Page 9 of Burned By Sin
“I thought I told you—”, I start, coming up short when I see Kenneth’s red hair bursting free of the black hood. “Oh, hey Kenneth. What are you doing here? It’s not even seven in the morning.”
“Early shift at the Caffeinated Toad,” he grins and gestures to the empty cup beside me. “Some guy said he was getting a coffee for Harper, so I figured I’d come check if you were okay. Haven’t seen you around in a few days.” A pang of guilt rises within. I’d forgotten to let Kenneth know I wouldn’t be around for our nightly study/reading session.
“I’m fine, but God, Kenneth, you need to stop wearing his clothes.” There’s no need to specify who, when he’s been wrapped in Clayton’s hoodies for weeks. “Have you even washed these?”
“I didn’t want them to lose his smell,” he replies bashfully. My nose wrinkles and I fight a gag.
“Trust me, you’ve lost his smell. Meet me outside the launderette after dinner today, withallof Clay’s stuff you’ve been wearing. We’re going to wash and send them all back to him.”
Not that I’ve been searching for one, but this gives me the perfect guise to reach out to Clay. All I need to do is convince Rhys to use his connections to find me a forwarding address. Kenneth’s eyes are watery, his arms wrapping around the hoodie tightly.
“Even his boxers?” he whines and a shudder rolls down my back. I’m certain Clay would prefer they were incinerated rather than touch them again.
“No, you can keep the boxers. But you still need to wash them,” I swallow thickly. Luckily, Kenneth perks up and switches the conversation to idle chat, discussing the assignment Hargreaves has recently set. A yawn pulls at my lips, my body settling with the weight of missed sleep. I try to focus on what Kenneth is saying, but I find I’m just nodding my head absentmindedly. Thankfully, Rhys appears before I nodoff.
“Fuck off Dickerson. Go crawl back into whatever hole you belong in.” he growls, not looking any better than how I feel. His eyes aren’t as sharp as they usually are as he reaches for my hand.
“It’s Dockerson,” Kenneth hisses with more venom than I thought him capable of. I give him a backwards wave, all too happy for Rhys to pull me through a side door on the court.
“Rhys,” I mumble, a strange warmth tingling in my limbs. “I don’t feel too good.”
“We’re just tired,” Rhys agrees, keeping his arm locked in mine. I can’t tell if he’s just using my fatigue against me, hunting for any excuse to return to his empty frat house, but I’m not complaining. Taking a few shortcuts, we somehow manage to make it back, although I’m certain Rhys is leaning on me just as much. My foot catches on the stone steps, my balance all over the place. We crash through the front door together, slumping onto the floor. My breathing turns shallow, the weight in my limbs crippling.
“Rh…” I stretch out a hand to his sleeping form. His eyes are closed, chest rising and falling steadily. Army crawling, I close the distance between us and lower my head onto his shoulder just before the darkness takes over.
I jolt awake with a strangled gasp, my body jerking as if I’ve just surfaced from underwater. My tongue scrapes like sandpaper, my head stuffed with cotton. The floor beneath me is different, the hardwood replaced by something softer and scratchier. My lashes flutter open and then slam shut against the sting of light. What the hell happened?
My throat burns as I swallow, the metallic tang of stale coffee clinging stubbornly to the back of my tongue. The rush of sneakersand bodies, the plan B and coffee…it all blurs together until the shifting of my hair drags me back to the present.
“Harp, can you hear me?” Rhys asks, brushing my hair back. I peek up through cracked eyelids, forcing the world into focus as I search for him. He’s hunched over me, his jersey discarded and hair damp from sweat, flicking over his temples in straight points. Somewhat ungracefully, I roll onto my back, groaning at the dead weight still wearing me down. Rhys exhales and sits back, his elbows digging into his knees. “Thank fuck. Your receivers were over there on the fireplace. I didn’t really know how they…I mean, I just held them close and they just snapped in.”
Reaching up, I adjust the plastic around my ear and wave off his concern.
“You managed just fine. They can be fiddly.” I roll my head to the side, taking in the room we’re in. It’s not Rhys’ bedroom, but one of the others. A dust sheet-covered bed sits beside me, yet I’m laying on the carpet. Rhys scrubs a hand over his jaw, his eyes darting to the curtained window as if he’s checking for shadows. “What the hell happened?”
“I was in the shower when the drowsiness hit. I’m not even sure how we managed to make it back here before collapsing.” My stomach drops, dread creeping in. Had it just been me, I might have been able to convince myself I was justthattired. But for Rhys to pass out too?
“It must have been the coffee. There’s no other explanation,” I frown, managing to push up onto my elbows. Each movement is sluggish, like I’ve been in a coma for months. Clearly having longer to come around, Rhys leans forward far more smoothly.
“The coffee? Who gave it to you?”
“You did.” I accuse, and Rhys’ brows shoot up. Blinking through the fog clouding my mind, I search for clarity. “I mean, you set it up, right? The coffee and the plan B.”
Even before I’ve finished, I can tell by the dark shadow falling over Rhys’ face that he didn’t orchestrate anything. That I took a drug anddrank a coffee without knowing where it came from. And more than that, someone knows what Rhys and I did yesterday without a condom. Suddenly, every window and open door leers over me, the shadows sneaking in. Someone was here last night, listening, potentially watching. The same sense of alarm washes over Rhys’ face.
“Fuck.” He hisses, pushing himself up onto an armchair. “You need to show me who handed them to you, then get as far away as you can.” A flash of murder lights his features, his blue eyes turning glacial and his fingers curling into a fist. “I made it clear to everyone that you’re mine, and harming something that’s mine won’t end well.”
“Rhys,” I breathe, a tremble in my voice. Whilst he leans on rage, it’s fear that’s crumbling my resolve. Someone got to us, or rather, someone planned to drug just me. In all these weeks of radio silence, I thought the person messing with us had grown bored, or that Clayton was their intended target. Rhys and I were simply collateral damage. But I can’t deny what has happened this morning. This was a direct attack.
Cold shivers along my spine as the pieces slam together. I can’t remain here, listless on the floor. What if there’s still someone in the house? Gradually pushing myself to sit upright, Rhys drops back to his knees to help me, despite the clear struggle he is also having in navigating his limbs. Together, we exit the guest bedroom and pull and drag each other down the staircase.
Rhys steadies himself on the wall, muttering something foul under his breath. My tongue still tastes like metal, the memory of steam curling harmlessly from the takeaway cup has my stomach in knots. I don’t know who to trust anymore.
By the time we make it downstairs, some feeling has returned to my legs and Rhys’ hand on the small of my back is all that’s needed to keep us both steady. We round into the kitchen, chasing the promise of water. Dim light filters through the blinds, the setting sun striped over the basin. Damn, we were out forhours.
I reach for a glass from the cupboard when my gaze snags onsomething spread across the counter. Laid out in a neat little line, some overlapping at the edges, the glossy surfaces of polaroids catch the light. My heart plummets, the breath locked in my lungs as I step closer. Rhys is slower to notice until he follows my eyeline, and the harsh hiss he releases cuts the air in half.
The first photo shows me slumped sideways on the couch, mouth slightly open, head tilted against the cushions. Vulnerable and lifeless. In the next, Rhys on the floor, arm stretched out toward me, his tattooed chest bare and expression eerily peaceful. Another shows me curled against him, our fingers nearly touching. Posed, orchestrated. Bile rises in my throat instantly.
