Page 48 of Lust
Fuck. They weren’t supposed to arrive for a few more hours.
Sara appeared at the window and equally paled at the sight. There was also relief in her features because we were no longer alone.
“Your bruises,” I said without glancing at her.
“Yours too,” she whispered back.
I lightly touched the scratches on my face and cursed under my breath.
“They’ll want to know how… Fuck, Dad’s going to pull out his gun again. What should we say?”
A tiny spark of hope dared to linger in the back of my mind at the way she wanted to plot with me to conceal what had happened.
"Go back to your room and pretend to be asleep. I didn’t drive here, so I doubt they’ll come to my room if they don’t see my car in the driveway. I’ll leave after the coast is clear.”
She nodded, then rushed toward the sliding doors of the veranda. She stopped midway when I spoke again.
“Everything I said from earlier still stands. I’ll give you a few days to… adjust. I want an answer by the time I return. Either lose everything by choosing him or be with me, and I’ll give you everything you ever wanted.” I might be the man to paint her sunny disposition into the color gray, but if she let me, I could also make it bright again.
Sara stared straight ahead. “Go to Hell, Tris.”
I smiled self-deprecatingly. “Only if I can take you with me.”
“Something the matter, Tristan?” Michael inquired, eyes trekking my strides as I impatiently paced the length of my office.
Yeah, something’s the matter.I was a depraved fuck who indulged in his little sister’s body without permission. Worse yet, I only granted her a few days—under the pretenses of giving her the time to process—while planning how to take her again as soon as she was healed enough.
As I said, depraved fuck.
I had tried hard not to be a stereotypical DC politician. Dad was known for his work ethic, and for years, I was successful in following suit. Stayed away from scandals, never engaged in a workplace romance, and was one of few politicians who hadn’t been threatened with a sexual harassment lawsuit (a miracle for the likes of us). In spite of my previous voracious sexual appetite, I was no longer hankered down by the same lowly, uncontrollable desires… other than for Sara.
A lifetime of goals. A role I had been groomed for since birth. The possibility of becoming a senator and the hopes of running for Presidency if I played my cards right. I flushed it all down the drain for thirty minutes with Sara.
The worse part?
I didn’t care.
I’d give up everything and do it all over again for thirty more minutes with her. My mind had been plagued with only dark thoughts, and after days of endless torture, I had my assistant schedule a session with Michael in my office.
At my extended silence, Michael scribbled something in his notebook. God, how I hated when he wrote shit down. It was ammunition against a politician’s career, and I almost demanded that he show me the notes.
“You know, everything you say here is confidential,” he reminded, having caught the drift of my suspicious eyes.
I scoffed. “Unless it’s illegal, then you have to report it.”
Michael wrinkled his brows with a contemplative look. “You are right. Legally, I do have to report it if you plan to harm yourself or others.” He paused, uncrossing his legs. “However, if you were to tell me of a hypothetical situation… I don’t see any reason for reporting something that never happened.”
I smiled sardonically. That’s how Michael catered to his affluent and morally ambiguous clientele. After all, what’s so bad about a fantasy? I could hardly go through this mental hell alone. The entity inside of me was getting progressively stronger. It had become a part of my existence, the way my organs were a part of my body. While I didn’t believe in the embodiment of evil, I had still carried out the devil’s biddings. So, I needed help, and Michael always seemed to have the answers.
Stomping on my paranoia, I joined him on the sectional leather couch with a heavy sigh. Blinding morning light from the windows probably highlighted the guilt etched on my face.
“Okay.” I nodded, relinquishing control. “I had a dream that I did something terrible,” I said the words all in one breath.
Dropping his notebook on the coffee table, Michael made it clear that he’d no longer take notes or keep a paper trail of this session. “Go on.”
I cleared my throat, uncomfortable. Churning the next words in my head, I realized it was damn near impossible to disclose fantasies of raping my adopted sister without implicating my career.
Never mind. I couldn’t disclose it even under the guise of a dream.
