Page 10 of Lust
Distracted, I hadn’t prepped for the forlorn look on Dad’s face. “I thought it stopped.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. Anger would have been better. The sadness behind his eyes twisted a knife into my heart.
“Dad, I swear. I didn’t do anything.”
He nodded, a small smile on his face. “I know, sweetheart.”
Dad wasn’t referring to my detainment at a rally. Young people taking an interest in politics was the driving force behind Tristan’s campaign, and activism was considered fluff for a political family like ours. This emergency family meeting had been called to discuss my other fuck-up.
I was cursed, you see.
It sounded like an excuse, but for me, it was the greatest truth of my life. Anyone who got too close was burnt down to a cinder, hit with catastrophic misfortunes. And for the last few years, my loving stepmother had struggled with the misfortunes I had brought into her life.
Mary was a Southern belle. True to her roots, she sent me to etiquette school so that I could be formally presented in society at a Debutante ball. She even hand-selected my escort—her best friend’s son, Noah.
Under her watchful eyes, Noah and I tirelessly practiced our cotillion dance, though we never had the opportunity to perform it. The young boy was poisoned the very night of the party, landing him in the hospital. And I happened to be the last person to see him before the impromptu hospital visit.
It was the first of many unfortunate accidents surrounding me. To be precise, seven similar incidents occurred in my presence. Every time another boy was hurt, I was the last person to be seen with them.
Our circle in the DC area noticed the trend. Word got out that associating with me led to the demise of young men. People eventually moved on from superstitious theories to suspecting me of attempted murder, and I became a social pariah. The gossip became endless, prompting me to apply out of state for college.
Unfortunately, Tris put a stop to it, suggesting that I attend Georgetown University instead. It was close-by enough in case they needed to sweep more dirt under the rug. I couldn’t deny the logic behind it. Tris was at the cusp of achieving a senate seat, and I had been implicating his wholesome platform with my scandals.
I had been a cautious recluse due to my unexplainable phenomenon. I never engaged in romantic entanglements, nor did I let anyone get close. My lonely heart was tired of the solitude, but at least no one else had been hurt.
That was until two girls from my past started spreading the old rumors that Tristan had paid good money to bury. They taunted me all semester. I ignored their jabs and was relieved that today was the last day of classes. I had already moved home for the summer and returned to my dorm to sign off with the Resident Assistant when I halted mid-step upon hearing their voices.
“Do you remember what happened to the last guy she went out with?”
“She must have a magic pussy if men are willing to die for it.” The second girl laughed, a crowd forming around her.
“I wished it was her instead of him.”
“If I were her, I’d just kill myself to suppress the urge to hurt anyone else. God, I don’t even want her in this dorm. I’m seriously scared for our safety—” the second girl stopped speaking because I had come into their line of vision.
I had pretended not to care, but their words cut me deep. The sad truth was that I agreed.
I wished it were me instead.
An hour later, both of the girls fell down a flight of stairs. Apparently, both negative and positive feelings toward me rendered a target on people’s backs. Several students were aware of the transaction between us. It was too far-fetched that the girls were severely injured shortly after I overheard their vulgar comments.
It was one thing to be treated as an outcast, entirely another to have accusatory eyes question your hand in attempted murder. There was nothing I could say to convince people of my innocence. I had become an unwelcome perpetrator and, according to society, potentially dangerous.
This insanity started during my high school years, and my family was determined not to allow for a repeat.
“Honey,” Mom placed her wine glass on the dining table made of ornate wood. “It’s okay.”
My back stiffened at the choked-up emotions in her voice. We might not share the same blood, but she was my soft spot. Mom was the only person who believed me.
Unfortunately, Dad didn’t feel the same. “No one can blame you for feeling angry toward those girls—”
I closed my eyes. “Dad, I swear. I didn’t hurt them.”
“We believe you,” Mom said quickly, while Dad stared at his interlaced hands.Dad believed that I believed it.He knew that I didn’t lie or believe in violence. So, he suspected me of suffering a mental illness where I had convinced myself of my innocence.
“I don’t know why these things keep happening around me,” I whispered.
Dad sighed. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’ll take care of it.”
I bit my bottom lip.Take care of it because he thinks I did it.
