coax out my dormant wild side, even if just a little. As I reach for a bottle of tequila, pouring myself a generous triple shot, a guy sidles up next to me, uncomfortably close. My hand is on the grapefruit soda when his reaches out, inadvertently resting on mine.

I turn to face him, barely suppressing an eye roll at his obvious ploy for a “chance” encounter. “Hi,” he greets me, a smile plastered on his face that’s trying too hard to look confident, but his nerves are showing.

“Hi?” I respond, not really in the mood to indulge a fidgeting boy. I came here looking for a more experienced encounter, not a nervous kid.

“You’re a goth. That’s so cool,” he says, trying to sound casual.

I can’t help but let out a sigh. Clearly, he’s here for the excitement of approaching someone like me. Deciding to have a bit of fun, I flash him a forced smile. “So, how open are you to blood play? What’s your blood type? I prefer B positive, but I’m adaptable…”

“Sorry, I have to go,” he stutters, backing away quickly.

I snort at his hasty retreat, but my amusement is cut short by a sudden hand on my shoulder. Whipping around, my bag falls, and I narrow my eyes at the sight of Cole Westbrook, Eva’s unwanted stalker. The guy who’s been making life difficult for Eva, my kind and nurturing roommate. Despite her brave front, I know she’s far from okay with his creepy presence.

He smirks at me and I yank my bag from his grasp. I shoot him a glare sharp enough to slice through steel. “Don’t touch me,” I snap, my voice laced with ice. “I don’t remember us being on touching terms, Westbrook.”

His expression flickers with surprise, clearly not used to such a direct rebuff, but his grin widens. “Just trying to get your attention. You seemed lost in your own world,” he says, trying to look nonchalant.

I fix him with a look that could turn the air around us to frost. “Oh, please. Save your charm for someone who hasn’t seen a hundred guys like you. I’m not interested.”

His reaction is unexpected. He laughs—a genuine, amused laugh that seems out of place in this confrontation. “I’m just being friendly,” he tries again, but I’m not buying it.

“Friendly?” I scoff. “With Eva’s friends? Since when? Let’s not pretend you care about anyone here except yourself. And I’m telling you right now, whatever you’re planning for her and think you can involve me, you’re at a loss.” I lean in, my voice low and dangerous, “I will never be on your side for anything, and if you try to hurt her”—I flash my pointed black nails at him— “your balls will never recover.”

His smirk falters for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Good. He should be unsure, and he should be wary. Because if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that I’ll go to any length to protect Eva. And Cole Westbrook had better remember that.

Suddenly, the hot guy from the café appears in my line of vision, and just like that, he becomes my whole focus as he turns toward Cole.

“Is there a problem here, Cole?”

I can’t hear his voice, but I don’t need to. His body language speaks volumes, exuding confidence and a quiet intensity that’s all too appealing. I watch his lips, trying to catch fragments of the conversation he’s having with Cole, but it’s too chaotic for me to read them accurately.

Cole raises his hands in a gesture that’s somewhere between surrender and nonchalance. “No, Liam, no problem at all,” Cole replies, smirking as he continues. “Just chatting with Nessa here.”

His use of my nickname makes my blood boil. “Nessa? Since when did we become friends?” I retort, my lips curling into a sneer. “It’s Vanessa to you.” I can’t stand him using any familiarity with me; it’s like he’s tainting my name with his tongue.

Cole, unfazed by my hostility, responds with a mockingly respectful bow. “Of course, Your Highness,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

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