Page 63 of Made for Cyn

“That,” I say, waving my arms around. “Did you invite them, Iris?”

“Don’t be stupid. They go where they want,” she huffs, but she’s looking over my shoulder grimly.

And when a shadow passes over my head, I look up in dismay as Saul slides into the booth beside her with a few bruises but a happy smirk.

“Hey, baby,” he says, giving Iris a sloppy kiss.

I don’t see Weasel, but I’m not about to wait around for the twat to show, so I slide from the booth and stalk away, ignoring Iris’ halfhearted call as I go.

Pushing out the doors angrily, I stalk down the sidewalk in a rage because Iris is somehow involved in what just happened, and the jerk brought a gun.

Why would she endanger people like that? She must know better. Oscar does.

I’m also disturbed and disheartened by Cyn’s expression as I left because I’m quite sure he thought I was going to have sex with Weasel.

But why do I care? And why does he?

None of this makes sense, and my head is throbbing.

I’m halfway to nowhere when I slow and look around. I don’t know how far I am from home, not that I’d go alone anyway, but I can’t go back to the bridge, and I can’t stand here like an idiot.

With a painful sigh, I sit down on the sidewalk and rub my aching head.

I’m so confused, and I feel like a trapped animal with no fucking way out. I don’t know what to do, and I have no one I can turn to.

Iris is acting crazy. Cyn hates me when he’s not using me. Jig only talks to me when Cyn is. And well, nobody else has really made any overtures.

I’d reach out to Oscar, but I don’t have his number, and I’m pretty sure he’s not interested in my fallout, which leaves me exactly nowhere once again.

Shit.

It’s only ten p.m., and Iris is sure to be out with Saul for much later. Standing wearily, I resolve to find my way back to the bridge because right now, being around other people, any other people, is better than going home—alone.

Per the app, it’s two miles away, and mindlessly I go before slowing down when I reach the dirt patch where cars are usually parked. It’s empty, everyone is gone, and I traverse the path and sit down on the bridge, alone, holding back the sob welling in my throat.

???

By midnight, I’m frantic because I haven’t heard from Iris, and it’s now past curfew. I know I should go home to avoid further punishment, but it’s too late now.

Still, when Iris doesn’t respond to my texts, and the moon continues its trek across the sky, I head home, praying to whoever is listening that John is asleep in his bed.

To my annoyance, I spy Iris’ car parked in the drive when I arrive. Bitch.

Hesitantly, I approach the house, letting myself in so quietly I can hear my heart pounding over the sounds of the door. It’s pitch-black inside, but I think I’m alone, and with relief, I creep toward the stairs, only to freeze when a shadow looms over my head.

Half turning on the staircase, I cringe when I see John’s features by the light of the moon.

He smiles, but it’s not fucking reassuring with the way his lips are stretched across his face. I stand achingly still, hoping if I just don’t move, maybe I can somehow get out of this. Foolish though, because I’ll never walk away now. I’ve broken his precious rules, and he thinks he has reason to punish me.

“I thought we had an understanding, Rain,” he tsks, and I shrink away, dropping my gaze.

After an extended pause, where I stare at the carpet beneath me, he touches my shoulder, and I stiffen. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?”

“Sorry?” I whisper, crying out when he raises his belt and brings it down on my back.

“Sorry? Sorry isn’t good enough,” he says, and I drop to my knees on the stairs, clutching the coarse hairs of the carpet beneath my fingertips as fire blazes across my skin.

It goes on forever until I’m numb and all I can do is hold back the sobs while I cry quietly.

---