Page 509 of Filthy Elites

It takes me fifteen minutes before the shell shock wears off and I’m capable of moving. Slowly I climb the stairs to my room in the turret, testing the door several times before I’m confident that I’m not locked inside.

All of my belongings have been replaced in the spots I unpacked them into, my tiny selection of clothes mixed with the closetful of expensive designer things Sebastian bought for me. Dragging my case from beneath the bed, my hands shake as I begin pulling things from the rod and shoving them inside. It isn’t until I’m zipping the bag closed that I start to wonder if I’m doing the right thing.

Two years ago I fled from Sebastian, but really, what good did that do me? I’m older now, but all running got me was a broken soul and a laundry list of mental health issues. Will running again make things any better? In the back of my head, I’ve always questioned what would have happened if I’d just stood my ground and fought back, would he have backed down?

I’m not sure what prompted his change of heart today, maybe it was my conversation with Clay, or the multiple emotional meltdowns I’ve had since he stepped back into my orbit. But whatever it was, maybe this time I don’t have to run to be free of him.

This could all still just be a game, but the open plane ticket voucher is here, just where they said it would be. It can be my emergency backup plan, my escape. Evan told me to use them, use this opportunity and perhaps I should. Could I stay here? Live in this house, with them, him?

Thoughts of revenge taste sweet on my tongue as I consider it, but would that make me as fucked up as them? Maybe getting on with my life here could be the biggest revenge I could gain. Sebastian has always thrived on his control over me, even when I wasn’t even in the same state as him. Being here, right under his nose but outside of his control, would be torture for him.

The more I think about it, the more I like the idea. I could make friends, date, test his control over and over again until he cracks, then I’ll leave and when I do, it won’t be because I’m running away, it’ll be because I’ll have taken everything I can, everything I need. Then I’ll have the sweetest revenge ever, by moving on and never thinking about him ever again.

NINETEEN

Sebastian

Two weeks.That’s how long I’ve been forced to see her, smell her, watch her, but not touch her. It’s pure, raw torture and I hate it. I expected her to run. I thought she’d be gone by the next morning, but instead she shocked us all by staying, sashaying out of her room at five in the morning in her running gear and heading out the door, like it was the most normal thing in the world for her to do.

My eyes never left the tracking app for a second of the hour she was gone, and the only reason I stopped myself from following her, was because her security team tracked her progress through the cameras I had installed on every inch of the route we ran together.

She hasn’t uttered a single word to any of us, not even a grunt in acknowledgment of our existence. But now that the gates and doors always open for her whenever she leaves, she’s starting to relax, at least when I’m not around.

My body aches for her. Knowing she’s here, knowing how she feels and tastes and sounds but not being able to touch is like a physical pain that only seems to be getting worse with every moment that passes without her. She was mine for a day, but in that short space of time, I gave her my soul and without it I’m hardly more than a shell.

She watches me when she thinks I’m not looking. I can feel her eyes on me, and I spend hours watching back the footage from the security cameras in the shared spaces of the house to see her staring at me. There’re cameras in her room too, but I made Clay promise to never let me view them no matter how much I beg or threaten him. Of course, I can access them if I really want to, but no one but me knows that.

She’s wary of me and I know a part of her is still waiting for me to drop the facade and reclaim what will always be mine. But there’s also heat in her glares, a spark of want hidden beneath all the hatred. She might despise me, but she enjoys the passion that flares between us the moment we touch.

If only she knew all the things I want to do to her. How I fantasize about tying her to my bed and locking the door, kissing her and fucking her until she’s so drunk from all the orgasms I’ve given her that she’ll forget why she hates me and falls in love with me. I dream about plucking her off the path when she runs in the dark and kidnapping her, keeping her my prisoner in an actual golden cage made just for her.

My fantasies are becoming more and more disturbing with every moment that passes when she’s not mine.

I’m still following her.

I’m not sure I’ll ever stop, but I stay at a distance, not letting her feel my presence like I did during her first couple of days on campus. Back then I wanted her to know she was being watched, now I just simply can’t look away.

She made a friend. The same girl who latched onto my little bird on her way to freshmen orientation. Samantha Hartley is a freshman too, her family is old money, rich, but not as wealthy as they used to be. She lives in Alistern House with six other people who appear to be three sets of open-minded couples. According to Clay’s research, the six of them rarely attend classes and instead use their time to vigorously attempt to impregnate each other in every part of the house.

The three girls are the Attingham triplets, whose family is on the verge of bankruptcy. It appears that the girls are aware that they need to secure wealthy spouses and instead of an education, they’re using Kingsacre as husband-hunting ground. Considering one out of the three sisters is already pregnant and it’s only the third week of the school year, their plan seems to be coming together. Their unwitting victims are Tim Grimes, Nicholas Farris and Chris Morgan-Baraclough. All relatively new money and seemingly unaware of their latest fuck buddies’ financial precariousness.

Sammy isn’t a bad choice of a friend for my little bird, I might have promised to stay out of my girl’s life, but that was never going to happen. There’s no way I’ll allow anyone around her who’s going to hurt her. Clay has made it his mission to befriend Starling, even though she’s rebuffed all of his attempts so far. Evan is desperately trying to use the stepbrother card to force a relationship with her and Hunter is determined to feed her.

None of it is working, she still hates us.

It’s been two weeks since I told her I was sorry, that I promised her I’d leave her alone.

I lied.

She’s mine and I can’t let her go, not even if I wanted to. The game has changed, but the result will still be the same, she’ll be mine. Only this time she’ll think it’s her choice.

The front door opens and I know it’s her before she even steps into the house. My skin buzzes with awareness the moment she’s close, like every atom in me knows when she’s in my orbit. I want to grab her by the throat, pin her to the wall and rip her clothes from her until she’s naked and wet and begging for my cock.

I miss the feeling of being inside of her. I promised her all my cum was for her, that from now on whenever I came it would be in her or on her, but after two weeks, my balls are bluer than fucking Papa Smurf. I’ve had much longer dry spells, the two and a half years she was in Maine were hell, but once you’ve had perfection, everything else pales in comparison. If I can’t be inside her, I’d rather keep my dick in my pants. At least back then I had my hand. Whacking off isn’t exactly my first choice, but it was still a release, now I don’t even have that. The moment she’s back in my arms, I’m going to fuck her so hard and so often my cum will be dripping out of her constantly for at least the first six months.

During the two years I spent at Harvard before I transferred to Kingsacre, I almost killed myself with a heavy class load, knowing that once I got here with her, I wouldn’t want to be too busy with schoolwork to focus on her. If I wanted to, I have enough credits to graduate this year, but instead I’m just taking a couple of courses and the rest of my time is all about her.

All the air seems to evaporate from the room the moment she steps into the kitchen, freezing midstep when she sees me sitting at the table. Of course I’m only here because I’m waiting for her, but I don’t say that. Instead I let sadness fill my eyes and allow my shoulders to curl forward. I’m the image of a kicked puppy. Sad, alone and rejected.

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