Page 19 of Written in Sin
I blink hard, several times, dragging myself back to the present, back to Catarina who is now watching me, waiting for me to say something. My fingers flex against the worn wood of the pew, the memory threatening to rip through my body, but I push it down. I have to.
She shifts beside me before placing her hand on mine, but it doesn’t help. I try my best to appear normal. To make it seem like the reminder playing in my head isn’t cutting off my air. All of a sudden I’m floating up above, looking down at myself. My shirt clings to me, tightening with every slight move I make. The man sitting in front of me shifts in the pew and everything seems muffled, like I’m suddenly underwater.
The auditorium is now a cage, and Catarina looks at me with worry on her face. I can’t breathe. My hands are cold, yet sweat clings to my palms. The faint musty scent in the air sticks to the back of my throat. When I stand abruptly, my feet are almost unable to hold me up.
I rip down the aisle toward the door feeling like I’m dragging my lifeless body behind me. My hand slaps against the door, and I push into the hallway, my pulse drowning out all of the sounds around me. I stop and place my hand on the wall, hoping I’ll be able to balance myself, but then my vision fills with bursts of colors. Am I having a heart attack? I scream for help, but no sound comes out as I claw at the collar of my shirt. The walls of the hallway close in on me as I stagger forward before everything fades to black.
Chapter Fifteen
Catarina
All of the air in the room follows Zed out the door. The moment the door shuts behind him, the room feels impossibly still, and I feel my heart hammering in my chest, drowning out the uneasy sounds from bodies readjusting in their seats. Everyone’s stares snap to the back of the auditorium. The sudden shift to silence is unnerving.
Then, as if on cue, their eyes are on me. I force back the lump in my throat, and my face prickles, hot and exposed from the way they’re glaring at me. Unfortunately, I’m getting used to everyone staring. I keep looking at the wooden doors, a knot twisting in my stomach. I think it’s from waiting for Zed to walk back in, but he doesn’t.
Fenris’ voice drifts in and out of focus, but it doesn’t matter. I can’t listen to him anymore, not when I think back to the look on Zed’s face. I can’t fight the urge to run after him, and without thinking, I push myself up from the pew, my feet moving faster than my thoughts. I hear the whispers that follow me, but I don’t stop. If they want to gawk, let them. This isn’t the first time I’vebeen a topic of their conversation, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.
I hesitate for a second before stepping out into the hallway. Which way would he have gone? Would he have gone outside or to his room? I hear a faint noise and guess which way it came from, starting in that direction. The echo of footsteps, or whatever I heard, is gone. I turn the corner and there, sprawled across the floor near the end of the hall, is Zed, crumpled on the floor. I run to him, stopping a few feet away trying to catch my breath. I force my legs to move, closing the gap between us to kneel beside him, not knowing what to do out of fear of making it worse somehow. I stare at his still body and brush back the wispy pieces of hair scattered over his eyes to feel his forehead.
What happened to him? Why did he look like he was having war flashbacks? I think back to the words Fenris spoke, trying to pick apart what may have caused this. I know a panic attack when I see one. There’s distaste in my mouth when I think about being handed over to someone, losing what little control I feel like I have left.
“Zed?” My voice comes out softer than intended, but I don’t know what else to say. He doesn’t answer, and for a minute, I hold my breath.
I hesitate, then place my hand on his shoulder, my fingers shaking. His skin is cold and he isn’t moving. I shake him again. “Zed.” His eyes flutter, then snap open, his gaze disoriented. For a split second, I see something unguarded in the depths of his eyes, almost like fear. I wait for him to say something, anything, but all he does is blink up at me, then he’s out again.
My heart beats so hard I feel my pulse in my ears. I gently shake his shoulder, my voice barely above a whisper. “Zed, please! Wake up.” There’s no response. Dread settles over me, and I try again, gripping his arm with both hands.
“Zed!” Just as I’m about to shake him even harder, I feel someone walk up behind me, the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. I turn around and lock eyes with Harold as he looms over me. I freeze as he starts to speak, his voice deep and firm. “Get up. Go to your room.”
I try to interrupt, “But I’m just trying to?—”
He cuts me off. “Now.” The command stings, and while I would typically buck at his tone, I don’t dare question it.
Chapel is over, and quiet footsteps flood out of the auditorium. A reminder that yet again, all eyes are on me. My legs tremble as I push up on my knees and shuffle to my feet.
I wipe my clammy hands down the front of my shirt; the thin material sticks to my skin, streaking the dirt they picked up from the floor down my front. I refuse to look at anyone as I head in the direction of my room, walking past the last few stragglers trickling out of the auditorium.
The next few hours are spent sitting in my room, trying to figure out what could’ve caused Zed to have a reaction like that. Once I realize the usual noise of the day has died down, I leave to go find Zed, or at least to see if he’s okay.
The scattered voices echo as the halls become emptier by the minute. I turn the corner and standing down the hallway is the last person I’d ever want to see—especially right now. His shoulder rests on the wall only a few feet away, and his arms are folded.
“Can I help you?” Brady asks, pushing off the wall.
I let out a sigh. “Where’s Zedediah?” He lifts an eyebrow, a slow smirk curling at the corner of his lips. He looks me up and down, his eyes lingering a second too long on my chest before they flick away. He steps close to me, a sad attempt to seem like a predator. The faint scent of cigarettes and burning wood clings to him as he closes the distance between us. He slowly twists a strand of my hair between his fingers, a smug glint in his eyes.I slap his hand away. “Have you not learned not to touch people without their consent?” I snap, eyes blazing. His sly grin falls, but when it returns it’s a little bit darker, and I’m not just talking about his rotten teeth.
“Feisty, aren’t we?” he mutters, stepping back as if nothing happened. I tilt my head, giving him a look that could slice through bone.
“You’re really committed to this whole creep with no self-preservation instinct thing, huh?”
He lets out this dumb little chuckle, like he’s proud of himself. “I remember when you first got here,” he says, dragging the words out like he thinks he’s clever. “Zed really gave you a welcome, huh? Right there in front of everybody.” He laughs again. “Looked like he was enjoying himself. Bet you were too, huh, Kitty?”
I roll my eyes, throwing the words back at him like I’m bored. “I swear, the only thing you love more than the sound of your own breath when you’re jerking off to your own bullshit, is hearing yourself talk.”
“If you hadn’t tried to be that bitch’s savior—if you had just let that lazy cunt receive her punishment, no one would’ve touched that pretty little ass of yours.” He pushes me back with his body, driving us into the wall before caging me against it. With each of his arms by the sides of my head, he inhales a deep breath. “But, I was glad for it. I was excited about watching her pant as Fenris spanked her cute little ass. But you?” he growls out a moan. “Watching your cheeks turn pink with embarrassment, your pouty lips swell, and your eyes fill with tears…”
He pushes his waist into me, and I feel his tiny dick’s poor attempt to swell into something fuckable through our clothes. “I don’t think I’ve ever came as hard as I did when I replayed that moment in my head later that night.”
My pulse ticks, and I feel the flare of my nostrils as the fury I feel causes me to grind my teeth together. His beams, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement right as his fingers close around my chin before leaning in close. With a firm grip, he forces my head back; his touch sends a jolt of revulsion through me, and his breath is warm when he brushes his lips against my ear, whispering, “You should be grateful, you know. Not every woman gets such direct attention.”
