Page 7 of Tainted Love
“Sure.”Not likely.
I follow Mum up the stairs, rubbing at my temples, as she prattles on and on about how good it is to have me home. We get to the second-floor landing, and she points down the hallway. “The main bedroom is just down the end there on the right, and Attie’s bedroom is across from ours. She has a beach view, isn’t that grand?”
I make an affirmative sound.Grand?Who the hell is this woman in front of me, and what did she do with my mother?
“There’s also two more bedrooms and a bathroom on this floor. But you’re up on the third floor.”
I raise my brow. How many floors does this place have?
Music from down the hall reaches us as we step onto the third-floor landing, and I realise Bea’s bedroom must be up here too. It’s the latest hit by Kelcey Trainor that’s been playing all over mainstream radio. I can’t help rolling my eyes—of course, Bea’s a pop princess. Honestly, it’s surprising she even recognised me at all. Our punk rock music couldn’t be further from commercial pop if it tried.
“I’ve put all of Oli’s things in here for now,” Mum says, pointing to a closed door on the left. She shifts to indicate the door opposite it. “And this is the bathroom that the three of you will share.”
Mum pushes open the door next to my sister’s room, facing the one leaking music withBeatricepainted in sloping, girly handwriting, surrounded by love hearts done in fluorescent green paint across the width.
“I really hope the three of you get along,” Mum says, asshe steps aside so I can enter. “It would mean the absolute world to me and Darren.”
I don’t give a fuck about Darren, but I don’t want to upset Mum, so I give her a side hug and press my lips to the top of her head. At six-foot-three, I’ve towered over her since I was thirteen. “I’m sure it will be great, Mum.”
She releases a deep sigh, relaxing under my touch. “I know it’s quick, Eli, but Darren makes me happy. Would you believe, his dad was a good friend of your pappoús back in the day, God rest his soul.”
My yaiyiá passed away during childbirth when having Mum, and pappoús raised Mum on his own until he had a heart attack when Oli and I were only two years old. Mum is an only child, so she had only Dad then. I guess that’s why she lost it so badly when he left.
“I’m happy for you, Mum,” I tell her, shepherding her towards the door. “Really. But I’ve been up since the arsecrack of dawn to get home, so I just want to shower and get some sleep.”
“Okay. Do you want me to wake you for dinner?”
“Nope, I’m good.”
“Alright, well, have a good sleep. I love you, it’s good to have you home.”
“Yep, good to be home.” I lie through my teeth, then shut the door and slump against it.
My gaze wanders over my new bedroom. There’s a king size bed made up with new charcoal grey sheets, but the rest of my stuff is in boxes. This bedroom is bigger than the kitchen and living room of the old apartment combined, whereas my old bedroom barely fit a single bed and my desk. But it was home, and this is not. This place has my skin crawling.
I walk to the window and look outside. It overlooks the picture-perfect backyard, complete with a full-size swimmingpool. Jesus, how much money does Mum’s new meal ticket have?
The clothes I left behind while on tour are already unpacked in the dresser and closet. So, armed with a fresh pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, I cross the hall and enter the bathroom. When I open the door, the music from Bea’s bedroom becomes louder, and I realise it’s because there is a sliding door in here which connects to Beas’ bedroom and it has been left slightly ajar.
Over the music I hear grunting noises, so I tread quietly over to the door and peek through the small gap. I’m parallel to Bea’s bed, where she is splayed with her designer dress hiked up to her waist and her long, toned legs spread as the preppy little lapdog pounds into her. So much for the lack of interest she was showing him downstairs.
Her head is tilted toward me, but her eyes are closed; the look on her face tells me it’s because she’s wishing she was anywhere but here. Yet she still spread her legs—class act, duchess—it proves you can’t trust a rich bitch. They’re as fickle as they come.
My lip curls into a sneer at the pathetic excuse of a man hovering over the top of her. He’s clearly not interested in anything other than blowing his load. Not that I give a shit about Bea’s pleasure, or lack thereof, is really none of my concern. As I back away, I knock into a shelf and some of her decorative knick-knacks fall over.
When I look up, Bea’s amber eyes are locked onto mine, and I watch as she bites down on her bottom lip. I arch a brow, and her gaze never wavers from mine. Cleary my new stepsister has a voyeurism kink—too bad her boyfriend doesn’t know how to satisfy a woman.
He groans loudly, before moaning out, “Yeah, baby. God, you feel so good.”
As he collapses his weight on top of her, she grimaces, obviously left unsatisfied.
I chuckle darkly and take another step back, sliding the door closed and flicking the lock.
Naughty girl, Bea. Very naughty girl.
Perhaps living here won’t be as terrible as I first thought. Maybe all I need to move on from my ugly, twisted memories is new experiences, and I might finally get payback for what happened to Jas.
This could be fun.
