Malicious

by Alex Grayson

  “We are not watching Fifty Shades of Grey,” Zayden and I both yell at the same time.

  “Oh, yes, we are,” Rylee demands. She snatches the remote from the back of the couch before Zayden can grab it.

  “Damn it, Rylee. I’m not watching porn with our best friends in the room.”

  “It’s not porn,” Rylee argues, shooting daggers at him over her shoulder.

  “The hell it’s not.”

  “It’s about a guy and a girl who like to have a bunch of raunchy sex. The whole premise of the story is based on his need to dominate and his issues with sex. Sounds like porn to me.”

  Savannah spins on the cushion until she’s fully facing me. “Oh, my God. Stop being the typical male. There’s so much more to the story than that. Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Your head up here,” she taps the side of her head, “isn’t much bigger than the one down below.” Her eyes point to my dick, and what do you know, it twitches.

  I ignore her comment and tip up one corner of my mouth. “You really want me in the same room with you as boobs and bush are flashing on the screen? I’m a guy, it’ll probably turn me on.”

  Her lip curls up into a sneer. “Sounds like your problem, not mine.”

  “Rylee,” Zayden sighs. “Let’s find something else to watch.”

  “Come on, babe. I promise if you give it a chance, you might actually find it interesting.”

  I snort, which earns me another glare from Rylee.

  “Fine,” he grumbles. “But I’m picking the next movie, and I guarantee there will be killing and gory shit involved.”

  She smiles and leans up to place a kiss against his cheek. “Deal.”

  “I also reserve the right to turn it off if I hear any grunts or groans coming from Oliver.”

  “Fuck you,” I toss out.

  “He’ll behave.” Rylee’s tone brooks no argument, like she’s telling me instead of requesting.

  I shrug.

  She presses play, and I recline back in my chair. I finish my pizza and toss my plate on the table beside me. The room is quiet, the only sound coming from the TV. With the lights down low, the light from the TV flickers on the walls.

  A movement off to the side catches my attention, and I look to Savannah. She’s leaning back against the arm of the loveseat. The blanket she’s under has been shoved down to her waist and one of her bare legs, bent at the knee, is sticking out of it. It almost looks like she’s naked from the waist down, but I know that’s stupid. I can’t help but stare at her leg and wonder how it would feel under my palm. Does she shave everyday so the skin would be soft and smooth? Does she shave everywhere?

  I reach down and adjust my jeans when my dick begins to harden. It’s sick, my fascination with this girl. She hates me, and I’m damn sure not fond of her either. Does my dick care? Fuck no. Because I can’t seem to get him under control whenever she’s around. Even when she pisses me off so much I want to wrap my hands around her tender neck and squeeze so she shuts her trap.

  All of a sudden, she drops her empty plate to the floor and jackknifes off of the loveseat. With her hand to her stomach, she darts out of the room down the hallway, no doubt heading for the bathroom.

  I look to Rylee and Zayden at the same time they look at me. Rylee nibbles on her bottom lip and she gets up from the couch.

  “I’m going to go check on her.”

  Zayden looks concerned as Rylee dashes out of the room. It’s probably from all the fucking pizza she consumed. She had more on her plate than I did, and I eat a lot.

  “You need to lay off her,” Zayden says, directing his eyes to me.

  “I think you need to be telling her that. I only react when she starts in on me.”

  “Or you could ignore it,” he suggests with a raised brow.

  I pull a small box of Red Hots out of my pocket and dump some in my hand. “Not in my nature.”

  “Make it your nature.”

  “And if I don’t?” I ask, chomping down on the cinnamon candies.

  “Then we may have problems.”

  His words piss me off. I know what I did to Rylee was wrong, and I don’t blame him for taking her side when shit went down. I had been out of line and took things too far. But I’ve apologized and worked my ass off in an attempt to make up for it. For him to insinuate that he’d side with Savannah—once again picking a girl over me—rankles me. I’ve tried being nice to her, but she wants none of it. I’ll be damned if I’ll lay down and be her whipping post.

  Now you know what it feels like, my mind whispers.

  I grit my teeth. Yeah, I guess I do know what it feels like. But unlike Savannah, what I did to Rylee was much worse. Even so, she didn’t silently put up with my shit either.

  “What do you expect me to do, Z?” I demand harshly. “Let the bitch say whatever the hell she wants without retaliation? If that’s it, you can go fuck yourself.”

  He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. Swinging his legs around, he leans forward so his hands dangle between his knees.

  “I’ll talk to Rylee. Something’s got to give between you and Savannah.”

  “Yeah, you do that,” I grunt.

  Not that it’ll help. I’ve gotten on Savannah’s bad side and apparently, she doesn’t give second chances.

  What-the-fuck-ever.

  4

  SAVANNAH

  “V, you okay?” Rylee calls through the closed door followed by a light knock.

  I stare down at the remnants of my pizza now sitting in the bottom of the toilet and my stomach curls again.

  “Yeah,” I croak back. “The pizza didn’t sit very well with me,” I lie. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

  “Okay. You sure you don’t need anything? A water maybe?”

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Okay,” she murmurs seconds before I hear her feet pad back down the hallway.

  I wasn’t lying. The pizza really didn’t sit well with me. Unfortunately, it seems like nothing does anymore. What started out as a small purge here and there has spiraled out of control. I know making myself throw up is stupid. And I know how harmful it can be, but over the last few years, my love of food and my desire to be smaller have been waging war on one another. I’ve tried to find a balance—eating less instead of gorging myself, but I still feel so guilty I have no choice but to expunge it from my body. As time has gone on, it’s only gotten worse. It used to take me several minutes to make myself sick, but now it’s like my body instantly rejects food the minute it enters my stomach.

  Flushing the toilet, I straighten my posture, and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. I take a deep breath in, feeling better by the second.

  Crossing toward the sink, I wash my hands before blotting a little water on my face. I’m delaying walking back into that living room because I know as soon as I do, Oliver is going to make some comment about me running to the bathroom, and I’m going to want to rip his throat out.

  “You can do this,” I whisper to my reflection. “No one knows.” I take another deep pull of air in before spinning on my heel and exiting the bathroom.

  When I re-enter the living room, Rylee has reclaimed her spot next to Zayden and Oliver doesn’t look like he’s moved. All three sets of eyes come to me as I settle back onto the loveseat and pull the blanket up to my chest.

  “You okay?” Rylee asks over the too loud television.

  “I’m good.” I plaster on a smile and nod, my eyes sliding to Oliver when Rylee’s attention goes back to the movie.

  I tense when I realize he’s watching me.

  Does he know?

  I crinkle my forehead and give him a look that can only be construed as ‘fuck you’ before turning my gaze toward the T.V. There’s no way he knows. Getting sick one time because I ate too much pizza isn’t something that automatically raises a red flag. People get sick all the time.

  With this thought, I relax slightly and try to focus on the movie.

  “Well, what did
you think?” Rylee stretches her arms over her head as Zayden gets up to flip on the lights.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” he says unconvincingly, garnering a snort from Oliver.

  “Not that bad if you like soft porn with a mediocre storyline.” Oliver reaches for the remote, turning the volume down.

  “The storyline wasn’t mediocre.” Rylee seems personally offended, as if she were the one who wrote the damn thing.

  Don’t get me wrong, I love Fifty Shades as much as the next girl, but I never got into the series the way Rylee did. I’m more of a Hunger Games or Divergent kind of girl. Dystopian has always been my jam.

  “And seriously, who watches a movie like this with their brother in the room?” Oliver keeps going.

  “Well for one, you’re my stepbrother. And two, I thought my adult stepbrother was mature enough not to make it gross. It’s not like I pulled out a porno and suggested we all watch it together.”

  “Might as well have.”

  “It wasn’t that bad, Oliver.” Zayden steps in to take Rylee’s side. Something he does often. “I kind of liked how he’s this fucked up guy with all these issues and she’s this sweet, innocent girl who wants to show him there’s more out there for him.” He winks at Rylee as he reclaims the seat by her side.

  I swear her smile nearly splits her face in half.

  I guess it makes sense why Zayden would enjoy the storyline, given that he and Rylee shared similarly equal differences in the beginning. Not with the whole dom/sub aspect, but them as people. The two were definitely on opposite ends of the spectrum when they met, but look at them now. She’s changed him, and he’s changed her. But not in a way that makes them any less of who they are—if that makes any sense.

  “You two make me sick.” Oliver pushes to his feet. “Keep it up and I might upchuck in the bathroom like Savannah did earlier.” He holds his stomach and forces a fake gag.

  “Screw you.” I flip him off. “It’s not my fault the pizza upset my stomach.”

  “Maybe if you hadn’t eaten so much it wouldn’t have,” he fires back, sending me from a simmer to a boil in one second flat.

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I’m on my feet before I even realize I’ve moved.

  “Looks like maybe I struck a nerve.” The smile on his face tells me he got the exact reaction he was hoping for.

  Even though my instinct is to lash out, I decide to try to take the high road on this one—mainly because I don’t want to draw any more attention to this matter. The last thing I need is for people to start connecting the dots. Not that they would, but the bigger deal I make of it, the more suspicious it will seem.

  “You know what, Oliver? If insulting me helps you feel better about yourself,” my eyes dart to his crotch to get my point across, “then you go right ahead. You’ve spent your whole life overcompensating for your shortcomings. Why stop now?”

  Okay, so maybe that wasn’t exactly the high road.

  “Give me two minutes, and I’ll show you I have nothing to overcompensate for.”

  “Only two?” I tilt my head to the side, my hands going to my hips. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Little and quick. You really are a winner.”

  If looks could kill, I’d be a melted heap of flesh on the floor right now, given the fire shooting out of Oliver’s eyes.

  “Alright.” Zayden slaps his leg as he stands. “That’s enough.” He turns, grasping Oliver on the shoulder. He leans in and says something that only he can hear.

  I watch Oliver’s features relax slightly as Zayden steps past him, walking around the back of the couch where he leans over and kisses Rylee’s temple.

  “We’re gonna head over to my dad’s. I don’t want to wait too late since I’m taking them dinner,” he tells her.

  “You want me to come?”

  “Nah.” He shakes his head. “Oliver’s going to come with me. You stay here with Savannah, see your mom when she gets home.”

  “Okay.” She turns her face upward to allow him to lay a kiss on her mouth. “Call me later?”

  “I will. Love you.” He kisses her again before straightening.

  “Love you, too.”

  “Come on, Oliver, let’s get out of here,” he tells his best friend, who’s anger filled gaze slides back to me.

  “Let’s.” His nostrils flare moments before he spins on his heel and follows Zayden out of the room.

  “What the hell?” Rylee blurts seconds later.

  “What?” I plop back down on the loveseat, shoving the blanket to the side.

  “I thought you said you’d try.”

  “This is me trying.”

  “Well, then I’d hate to see you not trying.” She blows out a heavy breath and sinks further into the couch.

  “I’m sorry, Ry. Truly. I know how badly you want me and your stepbrother to get along, but honestly, I don’t see that happening. Not when he continuously makes little snide comments to purposely get a rise out of me.”

  “Get along? Hell, at this point I’d settle for not speaking. What is it with you two? It’s like you just can’t help yourselves.”

  “What can I say? He brings out the worst in me.”

  “And you in him apparently.” She thinks on that for a minute. “I guess that’s not entirely true.” She laughs.

  “Ya think?” I cross my arms and give her a pointed look.

  “We’ve had this conversation before, and I know why you don’t like Oliver. But V, I have to ask, are you sure that’s all it is?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just mean, I’ve seen you not like people before, but I’ve never seen you act toward someone the way you act toward Oliver. I can’t help but feel like maybe there’s more to it that you’re not telling me.”

  “Okay, now I’m confused. What more could there be?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugs innocently. “It’s just…. Well…. I’ve seen the way you look at him when you think no one is watching.”

  “Come again?” I balk at her.

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were attracted to him.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” I shoot straight up in my seat.

  “Look at you, V. Look at how extreme you reacted to me saying maybe you think he’s hot. It’s like you try too hard. Like you’re trying to cover it up or something.”

  “Okay, now I think you’ve officially lost it.”

  “Have I? Or are you just too proud to admit that behind the constant bickering and arguing you actually kind of like him?”

  “I’m going upstairs.” I push to a stand.

  “V.”

  “First, you don’t tell me that he’s going to be here. Then you accuse me of actually being attracted to that monster. What’s next? You going to try to set us up?”

  “V.” She chuckles, standing. “It’s not like that. I’m not saying you’re in love with him or anything.”

  “No, just that I have the hots for him. As if that’s any better.” I step around the loveseat and head toward the foyer.

  “Where are you going?” she calls after me.

  “I’m going to take a long, hot shower and try to forget everything you just said,” I tell her, pausing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I was just asking.”

  “Well, as my best friend, I think you, better than anyone, know where I stand.”

  “You’re right. I am your best friend. I know you, Savannah Reynolds. And I know what it means when the mere mention of you possibly being attracted to someone sends you running, even if you don’t.” She arches a brow from across the room.

  “Oh my God,” I groan loudly. “Let me know when my best friend comes back. Until then, I’m staying away from you.” I stomp up the stairs, her laughter following after me as I go.

  I push my way inside the guest bedroom next to Rylee’s room, where I’m staying, and snag my bag off the floor. Dropping it on the bed, I pull out some lo
unge pants and a comfy tee before crossing the hallway to the bathroom.

  Minutes later, I’m standing under a stream of hot water. Rylee’s words continue to repeat in my head no matter how many times I try to shove them to the back.

  Attracted to Oliver?

  As if.

  I wouldn’t be attracted to that wretched man if he were the last male on Earth.

  Sure, he’s gorgeous. Not even I can deny that. But him being good looking and me being attracted to him are two vastly different things.

  Sure, maybe the first time I met him I was a little taken aback. I don’t know what I was expecting, but when I walked into that kitchen and laid eyes on him for the first time, it became clear that he wasn’t it.

  So, I guess if I’m being honest, maybe I was attracted to him for a millisecond. That is, until I’d remembered what he was doing to my best friend. Then he opened his mouth and sealed the deal. I’ve disliked him ever since.

  But again, if I’m being completely honest with myself, I know that’s not entirely true.

  I think about his eyes—the way they burn hot with anger when he looks at me. The way the muscles in his arms flex like he’s physically trying to restrain himself when I push him too far. I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t do something funny to my insides.

  I close my eyes and imagine him pressed against me. The tension between us exploding into something more than petty arguing. I picture his lips on my neck. His hands restraining me. It makes me sick to even think about, but I can’t help it.

  My hand travels south, and even though I feel disgusted by the thought, I whimper when my fingers glide against my wet core.

  I’m wound so tight, my muscles ache against the tension in my body. I need a release. Something to take my mind off of everything. Something to make me feel good.

  It’s been months since I’ve been with someone. Months since I’ve had someone’s hands on my body. Months since I’ve felt the sweet weight of another body on top of me. And I need it. God, do I need it. I feel like a starved animal in the woods searching for scraps—for something to curb the hunger I feel inside.