Page 10 of Burned By Sin
“Oh my God.” My voice breaks, and I clap a hand to my mouth. The sound is muffled, strangled as my pulse hammers at the base of my throat.
Rhys grabs the edge of the counter so hard that his knuckles whiten, veins bulging along his arms. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at the images like he could burn holes through them with his rage alone. It’s all too much. Backtracking, my spine hits the refrigerator, the cool metal doing nothing to ground me. Every inch of my skin crawls, goosebumps prickling sharp enough to sting. As if the drugging wasn’t enough, someone was standing over us while we were unconscious, arranging our bodies like dolls for their amusement. The realization hits me in jagged pieces. There was nothing spontaneous about this plan.
Rhys finally growls, the sound guttural and terrifying, and swipes an arm across the counter, sending the polaroids scattering across the floor. A few land face-up, staring back at us with grotesque familiarity.
“Motherfucker.” He spits the word like poison, pacing back and forth, dragging his hands through his damp hair until it sticks out at wild angles. His chest heaves as if he’s spiraling into a panic attack. I can’t bring myself to comfort him because that would require moving, and I’ve found myself paralysed in place. “I swear, I’ll kill whoever did this. I’ll fucking skin them alive.”
My stomach twists at his fury, but the sick part is, I want the same. This has gone too far past the point of mere pranking. Someone wants to humiliate us, and the lengths they’re willing to go to have crossed the line. My nails dig crescents into my palms.
“We should call the cops,” I whisper.
“Forget it,” Rhys pinches the bridge of his nose. “No one is going to believe I didn’t do this myself. I’m afraid my reputation precedes me. And there’s so much weed hidden in this house, they’d arrest me on sight regardless.” Rhys’ eyes slice to mine, blazing with a hint of regret. I nod once, a tiny movement, but it feels like the ground is being pulled out from beneath me.
“Rhys, I can’t stay here. I’m scared.” It occurs to me that I have no idea how Rhys would react to seeing me so uncertain. Our entire relationship is based on my iron backbone and his desire to hammer kinks into my armor. Vulnerability isn’t Rhys’ forte, but I didn’t need to have any reservations. Kicking the polaroids beneath the counter as if we can erase them from our reality, he closes the distance between us and wraps me in his arms.
“This is my fault. I wasn’t around. I let the bastard grow too confident. I…” Rhys turns his face away. “I didn’t protect you.” I don’t realize I’m trembling until Rhys’ arms tighten, his chest solid against mine. Finding it easier to mimic the steady rise and fall of it, I force my lungs to intake air, eventually dropping my head into the crook of his neck. Somewhere within the stifling silence, Rhys seems to come up with a plan. “It’s winter break next week. We can dip out early, I’ll make the excuses. Let’s just get far away from here until we can figure out what’s going on.”
A thousand reasons we shouldn’t die on my tongue. I should refuse to be forced out, or stubbornly decide to stay for that last precious week of lectures. Addy and Kenneth will wonder where I’ve gone, Aunt Marg will burst a vein if I ran off with a menace covered in ink, and those who have been willing me to fail will temporarily win. But none of that tops the one reason I can think of to leave.
“We should check on Clayton,” I announce. The arms around me stiffen, the jaw beside my temple ticking as Rhys’ face hardens to granite.
“He’s fine,” Rhys drops a few octaves. He pulls away from me, putting the distance between us to lean against the counter. My heart beats at double time.
“How do you know?” I hold Rhys’ stare, wondering if maybe he does care. Deep, deep,deepdown. But I should have known better.
“Okay, I’ll admit I don’t know how he is and I don’t give two shits. He isn’t here, and he isn’t the one who’s going to protect you anymore. You’ve got me now.” A challenge ignites in his blue eyes, a dare to deny him. Chewing on my bottom lip, I crack first, angling my head downwards.
“You promised to get his scholarship reinstated. Have you even looked into it yet?”
“Jesus Christ,” Rhys scoffs, striding across the kitchen to kick a bar stool by the island. “Give me a few days at least. It’s not easy, you know. I didn’t realize you were so desperate?—”
“I’m not desperate,” I glare, my voice gaining strength. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“So what? Clayton can swoop in and play the hero while I stand here useless?”
“This isn’t about you!” My shout cracks, raw from the dryness of my throat. Tears blur my vision, but I force them back, shaking my head. “It’s not about your pride or my stubbornness. Someone drugged us, Rhys. Someone touched us while we were unconscious. Someone is in this house. We need help, and Clay…Clay is the only other person I trust.”
Rhys’ breath rattles, hot and uneven, like he’s fighting not to explode. For a moment, I think he’ll walk out, leave me here shaking in the kitchen with the polaroids staring up at me from where they poke out beneath the counter. Then his shoulders slump, just barely butenough to show he’s hearing me. Rhys curses under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.
“I hate this,” he mutters. His eyes burn into mine, fury and misery seeping through his features. “I fucking hate this. But…a second pair of eyes might not be the worst thing. If Clayton is what it takes to keep you safe, then fine. We’ll go find him, together.”
Relief surges through me, a crash of elation and giddiness and relief all at once. I don’t know what to do with it, but I’m careful to keep the solemn mask over my face.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me,” Rhys huffs, reaching for my hand and dragging me out onto the back porch. “Just don’t ask me to like it.”
The promise of a sunny day has passed, leaving us with the bitter chill of a winter night. Pulling a pack of cigarettes out from beneath a chair cushion, I don’t comment as Rhys sparks up. It’s been a stressful day all round. I curl my arms around his naked torso, amazed by how warm he is.
The silence that follows is thick, the air heavy with fear and frustration and something else I can’t quite name. The scattered photos in the kitchen are burned into my memory, and I have no idea how I’ll be able to settle anytime soon. One second at a time I suppose, and attached to Rhys’ side for the foreseeable future. The man in question is also struggling to relax, his chest rising and falling unevenly, his hands flexing at his sides like he’s itching for violence he can’t yet deliver. Between dragging on his cancer stick, his eyes catch mine, softening for just a fraction of a second, before the hardness returns.
“I’m not going to replace you with him, you know,” I murmur, placing my cheek on his back. An expanse of angels and demons stare back at me, all twisting and contorting, reaching up towards Rhys’ nape. His sigh rocks through me, his response almost lost to the night.
“In every aspect of my life,” he takes another long drag and expels the smoke, “I’ve never been enough.” I tighten my arms around his torso, pressing my cheek harder against the ink covering his back.
“That’s not true,” I say softly, not lifting my head. Rhys gives a humorless huff.
“You don’t have to?—”
