Page 12 of Darkness Tempt Me
I didn’t intend to get close enough for Peyton to see me through his window, but a part of me craved a reaction. Consequences be damned. I wanted him to see me in my skull mask, staring at him, knowing that he’d just put on a show for an unwanted audience. A part of me wanted him to know that hisboss isn’t all good. There’s an evil shadow that lives inside of me, and I want Peyton to know it. To look into its dark depths and accept it.
To accept me, darkness and all.
Footsteps sound on the patio. If Peyton were to lean over the railing and peer around the corner, he’d see me here leaning against his wall. I grin and resume stroking myself. Slowly this time.
The screech of a patio chair sounds as he drags it back. I assume he’s sitting there, probably wondering if I was a figment of his imagination. Music suddenly pours from his phone, and heavy metal fills the air. If Peyton were a smoker, I could easily imagine him propped in his chair, ankles crossed, taking a long drag, deep in thought.
Just the thought of him being mere feet away, probably smelling faintly of his cologne, sweat, and sex, has my cock leaking and desperate for that tight hole he kept showing off. I jerk off to the sound of Peyton’s music and pretty images of him in my head. His music is loud enough that I know he won’t be able to hear me, but still, I imagine him finding me here, gasping with fear as his eyes study my mask and dilate with arousal. I come to the image of me shoving Peyton to his knees and painting his face with my cum. And when I finish, I quietly tuck myself away, lust-drunk and satisfied, before making my way back to my car.
On the drive home, I decide I’ll play it off as if I were out with a friend and had a few too many drinks when I texted him. I don’t need Peyton suspicious and using his pretty little brain to piece things together. I need Peyton and me to go back to the way we were before I went insane and flirted back. I’m so close to finishing what I started eighteen years ago, I can’t afford any more mistakes.
It isn’t until I get back to my place that I realize my biggest mistake by far. I left the white flower with drops of my blood on Peyton’s table.
Fuck.
Chapter eight
Peyton
“Come on, come on. Answer the damn phone, Ty.”
The next morning, I’m pulling my peacoat tighter around my body to protect myself against the fall chill and locking my apartment door while I listen to the phone ring and ring. When Ty’s answering machine sounds in my ear, I sigh in frustration. After the beep, I leave a message.
“Hey, Ty. Call me back. Please don’t shut me out,” I plead, walking down the street toward my local café. If I hurry, I can get a coffee for Mavik and me before work. After tossing and turning most of the night, caffeine is definitely needed. “I’m always here for you. You know that, right? I shouldn’t have assumed things, and for that I’m so sorry,” I say as I pick up speed.
Quickening my pace feels like I’m trying to outrun the memories of my past. And maybe I am. But after all the shit my ex put me through, it left a mark on my soul. Tyler knows I barely made it out of that relationship alive. Something likethat fucks with one’s head. Still, I shouldn’t have compared our situations.
I turn the corner, officially leaving my neighborhood, and walk onto the busy city street. It’s like stepping through a portal; one moment, the faint traffic sounds are only in the background, then suddenly, I’m plunged into the city’s chaos.
“I love you and need you in my life,” I pause, lost in thought. I’m about to hang up when an image of the flower I found last night comes to mind. There are only two conclusions I could come up with: either my brother left it there, or maybe there actually was a masked man watching me. I shake my head at the ridiculousness. “I know this is super random, but did you happen to leave a gardenia on my patio? It was odd. There were red dots on it that kind of looked like—” Fuck. Was I really going to finish that sentence? The red dots almost looked like blood, but there’s no way anyone would leave a bloody flower on my patio. Not only is it crazy, but it would make me sound crazy, too. “Anyway, call me back.”
Crossing the street, I walk into the café, immediately savoring the coffee scent. I spot Billy, my favorite barista, and grin. Since he’s too preoccupied with customers, I step in line and unwind the scarf from around my neck. By the time I make it to the front of the line, my stomach is growling, reminding me I forgot to grab aPop-Tartson the way out the door.
“Hi, Billy! Can I get my usual—” My words trail off when his face comes into focus. “Oh my gosh,” I blurt. “What happened to your face?” As soon as the words are out, I wince. Billy is about my age, maybe twenty-five or twenty-six, if I had to guess. He’s gorgeous, with long brown hair tumbling out of an unruly man bun. Usually, the man bun isn’t my thing, but I’m pretty sure Billy can pull off anything. Anything but a black eye.
A dark purple bruise sits mainly under his eye and on his cheekbone. It looks painful, especially with the way it makes thebruised eye droop. I’ve known Billy for about six months or so, and he’s always sporting a grin. As if reading my thoughts, he gives me a weak smile.
“Hey there, Peyton,” he says softly, eyes bouncing around nervously.
Peering around us and making sure no one is within hearing distance, I lean forward for some extra privacy. “I’m so sorry I blurted that out loud,” I whisper. “Are you okay?” Damn, I hate that question. It sounds so stupid, especially when it’s obvious he isn’t okay.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing really.” Billy’s eyes meet mine before he lets out a deep sigh and leans in even closer. He shakes his head as if changing his mind. “No. I’m not okay,” he whispers back. “It—damn, this is embarrassing. Just forget I said anything.”
I bite my lip and reach for his hand. It’s cool to the touch. I fucked things up with my brother yesterday, and I don’t want to repeat the same mistake. I might not know Billy well, but I want to be here for him if he needs it. “Please don’t be embarrassed.” I squeeze his hand in mine. “You can talk to me anytime.”
Something flashes in his eyes, too quick for me to decipher. “Thank you, Peyton.” He squeezes my hand back before his tone turns cold, emotionless. “It was my boyfriend. He did it to me.”
I tense. What the fuck? His boyfriend? I didn’t even know Billy was seeing someone. Every time we talked, I got the impression he was single. Then again, if his boyfriend is a piece of shit, why would he be mentioning the guy? Is everyone meant to find at least one abusive asshole in their life? Billy bites his lip, studying me, almost as if he’s waiting for me to judge him. I would never judge him for something like this. I couldn’t.
“That’s terrible, Billy. Is he always like this? Or was it an accident, maybe?” I ask, my voice sounding hollow and echoing in my ears. I’m trying not to jump to conclusions.
“Not an accident. He meant to hurt me.”
Something in the way he says those words. It’s the tone of his voice. The defeated admission of the truth. That’s what hits me the hardest. My healing progress over the last three years just washes away, like water swirling down the drain. Memories flash across my eyes, unbidden. Pounding fists and sharp slaps. Sharp kicks to the ribs. Hushed whispers. My mother, sobbing on the floor, clutching her arm. Small whimpers.
An intense wave of dizziness hits me, and suddenly I know what this is. It’s been years since I’ve felt this helpless. My vision narrows before it grows dark. I can’t register anything around me but my lungs trying and failing to pull in air.
Time slows down, and seconds feel like hours. My vision flickers in and out while blood rushes to my ears.
