Page 28 of Inferno

Nodding, he doesn’t move as I gather up his clothes from the bedroom floor and walk out with them held tightly in my arms.

Instead of just putting them on to wash, I wait for the program to finish, then put them into the dryer before I head back upstairs, praying that Henry is asleep, his temping, cock soft and preferably covered. But the moment I step into my bedroom, I already know he’s not there without having to glance at the empty bed.

Panic swells in my chest until I remember that he was only wearing a towel, and I have all of his clothes downstairs. He can’t have run from me, which means he just chose to sleep somewhere else. Stepping back onto the landing, I stare at the three doors and find only one closed. He’s hiding from me, so he picked the smaller of the two bedrooms and the one that’s the furthest away from me.

Unable to stop myself, I pad barefoot over to the closed door and turn the handle, but the door doesn’t open. Because it’s locked.

My Kitten picked another room and locked me out. Maybe he does stand a chance at handling me after all.

SEVEN

HENRY

I holdmy breath when the door handle turns, waiting for him to do something. But instead of kicking the door down or demanding entrance, I hear the soft sound of his retreating footsteps as he walks away.

Nausea builds in my throat, but I swallow it quickly, willing it down as I stare out the window into the dark night beyond the glass.

Tonight has been both the most exciting and devastating night of my life.

Having him touch me, want me, and claim me was exhilarating and terrifying, but mainly exhilarating. But watching him withdraw, hearing the excuses he had for not wanting me once he found out that I was a virgin, filled me with shame.

Rejection is the story of my life. I’ve been rejected by every family I’ve ever stayed with, even the truly shitty ones. I’m used to people not wanting me, but rejection has never felt like this before. This…him; it’s different, worse.

Him not wanting me after he spent the last few hours claiming me over and over, touching me and kissing me. His rejection is a million times worse than I’ve ever endured before.

I should have left the moment he pointed out which house was Parker’s. No. I shouldn’t have ever gotten in his car in the first place. That was my first mistake, and one I won’t make again once he takes me back to town in the morning. The moment I’m back in familiar territory, I’ll reject him. I’ll turn my back and never speak to him again so he can get a glimpse into how he’s made me feel.

My resolve hardens then liquidizes, like a weird chemistry experiment. I decide that hating him is the only way I’ll survive, then recognize that hating him will likely be impossible, no matter how much I hurt from his rejection.

Confusion follows me through the night, and just like I told him, I don’t sleep. Instead, I watch the minutes click past on the clock while I wish I had a phone charger or a car or a different life. One where instead of being alone, I’m sleeping in the arms of the man I love, who loves me back.

But that’s not my story. It never has been.

By the time the sun starts to rise, I’m exhausted, sad and more than ready to leave. If I had any idea how far it was, I’d walk down the mountain, but no matter how desperate I am to escape, I’m not stupid, and leaving when I have no clue where I am or how many miles I’ll have to traverse to get back to familiar territory would be idiotic.

Instead, I wrap the towel I fled from Anders’s room wearing around me and tiptoe across the landing and down the stairs. It doesn’t take long to find the laundry room or my clothes that are clean and dry and waiting to be removed from the dryer.

They’re slightly creased, but there’s no way I’m waking Anders up to ask if he has an iron I can use. Instead, I get dressed quickly, instantly feeling better the moment I’m fullyclothed. When I step back into the living room, the scent of freshly brewed coffee hits my nose.

Glancing into the kitchen, I find the coffee pot is full of steaming liquid, and I decide to help myself. Taking a mug from the cabinet, I fill it, then grip the sides of it tightly, letting the heat warm my hands.

Usually if I have a choice, I like my coffee with sugar and creamer, but when I’m low on money, I’ve taught myself to drink it black and pretend to like it. I’m sure Anders has creamer in his refrigerator, but I’m not going to look for it. I learned at a very young age never to take any food or drink unless I’ve been given specific permission. Allowing myself to pour a mug of coffee is bad enough, but there’s no way I’ll root through his cabinets for anything else.

Taking my mug with me, I head back upstairs and ensure the bedroom looks like it did when I fled into it last night. I might not have slept, but I did cover myself with the comforter, so I quickly remake the bed and smooth down the sheets, ensuring that I erase any evidence of me ever having been in the room.

Closing the door behind me again, I tiptoe back downstairs and sit down on the couch. Staring out of the front window, I watch for signs of Parker, hoping that she’ll be willing to give me a ride. But before she leaves her house, Anders stumbles sleepily down the stairs, his eyes wide with panic.

When he spots me on the couch, his entire body sags, and an audible huff of air bursts from his lips. “You’re here,” he pants.

“I’m just waiting for Parker. I’m hoping she won’t mind giving me a ride.”

“No,” he snaps, his voice gruff.

“I don’t think she’ll think it’s an imposition. We’re going to the same place.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“No, that’s okay—” I start to say.

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