Page 2 of Burned By Sin
“This is your own business, McLean?” I snarl, trying to get a read on him before I permit him to remain in my house. To see me in the sorry state I’m in.
“Yep. Started the company from scratch when I realized entitled frat boys like to party and pay big bucks for someone else to handle the clean up.” His flat chest puffs out, not a waver of nerves in that he just insulted my entire lifestyle. I study his face for a long minute in silence, which he waits out without trying to squirm away. I respect his work ethic, to see an opening in this hard world and capitalize on it. Now, for the final test…
“Do you want to suck my dick?” I quirk a brow. Eddy blinks a few times, but manages to keep his tone level.
“No, thank you.”
I shift my fingers, flattening them just beneath the open buttons on his polo shirt.
“Are you sure? I may be biased, but it’s a real beauty.”
“I’m not sucking your dick,” he deadpans, pursing his lips tightly shut. Well, that’s good enough for me. There’s nothing worse than trusting a cleaner in your own home, only to find them stepping in behind you in the shower. I’m speaking from experience.
“Good answer,” I lightly tap his cheek a couple of times. “Go on then, clean this entitled frat boy’s house.”
Picking up his products, Eddy heads into the kitchen without another word. I stare after him as he gets to work washing out a plant pot I’ve been using as an ashtray, deciding I might just like him before stomping my way back upstairs. Standing in my bedroom doorway, I stare at the room without really focusing.
Fuck me, I’m bored. Bored of this room. Bored of the constant monologue in my head. Bored of having her scream my name whilst asleep, and knowing she’s walking around out there forgetting I even exist. I’ve let her forget me. I’ve damn near forgotten myself.
Turning down the hallway and entering the room at the far end, I pull off my tank top and push my feet into white sneakers before heading over to the treadmill in front of a flat screen TV. Flicking on some bullshit for purely background noise, I power up the machine beneath me, pressing the touchpad for the belt under my sneakers to quickly increase to max speed. The burn is instant, my steps thundering whilst I chase a feeling I can’t explain. It’s somewhere between gratification and passing out, but once I’ve entered my home gym, I’m not leaving until I’ve reached it.
I’m trapped by my own limitations, forced into a cage my mind has created and unable to break free. Only thoughts of Harper swirl around there, with hints of emotions I don’t understand. Whoever said time heals all is full of shit, because with each passing day the binds restraining me only tighten further.
I should hate her for this turmoil, but I can’t even bring myself to do that. I can’t feel anything, yet I can’t not feel either. It’s fucked up and all-consuming, my blackened soul withering away into ash. Everything seemed so much simpler the night Harper dominated me.
The thought jars me so physically, I have to grab the chrome handrails either side of me as my feet are dragged backwards. Grunting, I manage to slam my closed fist on the emergency stop button and collapse into a heap on the rubber that still wheels me back onto the hard floor, slamming my head into the wall in the process.
That night, Harper changed my concept of gratification. She controlled me, commanded me. Childhood memories flood back, a reminder that I vowed to never let anyone have power over me again. Yet I can’t deny the freedom I felt watching Harper use her curves to lure and seduce, her green eyes to own and possess as I was drawn into everything that makes her special. Her smart mouth, her lack of fear. How she embraced my faults and freed me of the blame. I did it before, I could do it again.
Even just considering submitting to her has the binds around my chest lessening, my mind clearing for the briefest moment. I don’tknow what’s wrong with me or how to fix it, but if I let Harper make those choices, I can be relieved of trying to figure it all out. If only for a little while. She won’t pander to my ego or stroke my self-esteem. She won’t offer false words or try to change me. She’ll give me the cut-throat truth and deliver whatever punishments she sees fit. She could utterly destroy me, and I think I might just let her.
Chapter Two
Turning the final page of the weighty paperback in my lap, I slouch back with a small smile playing on my lips. I do love a happy ending. If only they happened in the real world too. Taking a moment to bask in the warmth spreading through me, my eyes drift across to the chipped, blue wardrobe opposite and the feeling vanishes.
McAllister Halls are for those who need extra support or grants to pay their tuition at Waversea. As in, their funding is approved on a low income basis as opposed to mine, which is on a disability award. This also evidently means that all of the new, high-tech renovations went absolutely anywhere else. The furniture is barely holding together on aged screws, the mattress beneath me thin and lumpy. Yet, there’s nowhere else on campus I feel comfortable anymore.
Kenneth is typing away at the desk to my left, no doubt still talking to himself too. We’ve fallen into a strange but easy routine. I hide from the taunts, since the entire student body have taken it upon themselves to seek revenge for my disrespecting Rhys, and Kenneth enjoys having company in his room once again. He doesn’t even mind when I leave my receivers in my bag, happy to chat to the side of my head.
If I’m being honest, I’m a little worried about him. He wears Clay’s hoodie like he’s holding onto a lifeline, the pitiful gaze in his eyespulling at my tender heartstrings. I don’t know what Clay meant to me or what we could have been, but Kenneth seems to have lost his idol. Even so, I’ll be pulling that hoodie off him if he refuses to wash it soon.
Placing the book beside his laptop, I stretch my arms above my head and yawn. The sun has set on another long day, and although I should be revising my notes from class, I reckon I’ll head back to mine for an early night. At least sleep can give me a brief reprieve before it all starts again tomorrow. The jeers over breakfast, shoulder barges in the hall, being left the broken microscope in class, pages ripped from the books I return to the library. Small annoyances that are becoming harder to simply ignore.
Not that I’m one to run from a fight, let alone hide away, but I’m healing. At least, I hope I am. Losing Clay and Rhys in one day has left a hole in me that I didn’t realize they were filling. I wanted a normal student life, to stay wrapped in my silent world, but now I’ve got exactly that, it hurts. A constant ache of loneliness I can’t overcome. I’ve been isolated before, I should be used to it. At least I have Addy and Kenneth to grab food from the cafeteria and check out books from the library. A bookworm without books is just…a worm.Ew.
Waving a hand to catch Kenneth’s attention, I sign‘heading home’,to which he grins widely at and copies. It’s sweet how he wants to learn to sign with me, I’ve never had that before. Although I get the feeling Kenneth latches to people quickly, clinging on like a stray puppy with unwavering loyalty to whoever feeds his need for attachment. Grabbing my backpack, I head out into the dark.
Just as I reach the bottom of the stairs, my phone buzzes, a message from Addy mentioning some last-minute dance training ahead of some fundraiser performance this weekend. I pout, but I don’t begrudge her for getting back to her life. She’s been amazing since…that night. Making herself available whenever I needed a shoulder to flop against, cancelling practices to eat ice-cream and binge crappy TV shows with me. Until the guilt rolled in that my temporary slump is the reason she’s missing out on rehearsals, so I started hanging out at Clay’s - I mean, Kenneth’s, instead.
Shuddering against the chill that night has brought, I hug my new sheepskin coat around me. One of the perks to a self-appointed pity party, a much needed online shopping spree. My breath puffs out in orange-tinted clouds under the streetlamps, groups of smokers huddled beneath, their cigarette embers glowing gold against the dark. I briefly wonder if Rhys is amongst them, and then remember I don’t care. I hurry past and slip into the cafeteria just before it closes, ignoring the scowls thrown my way as I grab a paper bag of doughnuts definitely not intended for just one.
Most of the cheer squad, the catty ones anyway, are risking hypothermia by sitting cross-legged on the fountain in the tiny outfits they seem to live in. Klara catches my eye to hiss something between her teeth, but I walk past with my middle finger high in the air. If I wasn’t so determined to see my degree through, Klara would have bested me weeks ago with the literal shit stuffed into my locker or the marker pen scrawled across my textbooks. It’s bad enough she signs a ‘K’ on everything so I know she’s responsible.
My fingers are already going numb from clutching the bag, so I hook it into the crook of my elbow and breathe into my palms while weaving through the courtyard, past shuttered windows and shadowed archways until Bolton Halls rises ahead of me. The automatic lights flick on at my approach, the heater by the stairs blowing out a lazy, barely-warm breath that makes the concrete smell faintly of dust and old detergent.
I fumble with my keys at the door, twist the lock and push inside. Then, I jump out of my damn skin at the dark shape slumped on the edge of my bed. A noise leaves my throat and I don’t even want to know what it sounded like. The figure doesn’t move. The hallway light spills in, revealing the ink rippling over his bare arms, and the sea of demons and angels staring up at me. Rhys sits there, elbows on his jean-clad thighs, hair falling forward and his face buried in his hands.
For a long second, I simply stand there and watch him. His posture screams defeat, but I’m not so easily fooled. Not by him, not anymore. He doesn’t move, not to look at me or to state his business after all these weeks. Rhys has been a ghost, many wondering if he is still even on campus. Once my thrashing heart has somewhat settled, I roll my eyes and pull out my phone, switching to the microphone app. Walking to my dresser with more confidence in my strides than I truly feel, I place the device down and flick on the lamp.
