Page 12 of The Bane of a Sinner
“What happened?” she asked gently, reaching for my hand.
“Seven years ago...” My words caught in my throat. Seven years of silent compliance, of burying my morality under layers of guilt and fear. Seven years of betraying everything I believed in, of becoming someone I despised. Seven years of living a lie to protect the people I loved, a lie that was slowly contaminating my soul. The choice had been a poisoned chalice, forcing me to drink deeply of bitterness, while pretending that the nectar was sweet. And now, the poison was spreading, threatening to consume me entirely. My failure gnawed at me—the failure to protect, the failure to be true to myself, the failure to choose a different path, even if it meant certain destruction. The regretwas a physical weight, a suffocating blanket that threatened to smother me in the darkness of my own making.
The music was pumping, a throbbing bass vibrating through the floor and into my chest. People milled about, a swirling vortex of bodies and flashing lights. I’d come to this party reluctantly, a promise extracted by Montana, my best friend, a promise I was already regretting. The sheer number of people overwhelmed me, a stark contrast to the quiet solitude of the library where I’d spent the last few weeks buried in textbooks. Spotting Montana as he attempted to get into the pants of another nameless girl filled my bones with dread.
Walking over, I clapped him on the back. His grin was predatory. “’Bout time you got here!”
“Yeah, well, traffic.” My lie slipped from my tongue with ease. The truth—hours spent wrestling with a particularly stubborn theorem—felt too vulnerable to admit.
“Bullshit,” Montana scoffed, grabbing a beer. “You were studying again.” His tone was laced with a familiar, irritating mixture of amusement and contempt.
“Unlike you, I don’t have a corporation waiting for me when I grow up. Some of us have to work for a living,” I retorted, the sharpness of my voice surprising even myself. The resentment simmered beneath the surface; I envied his effortless charm, his confidence, things I desperately lacked.
“Come on,” he said, his arm a heavy weight around my shoulders. “Let’s get you a beer and then find you a tight pussy to dip into.”
His words hung in the air, a stark reminder of the chasm between us. I wanted to pull away, to retreat back into the safe anonymity of my books, but a strange, desperate yearning gnawed at me. The loneliness, the crushing weight of ambition and self-doubt, threatened to suffocate me. “I’m not... I’m notreally looking for that right now,” I mumbled, my voice barely audible over the music.
Montana rolled his eyes. “Dude, you work too damn hard. You need to blow off some steam. When was the last time you even talked to a girl?” His words hit a nerve, a raw, exposed place of inadequacy. The image of my reflection in the library window—pale, tired, perpetually surrounded by books—flashed in my mind.
“It’s been a while,” I admitted, my voice a whisper.
“Exactly!” Montana exclaimed, steering me toward the kitchen. “So, what do you say? There’s this girl...”
The prospect filled me with dread. The thought of forcing myself into a social interaction, of feigning interest and charm, felt like a betrayal of my truest self. But the alternative—another night alone, consumed by the relentless pressure of my studies—was equally unbearable. I was caught in a vise, my own insecurities squeezing the life out of me.
“Fine,” I sighed, the word a surrender. “Introduce me, but no promises.”
Montana’s slap on the back almost sent my beer flying. He was oblivious to my inner turmoil, his enthusiasm blinding. “That’s the spirit! Her name’s Tiffany...”
As we approached the group, my heart hammered against my ribs. I saw her—Tiffany—and a wave of relief washed over me. She was... nice. Safe. But then, amidst the swirling crowd, I saw her. Someone who had no business being here.
As we approached the kitchen, my heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Montana’s infectious enthusiasm warred with the icy dread that clenched my gut. I’d been momentarily excited about meeting this girl, but the sight of Dakota instantly soured it.
He wasn’t supposed to be here.
Not with her.
My beer went down in a gulp, the bitter taste mirroring the bile rising in my throat. I peeled away from Montana, just as a buxom blonde draped herself over him, her laughter echoing like a taunt. Pushing through the crowd, I confronted Montana’s brother, my voice a venomous hiss. “What the fuck are you doing?”
The casual grin he offered felt like a personal insult. It was the same grin George wore, the carefully constructed mask concealing the rot underneath. The resemblance was a constant, festering wound. I hated Dakota for it, hated him for reminding me of the man I’d vowed never to become. And yet, a chilling familiarity, a perverse understanding, echoed in my own actions.
Was I, too, capable of wearing such a mask?
Dakota’s grin faltered at my fury. “Hey, man, no need to get your panties in a twist. She wanted to come, and I wasn’t about to say no to a hot chick.”
His words were a slap. My fist clenched. The urge to strike him was overwhelming. But this wasn’t about my anger; it was about Meredith, sixteen and vulnerable.
“You know she’s only sixteen, right?” I snarled, getting in the fucker’s face. “Get away from her.”
He reluctantly obeyed, his eyes narrowing with resentment. I forced myself to look at Meredith. Her wide, alcohol-flushed eyes pleaded silently.
“Mere, come on. Let’s get you out of here.”
“But Aug—” she started, her voice trembling.
The lie slipped out before I could stop it. “It’s late. Your parents will be worried.” It was a half-truth, a desperate attempt to justify my actions. I knew her parents wouldn’t care. It was my own conscience I was trying to appease, desperately clinging to the flimsy hope that this wasn’t another irreparable mistake. I took her hand and led her away.
Hanging my head, I continued, “And that was where everything went hazy. One minute I was ushering Meredith out of the house, the next I woke up with a raging headache, butt-ass naked, and sprawled on a bed that wasn’t my own.”
