“Did you get your friends to beat her up?” Kimber whispers, but Chasm just shakes his head, strolling down the hall as people move out of our way. How long will this social pressure hold for him? How long before he becomes a pariah and an outcast right alongside me? I meant it when I told him he should leave me alone to deal with this.
Then again, I wasn’t aware that my life was at stake on campus.
“Go to class, Kim,” he says, opening the door to a classroom on our right. She gives him a sharp frown but takes the coffee he bought her on the way here and slips inside anyway.
“She’s head over heels for you,” I tell him, and he turns a look on me.
“Yeah, I know, but … eww?” Chasm cringes slightly, lifting a single brow. “I’ve known her since I was nine; she was six. We’re basically family. Also, she’s fourteen.”
“Maybe you should be calling her Little Sister then?” I offer, my gaze sliding past him toward the end of the hallway. Lumen is gone. I assume she slipped into a bathroom to clean up. I turn back to Chas. “Anyway, did you send your friends to beat Lumen up?”
He leans in toward me, so close that I can smell him. Peppermint and dark chocolate. Ugh.
“All those girls I’ve helped over the years? I called on some old debts.” Chasm stands up straight, eyes scanning the students behind him.
“Didn’t I tell you to leave her alone?” I grind out. “You’re risking everything for … for …”
“You?” Chasm queries, looking down at me with an inscrutable expression. “You and Parrish, more like. Is that a problem? I won’t apologize, Little Sister. What Lumen did to you was fucked-up, regardless of the situation with the fire. She got what was coming to her.”
He grabs my hand and drags me after him, depositing me at my first period class before lifting up a finger in warning.
“Do not go anywhere without me. You hear me?”
“Yes, sir.” I roll my eyes at him and then, just to gauge his reaction, I try that phrase again. “Saranghae.”
“Stop saying that,” he grinds out at me with a roll of his eyes.
“It doesn’t mean good night, does it?” I query, but he’s already turning and walking away, throwing up two middle fingers over his shoulders as he heads to his own class. With a sigh, I take my seat, engrossing myself in my phone to keep from noticing the myriad stares of my classmates.
They’re all very, very careful to keep their feelings about me to themselves when staff members, teachers, or administrators are around it seems.
I’ve not been sitting there for more than five minutes, working on my Parrish research, when a fresh text comes in. Right away, I’m annoyed. I want to see Parrish on video.
Then I actually read the text, and the entire world goes hazy around me.
Good morning, princess. I’ve asked a lot of you this week, but don’t worry, my next request is just for you. You’ve done well this week, learning to voice your wants and needs. It’s important to always maintain initiative and control of oneself and one’s underlings.
It’s also important to give into one’s desires.
Here’s what I’d like to see next from you.
Act on your feelings for Kwang-seon McKenna; get him to act on his. I can see them, as plain as day, even from the great distance that lies between us. But fear not, everything will change on Sunday. I think you’ll be quite pleased.
I just sit there for several minutes, trying to process what I’ve just read.
Everything will change on Sunday? How so? That’s the fourteenth day. Does he mean to kill Parrish? Have we taken too long?
My stomach is in my throat as our first period teacher begins her lecture. But I can’t breathe. I can barely even see straight. The world is swimming around me, and I feel unsteady, even in my seat, like I might topple over.
With my phone resting on my thighs beneath the desk, I surreptitiously read the message over again.
Act on my feelings for Kwang-seon?
How so? I don’t understand. I don’t understand this at all.
I thought I’d had Justin pegged: he’s grooming me to … hurt people. Isn’t he? Isn’t that the reason he had me destroy Tess’ typewriter and ruin the car? Why he asked me to set that fire? To kill the white rabbit?
But … act on my feelings? What the fuck?
I start to text him back, careful to keep my movements hidden from the teacher. Whitehall is a strange school; they encourage us to keep our phones on us at all times. The school even sends out official announcements via text. The teachers, on the other hand, will take your phone and stash it for the remainder of the day if they catch you using it in class.
Since I really, really don’t need that sort of complication in my life right now, I go slow, looking up frequently, and even raising my hand to answer a question that, thanks to Chasm’s tutoring, I actually know off the top of my head. It takes some time, but I carefully word and send over my response.
I might argue that I already have acted on my feelings. My feelings are these: I love Parrish, and I made a commitment to him before you stole him away. Whatever is between me and Chasm is exactly what I want it to be.
The reply comes almost immediately.
That game might’ve sufficed yesterday, but it will not suffice today. You will act on your feelings for Kwang-seon, or I will take the steps necessary to clean up what little is left of your previous conquest.
The words sting; they burn. Even before the Seattle Slayer sends his next message.
If you think I cannot see every little thing you do, think again. If you believe I am stupid enough to be fooled by nonsense, try me. Preserve one boy’s feelings by keeping the other at a distance, and see how it affects his overall health. If you prefer to learn hard lessons, my sweet daughter, then I will teach them to you by whatever means necessary.
You deserve happiness; take it where you can. Be honest with yourself. Anything less will displease me.
I lift my gaze up from the phone, barely registering the lesson that’s taking place right in front of me. The week after next, we have our final exams, but at this point, I couldn’t possibly care any less.
Instead, I end up sitting there like a statue, my body chiseled of stone and just as immovable.
As soon as the bell rings, I’m up and out of my seat, scrambling for the door so quickly that my shiny dress shoes slide on the stone floors. Luckily for me, Chasm’s class isn’t far from mine, and he appears almost immediately.
Once he sees the look on my face, he’s running. His hands grasp my shoulders and he steers me away from the crowd, putting me in a corner next to a row of lockers.
“Little Sister, talk to me,” he says, his voice frantic. He’s shaking now, too. Terror lances through his features as he swallows hard and looks into my eyes. Guilt and self-hatred pour through me in equal measures, slicing me right down the middle.
I keep thinking that this is it, that I’ve officially hit rock-bottom, that I couldn’t possibly hate myself anymore than I do in any given moment. And yet, there’s always more distance to fall, always more space for that sticky, dirty self-loathing to creep through my veins like poison.
I hand over the phone and Chasm snatches it up, looking through the text messages with a sharp fear in his amber eyes. As he reads, that fear changes to something else, something that I well-recognize: disbelief.
“No,” he says, thrusting the phone back at me. He’s shaking even harder now. “No.” His voice is breathless and high, laced with shock. “I can’t do that to him. I won’t.”
Before I even get a chance to reply, Chas is snatching me by the hand. He drags me across the hall and around the corner, escorting me to my second class without giving me a chance to talk this over. We’re both already late anyway, but it doesn’t matter.
Chasm drops me off and disappears, leaving me to slink into the room and take my seat with my heart threatening to pound its way right out of my chest.
Act on my feelings?
What are my feelings for Chasm, exactly?
Be honest with yourself. Anything less will displease me.
The words of that text hammer against the sides of my skull until I’m nursing a terrible migraine, one that seems to pulse right through the broken bones of my nose and fingers, making me hurt so bad that I just want to break something. I just want to tell the world, so I don’t have the burden of this secret any longer.
If I were a weaker person, I just might. It’d be so easy to march up to Tess and give her the phone, explain to her all the things that have been happening, and let her relay all of that information to the authorities. Then it wouldn’t be my problem anymore, would it?
It’d be everyone else’s fucking problem.
Parrish.
I close my eyes and think about the way his lips felt against mine, like he was communicating all of the things he ever wanted to say to me through his kiss. I think about the way he looked in the basement that day, with tears brimming in his eyes, his jaw clenched tight, crammed with so much emotion that he didn’t know what to do with any of it.
Mostly, I think about our naked bodies entwined together on his bed, the feel of his cock inside of me, how I felt so close to him, so complete, so happy.
Gamer Girl versus Serial Killer … and I am currently getting my ass handed to me.
If I was aiming for the high score in this game, I’m failing miserably. Instead of anticipating and getting ahead of each of the Slayer’s moves, I’m simply reacting. The best I’ve been able to do is earn Parrish a bed and a chance to be unchained. That’s it. But he needs so much more than that.
I want to see him, I text back. Video chat me so I can make sure you’re keeping your word.
Surprisingly, my demand seems to please my bio dad. Again, if he even is my bio dad at all and not some crazy rando off the street.
Let’s see how today goes, shall we? Dig deep, Mia. Ask yourself what you want and then let yourself have it. The only feelings you should consider are your own.
Once again, I spend the entirety of class trying to get myself together.
I’m not an idiot.
I understand what this means; I know what the Slayer wants.
Because I know what I want, what I’d …
I’ve had these thoughts before, about Parrish and Chasm. If I could, I’d have them both. I’ve known that for a long time, even if I tried my best to deny and ignore it. That isn’t how the world works. Or rather, it isn’t how the world is supposed to work. The guy you love isn’t supposed to disappear the night after you lose your virginities to each other. He isn’t supposed to be tied to a chair and bleeding. He most definitely shouldn’t have to suffer through all of that while his best friend and his girlfriend …
I shoot to my feet as soon as the bell rings, unsure if Chasm is even going to show up to get me.
He does, thankfully, but he isn’t happy about it. This time, he refrains from touching my hand at all.
“We need to talk,” I tell him, but he won’t look at me. Instead, he just starts walking away, and I follow. We end up back in the handicapped bathroom all over again. The mirror has already been fixed, unsurprising considering the elite nature of the school, but I really hope that Chas doesn’t punch it again. His hand is still sliced up and a tad swollen.
“I’m not doing it,” he tells me, but we’ve been through this before, with the maid and the box. He’ll do it, even if he hates himself for every action he takes. Same for me. We’re in the same boat here, hating ourselves so badly that we’re burning up to ash on the inside. He crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head violently. “I can’t do that to him.”
“Kwang-seon,” I start, and his eyes snap open. He stalks toward me, and I end up backing up until I’m pressed against the shiny white tiles that cover the bottom half of the wall. He slams his palms on either side of me, leaning down so that our mouths are a hairsbreadth apart.
“Don’t call me by my real name,” he snarls out, angry but with no outlet for his rage. Just me. Only me. “And don’t bow at me. Don’t speak to me in Korean. Don’t touch me. Don’t compliment me. Don’t—”
My hands come up, my fingers resting on either side of his face. In every place we touch, my body aches. I’m pretty sure I’m crying, but the tears are silent, creating salty tracks down my cheeks. Closing my eyes, I lean in, pressing my lips softly against his.
We’re both trembling, both hurting, both flooded with guilt.
A sob escapes me as I dig my fingers harder into Chasm’s cheeks, pressing my mouth to his again, kissing him the way I’ve wanted to since that day at the lake when he said fuck it and brushed his lips across mine.
I lean against him, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t deepen the kiss, doesn’t even open his mouth for me. Still crying, still shaking, I open my eyes to find that he’s watching me. Everything about him says tense, angry, upset, but he doesn’t move either closer to me or further away.
“I’m so sorry, Parrish,” I sob out, pressing my mouth even harder against Chasm’s, feeling him soften just slightly against me. He draws back suddenly, breathing hard, his face a broken, anguished thing.
“Be careful of your nose,” he tells me, and then he’s tilting his head and sliding his lips against mine. His tongue pushes against my mouth, encouraging me to open for him. He’s so skilled at this, so experienced, I immediately figure that I must’ve been wrong about the virgin thing. Chasm … might be telling the truth about his dating prowess.
He takes over the interaction, working his tongue against mine, taking my lips like he’s tasting me, like he’s drinking me in and absorbing my very essence. I do the same, allowing myself to taste him behind the wall of guilt I’ve built around myself.
The Slayer has given me little choice in the matter.
I know it.
Chasm knows it.
It’s the most exquisite form of torture, being given something you want so badly, but at a cost that’s far too great to swallow. Parrish is the one who will pay this cost, who will hurt the most, and in turn, Chasm and I will hurt.
Well-played, asshole, I think at the Slayer, sliding my hands along Chasm’s jaw to rest in his silky hair. If this were a chess game, I’d be in check. But is there a way out of this? Can I move my piece? Capture his? If this were a video game, and I was down to my last life, could I figure out how to get another? How to gain more points? How to beat the level?
My fingers play with Chas’ hair, twirling it around my fingers as he works his mouth against mine, a deep groan building in his chest that seems to reverberate the very air molecules around us. I can feel him all over me, even though he’s only touching me in one place. His lips continue to work diligently against mine, his tongue delving deeper, the male sounds in his throat huskier and more desperate.
He does not, however, move his hands from their position against the wall. Instead, he seems to be doing everything in his power to keep that distance between us.
My own hands drop down to Chasm’s shoulders and that’s when he pulls back, his mouth glossy from kissing me. He steps away, removing my hands and pushing them against my chest. We’re both breathing heavily, faces flushed, lips swollen.
“This isn’t right,” he says, but almost like he’s pleading. “Parrish is my best friend. He’s always been there when I needed him, always. He’s hurting, and he’s all alone, and … fuck. Little Sister, this is …” He gestures between us with a single finger. “This is so messed-up. It’s so fucking fucked.”
“I know,” I choke out, putting my hand over my mouth and closing my eyes. I can’t help but feel like this is my fault. If I didn’t … if I hadn’t developed feelings for Chasm, the Slayer’s directive would hold little power. If I hadn’t made those feelings so goddamn obvious, he might not have seen the opportunity. “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry.”
Chasm slams his palm into the wall again, so hard that the tile actually cracks. I open my eyes to look at him, his face just in
ches from mine again.
“This isn’t your fault, Little Sister. Not at all. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this.” He draws back from me, straightening out his blazer and releasing a long, slow breath. I notice that his slacks are slightly tented again. He stares down at that bulge for a minute before looking back up at me. “You’re not allowed to feel more guilty than I do.”
He holds his hand out for me, and I step forward to take it. Our fingers curl together and then he’s dragging me close again, staring down at me with an expression that’s equal parts hopeful and crushed. He likes me—that much was obvious from the sunflowers—but we both knew that we could never, ever act on it. Not especially while Parrish was missing.
Now? All of those barriers have come tumbling down. In their place, invisible forces push us even closer together.
“I hate myself, Chasm,” I admit, and he gives me an almost smile in response. It’s too bitter, though, to actually be one.
“How can you say that? How many people would go this far out of their way to save a guy they’ve only known for three months? Who treated them like shit for most of that? Dakota, it’s your compassion and empathy that’s getting you into trouble. It’s because you’re a good person that you’re suffering.” He yanks me even closer, squeezing both of my hands in his but being careful to avoid my broken fingers.
His expression breaks into something strangely tender, and I find myself looking away. He continues talking, his voice a soothing echo in the small, tiled room.
“But it doesn’t matter because I am not a good person. I make the effort, but the need to be cruel, the want to hurt, to dominate, to bring others into submission … I feel it in me. If I have to direct that energy and that focus to keep you safe, then I’ll unleash it with pride.”
“You don’t even know what you’re saying,” I whisper, but he rubs his thumbs along my palms and makes me shiver anyway.
“Sure I do. I tried to keep my distance from you because I didn’t want to hurt Parrish. Well now, I’m being told that if I don’t act on my desires, he’ll hurt. Worse than that, he’ll die. Let the blame fall on me for this. Make it my fault.” He gives me one, last squeeze before releasing my hands and then unlocking the bathroom door.
Payback Princess (Lost Daughter of a Serial Killer Book 2) Page 16