by J. L. Beck
“If you’re free tonight, you could come out with us…” Clark’s voice trails off.
“No fucking way. She’s not coming out with us.” Vance’s voice booms down the staircase a moment before he appears at the top of the stairs. He’s changed and is now dressed in a dark pair of jeans and gray button-up shirt, looking annoyingly handsome as always.
Beads of water cling to the strands of his russet brown hair. My eyes are drawn to his pink lips, and even after what he did to me earlier, I still want him. It’s stupid, and wrong beyond measure since he’s not only my stepbrother but obviously the enemy.
“What are you even doing here? I told you I’d come to your house,” Vance says bitterly.
I wonder how he keeps friends when he talks to them like that.
“I was tired of waiting, asshole. You took forever and I have zero patience, so here I am. Also, she can come if she wants to, it’s a party that the entire campus was invited to. Let the woman choose for herself,” Clark responds to Vance who snorts before turning to me.
“Ava, do you wanna come with us? I promise to keep Vance’s asshole tendencies to a minimum.”
My lips tip up into a small smile.
“No, thank you. I would rather stay home tonight...” or nail my hand to the wall. Clark gives me a small pout.
“Maybe, next time?”
“Sure,” I mumble, trying to avoid another confrontation with Vance who is walking down the stairs, heading straight for me.
“Maybe you’ll put on a bra then, unless the super slutty look is what you were going for,” Vance sneers in passing and I curl my hand into a tight fist.
All I need to do is land one punch, one…
“Just ignore him,” Clark whispers before surprising me by leaning in and giving me a light kiss on the cheek. When he pulls away, he gives me one more smile revealing two dimples that make him look even cuter. With a wink, he turns and follows Vance, who is already at the door. I wait until the door closes behind them before I turn around and walk up the stairs. Back in my room, I flop down onto the bed, the smell of citrus, and soap filtering into my nose. My blankets smell just like that bastard.
Can’t I get away from this guy?
It’s the middle of the night when I hear the door open and someone walking in. I go from being half asleep to being wide awake in less than a second. Silently I curse myself for not pushing the dresser in front of the door like I had considered doing.
“Have you been waiting for me?” Vance slurs, walking toward me, his movements sluggish. Oh God no, he’s drunk. My heart sinks even farther. Too many nights I watched my dad come home drunk. It’s a memory of my last I would much rather not relive.
“Get out!” I try to keep my voice strong, while getting out of bed. I can smell the liquor on him, the distinct scent making me recoil.
“Don’t be like that…lie back down,” he mumbles as he staggers toward me. When he’s close enough for me to touch him, I lift my hands and press them to his chest to give him a gentle push toward the door, but his body’s firmer than a brick wall and my tiny push doesn’t even make him budge.
I don’t know why but for some reason, I thought in his drunken state I would somehow be able to overpower him. Unfortunately, I underestimated him. I was wrong…so very wrong. I shove against his chest as hard as I can, but he doesn’t budge. Instead, he grabs me by the arms and pushes me backward and toward the bed.
Alarm bells go off in my mind. This is bad, very bad. I’m completely alone with him. He’s much stronger than me and on top of that, he’s drunk. I’m so fucking stupid for believing that staying here would be a good idea.
He warned me, told me that he was going to come for me tonight and I ignored his warning. I fell right into his trap.
“Vance…” I say his name, but it comes out more like a whimper.
“Shhh, just lie down,” he orders and gently nudges me down until I’m lying on the bed. I push up onto my elbows and try to get away, but he’s faster and springs on me like a jaguar, his large frame pressing me into the mattress. Panic claws at me, and inky dread coats my inside, my whole body shaking with fear. He’s going to hurt me, he’s going to make me pay for something that I’m not even sure I’m guilty of.
“Please,” I beg, hoping that he's not too far gone, that he doesn't really want to hurt me.
“Please what?” he whispers into my skin with his face buried in the crook of my neck. He smells like vodka and bad decisions. I can’t let him do this to me, whatever this is. “Please fuck me? I told you…I don’t fuck liars. But I did have some girl at the party suck me off…I thought about you while I fucked her throat. I was thinking how you would like my cock in your mouth…wouldn’t you, Ava?”
“No…” not like this anyway.
“Liar…all you do is fucking lie,” he growls before slapping a hand over my mouth to shut me up. “I’m done listening to that pretty little mouth spew lies.”
I don’t understand anything that he’s saying, and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for whatever he is going to do to me to happen, but I’ll be waiting for a while because he doesn’t move an inch. It’s almost like he’s a statue, the weight of his body pressing me further into the mattress. His body blankets mine, his breath moving my hair across my neck with each breath he takes. Strangely, some of the fear starts to ease out of me, and for the first time ever, I don’t feel alone.
“Why? Why did you have to fuck everything up?”
He’s just venting, talking more to himself than to me. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to ask him what he’s talking about.
“You could have just kept your mouth shut. You didn’t have to tell your dad anything. You didn’t have to ruin it all.”
I blink rapidly, realization dawning on me.
Is that what this is about? Is he mad at me for telling my dad what happened that night? I want to say something so badly, talk to him, make him understand that I didn’t know what else to do, that I was only a kid, but his hand remains securely over my mouth.
Anything I would say would come out as a mumble.
“If you would’ve just kept your mouth shut, everything would still be the way it was supposed to be. Maybe I wouldn’t hate you...maybe we’d still be friends,” he whispers, and my chest constricts, a sob lodging deep in my throat. He just rubbed my own worst fears right in my face. Slapped me with them. He answered a question I’ve been asking myself for years.
What would have happened if I didn’t say anything?
All my doubts, worries and fears… they’re projected right before my eyes.
Maybe he’s right, maybe it’s my fault.
The tears start to fall without warning and slip down the sides of my face. It feels like my heart is ripping in two, the pieces being discarded like trash. For a few minutes, I sob, uncontrollably beneath him. The weight of his body comforts me more than I want to admit and I wish he would touch me, wipe away the tears, tell me it isn’t my fault, but he won’t because deep down I know he thinks it’s all my fault. He blames me for all of it and he plans to slice the knife of a betrayal deep into my chest.
“Shhh, it’s too late for your tears now. They won’t save you. Nothing can save you from me.” He lifts his head, his warm lips ghosting against my cheek. Green eyes reflect back at me. They’re glassy and I wonder if he’s crying too?
For the loss and the pain that we both obviously endured. I don’t get the chance to ask him, not even as he removes his hand from my mouth and pushes up off the bed. My throat is too tight to speak, the words I want to say lodged deep inside the knot forming there. I didn’t realize how much comfort I was taking in his body until he was gone.
Stumbling backward, he gives me one last once over before jerkily walking out of the room, closing my bedroom door softly behind him. The room is so quiet now that I’m reminded of how alone I am, how alone I’ve always been. A quiet sob of pain pushes past my lips, my chest aches at the pressure inside of it.
; “Nothing can save you from me…” His words haunt me all night long while I’m lying in my bed cold and alone.
Always alone.
Always cold.
“Nothing can save you from me….” I repeat his words back to myself.
Maybe I don’t want to be saved, maybe I need Vance’s hate as much as he needs to give it to me.
31
Vance
Waking up the next morning, all I can think about are all the shitty choices from the night before. Too much vodka. Sarah. My need to be close to Ava. My head throbs like someone took a sledgehammer to it. Showering takes an enormous amount of time and effort and by the time I’m done, all I want to do is climb back into bed.
I’m never drinking again, though I suppose I wouldn’t have gone balls to the walls if it wasn’t for the fucking girl across the hall. She’s stupidly beautiful and nothing like my typical flavor of women, which only makes me want her more.
Why did drunk me feel the need to talk to her? I know why, but that doesn’t mean I want to admit it to myself. Truthfully she needed a hug just about as much as I did, and I guess my drunken self thought right then would be a good time to give her one.
All night I had thoughts about her, about her lips, her face, the way her fear smelled earlier when she thought I was going to hurt her. I thought about how all I wanted to do was be back at the house tormenting her, breaking her down. Which in turn led me to drink a lot more than I meant to just so I could stop myself from coming back here. Which was all for nothing, because I still ended up home and in her bed.
Shaking the thoughts away, I somehow manage to get dressed and slip into the hallway. I need to eat something before I barf. Fuck me, I’m never letting Clark pour me shots again.
Even though I tell myself no, my mind reflects back to the way she felt beneath me last night. I wanted to stay in bed with her, hold her in my arms, piece us both back together, but I also wanted to hurt her. Slice her with my words, feel her pain as it poured out of her.
Her tears had surprised me. I didn’t expect her to start crying, and when she did, I couldn’t stop myself. I had to stay, just for a while longer.
When my feet hit the bottom stair, the smell of freshly brewed coffee tickles my nose. I enter the kitchen to find Ava dancing around in a pair of cute little sleep shorts and cami, headphones in her ears as she pours what looks like pancake batter into a pan. I didn’t even know we had pancake batter.
She shakes her cute ass and rolls her hips to the beat of the music that’s blasting in her ears. Fuck, I can imagine my hands gripping onto those hips as I rail into her, over and over… Turning around, she gasps, her eyes raking up and down my body at a snail’s pace.
She might not like me very much, but she definitely likes what she sees. Pulling out the earbuds, she tosses them onto the counter along with her phone that she has shoved into her bra.
“I…I didn’t know you were there.”
I roll my eyes. “Obviously.” There’s a coolness to my voice that doesn’t quite match the heat radiating throughout me. Every time I’m in her presence, I feel like I’m one volcanic eruption away from wiping out the human race forever.
She nibbles on that plump bottom lip nervously and my cock hardens. He needs to stay the fuck out of this. My feelings for her are nothing but hate and revenge. I don’t need to add fucking her to the list.
“I made you breakfast, I mean… if you want some…”
A long stretch of silence settles over us. Her doe eyes stare up at me. Why the fuck is she looking at me like that? Like she can see right through me? Suddenly I feel vulnerable and I don’t like it, not one fucking bit.
Smoke billows from the pan behind her and I grin. “You mean the breakfast that you’re currently burning?”
Whirling around with a shocked look on her delicate face, she grabs the pan, a slew of curses fill the air. She tosses the burnt pancake into the trash before setting the pan back on the stove. She pours more batter into the pan, her body fidgety as hell.
“My mother called me this morning,” she says with her back to me. For some stupid reason, I enter the kitchen and take a seat at the island. I haven’t eaten breakfast in here since the house was built.
“Yeah, and why the fuck should I care?”
“Because it has to do with you.” I don’t miss her exhale, or the sadness that seems to coat her words. Minutes ago she seemed at ease, but now she seems, heartbroken, like someone kicked her fucking dog or something.
“Well speak… I don’t have all day, and I don’t particularly care for what you have to say. Liars are and always will be liars.” Even with my nasty remark, she turns and places a plate of pancakes and bacon in front of me. Her green eyes harden, and I watch her visibly swallow.
“Our parents are extending their trip. Apparently they want to go to the Bahamas next, or something…” Her tone is bitter, a clear indication that her relationship with her mother is just as strained as my own with my father. I slather the pancake in syrup and cut a piece off, shoving it into my mouth before I can say something that would make it sound like I give a fuck, because I don’t. I really don’t give a fuck.
Pushing all the words away, I take a bite, and then another, Ava’s eyes remaining on mine the entire time. I don’t like the way her eyes feel on me, like she’s able to see through the walls I built up around myself. Like she fucking knows me. She doesn’t, no one does.
“You sound bothered by that, any particular reason why?” I ask, grinning. I’m sure I have something to do with her obvious bitterness. Probably because she doesn’t want to be alone with me and I relish in the thought of how uncomfortable I make her.
Get used to it, princess…
She shrugs. “I don’t know. I was hoping to spend some time with her before classes start. I haven’t seen her in three years. It would be nice if she could slow down for five seconds and talk to me like I’m her daughter, or pay me even an ounce of attention.”
I stop mid-bite, the fork hovering in the air.
What did she just say?
Three years? Damn. I almost feel bad for being a dick, almost.
But then that little nagging feeling in the back of my mind reminds me that she brought this on herself. She did this to both of us.
And if there’s anything I can’t stand, it’s a liar, and that’s what she is, a liar.
A liar with a pretty fucking face, and a broken heart.
It’s clear her mother has let her down in more ways than one, and stupidly for a fraction of a second, I wonder what happened to her after that night. What happened between her parents that led her to me, that led her down this road?
Her lie destroyed my life, but what did it do to hers? I never really thought about it, to be honest, and I still don’t care enough to ask her. It’s her own fault. If she would’ve only been truthful… I mean, we were just kids, she didn’t have to do it if she didn’t want to. Maybe in her eyes it was just a white lie, something to save her ass, but to me, it was the end. It’s where my life started to spiral out of control.
Everything changed because of her stupid lie.
I lost everything... my father’s love, my mother, my life fell into shambles because of her. I watch her make her own plate out of the corner of my eye. She takes a seat at the kitchen island, but not next to me. She leaves two chairs between us as if she knows better than to try and sit beside me. Thank, fuck.
An uncomfortable silence settles over us and I try to shove the last remaining forkfuls of food into my mouth. I have to get out of here, I have to get away from her. Away from her floral scent, her heart-shaped face, her sad fucking eyes. The blood in my veins is reaching its boiling point. All these unsaid words and questions hang between us.
I want to hurt her with my lips, break her with my touch… I want to tell her she’s not truly that unlovable, but that would go against everything inside of me. That would be like betraying myself, and I have to remember why we’re enemies, why her
being here is a fucking problem. I can feel her green orbs on my skin… Why isn’t she eating, why is she staring at me like I can provide her with all the answers in the world.
“About last night…” She starts and I tighten my hold on the fork, the metal digging into my palm. Does she really want to see me lose my shit? Obviously so, because she continues the words pouring out of her mouth like acid.
“What did you mean last night? You keep saying I lied, but I don’t know what you mean. If I knew, maybe I could understand, maybe I could make this...” She moves a hand between us. “Make this hate go away.”
I think maybe she has a death wish… bluntly attempting to act innocent right to my face.
“Are you fucking serious right now?” I can feel my skin heating, the zing of anger pulsing through me. For so long, I’ve held that pain inside, I’ve let it eat away at my soul, my spirit and now she’s here, the cause of it, right in front of me and all I want to do is make her own it. Make her take it from me.
Dropping the fork to the marble, I curl my hand into a fist and slam it down on the counter, making her jump in her seat and my head throb at the clatter. Pain radiates through my hand and up my arm, but I love it. I fucking love it. It reminds me that I’m still alive and that the pain is real. There’s a tiny tremble to her body, her chest rises and falls and a pink flush creeps onto her cheeks. She looks scared, but she also looks…I don’t let myself finish that sentence. Instead, I bask in the glory of hate.
How dare she sit here and pretend she doesn’t know what I’m talking about? Liar, all the fucking lies. Every word off her tongue is a lie.
I can’t stand to be in this room with her a moment longer. Shoving my seat backward, I let it topple over, slamming into the hard floor. The sound makes me wince, the throbbing behind my eyes becoming more and more annoying. That coupled with her presence and I’m a second away from losing my shit.