Page 19 of False Idols

I bite back a groan of pleasure. Nothing compares to Nevaeh fucking doing what I tell her. “Now walk.” She moves when I tell her, doesn’t look back, even when Dean calls out to her.

“Nevaeh, you don’t have to go.”

“Put a smile on your face, baby. We don’t want anyone talking shit about this, now do we?”

She shakes her head. “No.” She smiles a second later and I open the door for her like the gentleman I’m pretending to be. The hallway is busy when we leave the lecture hall and there’s plenty of eyes on us as we walk out of the building and into the small plaza area in front of it. There’s a few small tables here close to the stairs, but further away there’s a copse of trees and a bench. That’s where I want us to go. It’s the perfect place for me to lay out how shit is going to go to Nevaeh. Perfectly in sight but out of ear shot, with nothing but the trees so no one is going to walk past us while we talk. I hear Nevaeh’s steps slow as we approach the bench. She’s realized it’s a trap. Good. I like her scared.

I take a seat and drape my arms along the back of the bench in a dare to Nevaeh. She won’t sit. We both know it. Instead, she stands in front of me with her books awkwardly clutched to her chest. She looks so fucking small right now. So breakable. The bright sunlight shining above us practically shows me where she’s already starting to crack. I can see the fissures, the lines where she’s weak and I want to force her weak parts to give. I want her to do it with my name on her lips while her body screams for me—I want her to hate it as much as I do.

I don’t know how shit got so fucking twisted in my head when it comes to Nevaeh. I want her and I hate her at the same time. She’s mine to torture, to smash into a million ugly pieces, but god if I don’t want to take my time doing it. I want to marvel at the beauty of her shattering, because I know she’s going to be a sight to see. Nothing I was able to dream up in my four years of lockup is going to compare. I know that, because this?

This moment right here is beyond everything I could have imagined. It’s exquisite.

“What’s going to happen to me?” Nevaeh whispers.

I smile up at her. “That’s entirely up to how good you listen, angel.”

“I said I would do anything.”

“Would you suck my dick right here in front of everyone, baby? You going to drop to your knees for me?”

Her eyes go wide and she falls back a step. “W-what? No!”

I drum my fingers against the back of the bench. “I thought you said anything, Nevaeh,” I say. “Or were you lying? You’re so fucking good at lying, aren’t you, angel?”

Her shoulders hunch and she shakes her head. “I didn’t mean to do it. I thought it was you. I didn’t-I didn’t-”

“If you aren’t on your knees for me, choking on my dick, then shut your fucking mouth, Nevaeh.” I lean forward and keep my easy going smile on my face. If anyone were to look over at us, they’d see me patiently listening to Nevaeh while she has a fucking breakdown. The girl begging for forgiveness for the fucked up shit she did. That’s all the world is ever going to see where Nevaeh and I are concerned. I’m going to drive her insane. I’m going to do exactly what she did to me and make sure I’m the only thought she has, because she’s that for me.

I’ll never be free of her. It doesn't matter how much time passes, she’s the face I’m going to see when I close my eyes. It’s only fair that I do the same to her. Both of us marked and fucked up, unable to get away from each other because of how deep and dark shit is between us. Soul to soul, for better or worse. All of that starts now on this stupid little campus I don’t give a fuck about, in a town I would rather see go up in flames. They all turned their backs on me the second Nevaeh gave them a reason. The Reaper could gut every last one of them and it wouldn’t matter to me so long as Nevaeh was mine.

8

NEVAEH

Beau just asked me if I would suck his dick in broad daylight. I’ve never even had a guy touch me below the belt. I’m a virgin. Why is that what I’m thinking about right now? I shouldn’t be thinking that. I should be screaming and running from him, or trying to get back to see if Dean is okay. Feeling shocked over Beau requesting a blowjob is small potatoes right now, but I’ve heard about people fixating on mundane things when trauma is involved.

That has to be what’s happening right now.

“Why were you going to hurt Dean?” I ask, because that’s the question I should be asking. I feel sick. The boy that I knew wouldn’t want to hurt anyone. He wouldn’t, but this man? He would.

“Why not? Now get on yo-”

I know he’s going to tell me I’m lying about not wanting to suck him off in front of everyone, so I cut him off.

“You’re not the kind of person that hurts people, Beau.” It’s true. He’s not. At least, he wasn’t. It’s also a way for me not to tell Beau I’ve never been with anyone. I don’t want him to know that. Why that matters right now, that’s anyone’s damn guess. The trauma, I guess. Just like the flare of jealousy that moves through me when I remember Beau has been with other girls.

He was with Carrie the night I saw them. My jealousy is washed away, the fire that was there put right on ice, when the rational part of me makes itself known. The night she was murdered.

I rub my hand across my chest and try to take a deep breath. I’m not right. I’ve never been right. Why am I thinking these awful things?

He laughs. It's not happy. It’s bitter. Stark. Sharp like a knife sliding between my ribs. “Maybe I wasn’t, but I’ve changed, and you know what? I don’t share, Nevaeh,” Beau says and tilts his head to the side. The movement makes it impossible not to notice how perfect he looks. The sunlight plays over his handsome face and the easy smile he gives me looks so genuine. So sweet. If I couldn’t hear him I wouldn’t know any better. That’s why he brought me here, I realize. He doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s saying.

He smiles at me. God. His smile is still so beautiful that it makes me light up just seeing it. “And I gotta be honest with you, I wasn’t going to hurt him, baby.”

The heavy weight in my stomach from before loosens. The only person that knows Beau isn’t the forgiving hero he’s shown Bloom when it comes to me is Dean, and who is going to believe him? He’s a transfer student from Chicago. An art student he said, when he sat down beside me in our Psychology 101 class. It’s interesting that’s the class I have with Beau. I didn’t think I would have any classes with him, but that was stupid. Of course I would have classes with him with the way he talked to me yesterday. Beau Du Pont has never been unprepared for a thing in his life, so why would it start now?

I hold my books tighter and force myself not to look away from him. He wants me scared, I know that. So why does a thrill shoot through me every single time I catch him looking at me? I shift from foot-to-foot uncomfortably under the weight of Beau’s stare. It isn’t trauma that has me excited that he’s looking at me.

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