Page 32 of Quiet Rage
My stiff muscles loosen, and I sink deeper into his hold. I let my eyes flutter shut and continue to take slow, deep breaths.
I don’t know what Kellen plans on doing with me, but right now I’d like to pretend this is it, no matter how unlikely that is.
His thumb suddenly stops drawing circles. He pulls his hand from under my shirt and drops his other one from his chest. And just like that, my bubble of momentary safety bursts.
I lift my head from his shoulder and sit up straight, letting my hand fall into my lap.
“It’s time to go,” he announces.
I scramble off his lap and climb back in my seat to buckle up. Kellen turns the key in the ignition, making the car roar to life. He turns around on the narrow dirt road before driving back the way we came from.
We’re almost back into town when Kellen speaks again. “How come you were holding on to your v-card for so long?”
His question takes me off guard, and I really don’t want to talk to him about my virginity, but I answer him regardless. “I’m only nineteen. That’s still a normal age.” I’m not telling him the truth, which is that I was waiting for the right person. Someone worth giving it to.
“I lost mine when I was fourteen,” he explains.
“That’s a bit young,” I say quietly, uncomfortable with this conversation.
“My dad gave me a prostitute as a gift.”
My head snaps up, and I glance over at him in shock. “That’s messed up.”
Kellen just shrugs, seemingly not finding it as shocking as I am. What kind of father gives his teenage son a prostitute?
My mind is still reeling with Kellen’s words when we pull into my neighborhood. I can breathe easier now that I’m certain he isactually taking me home. A few minutes later, we pull up to my house. As soon as the car comes to a full stop, I open my door.
“Can’t wait to get away from me?” Kellen says when I’m halfway out of the vehicle. I don’t tell him, yes, that’s exactly what's happening. I don’t know what else he is expecting from me? Should I tell him thanks for basically kidnapping me, or be appreciative that he didn't hurt me today? I shouldn't have to thank him for anything, but not saying something at all feels weird, too.
“Thanks for the ride,” I manage to say.
“See you around, Dragonfly.”
I shut the door and speedwalk to the house. I still don’t know what kind of game he was playing tonight, but I’m relieved it’s over now.
Chapter 15
Kellen
That’s right,little Dragonfly. You keep going through your day without noticing me watching.
I can’t figure out how she doesn’t know I’m here. Watching. Doesn’t she feel me? Can’t she sense my presence looming over her like a shadow? Is it possible she doesn’t feel the way I do—constantly thinking about the time we’ve spent together, craving more of it?
Of course she doesn’t, and when I’m thinking clearly, I know why. It makes sense she doesn’t think about me because, unlike me, she doesn’t have a job to do. There’s no deeper reason behind our interactions.
It’s good she sees it that way. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be so easy to trail her from her shift at the convenience store and sit across the street from the coffee shop near campus while she studies and nurses cup after cup of coffee. Not that I’m watching for danger or anything, though it would be good to know she’s safe in there.
For now. Because soon, it will be collection day again; only this time we’re making a house call. And no way I’m letting those pricks do it on their own.
Or maybe I could lure her out while it’s going down. Her dad’s problems are my problems, but they shouldn’t be hers, too. I could get her out of there, protect her, and if Dad had a problem with it, I could remind him an attack on the home won’t do anything to get her to drop out of school. It’s all so interwoven, almost impossible to separate business from personal. Because I had to go and let it get personal.
It’s another bleak, cold day, with a thin rain that fits well with my mood. From this vantage point, I can see her hunched over her books spread out in front of her. She’s reading something for school, taking notes diligently. I like seeing her absorbed like this, like she’s unaware of the world around her. She has the ability to sink deep into whatever it is she’s doing. After everything she’s been through, she’s still innocent. Trusting. Able to shut off all the external bullshit.
I wish she could teach me how to work that magic trick, because I sure as hell haven’t been able to compartmentalize lately. I used to be good at it, because I had to be. Because if I didn’t learn real fast how to shut out whole chunks of my memory, I wouldn’t be able to function.
It started the day after I killed Dad’s one-time best friend. Uncle Joe—that was what I used to call him. That was how I always knew him. They were as close as brothers, and I used to love when they’d start bullshitting about the past. All the stories they would tell. They used to fascinate me.
But their past didn’t keep Uncle Joe from skimming off the top.
