by Sinden West
Hate Sex
by
Sinden West
Copyright@ 2016 Sinden West
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher except
for the use of brief quotations in a book review
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Chapter One
My eyes are ancient.
They stare back at me from the small compact mirror, a gift from Stefan, and they know everything that I’ve done and all that I am.
I snap it shut abruptly. The metal is rough under my hand, decorated with dark gems and silver detail. It’s expensive, and when my step-father gave it to me last night, I thought about throwing it away. I didn’t though. As I lay in my bed, my body hurting and mind in turmoil, I stared at myself in that mirror and found out that it is the only reflective surface that appears to show the real me; the one that no one else ever sees…except Stefan perhaps.
I drop it carelessly in my bag and direct my gaze over to the bleachers and the boy lying on them, his body stretched out like a seal sunning himself. If he is the seal, then I am the shark. I run my tongue along my teeth and wish that they were sharper. He’s alone, which is perfect. The time is now.
I walk over to him, slowly and stealthy as I climb up to where he lies with his eyes closed, at peace.
He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s going to help me escape.
Liam Caster is my target.
I’m on track to getting a scholarship that will take me away from here, from Stefan; the only thing standing in my way is French. In every other way, I am externally perfect; my grades, my looks, my popularity.
But French class is going to fuck it all up for me if I’m not careful. The guy who used to help me cheat — poor, Simple Simon, overdosed and his parents sent him away to some rehab place disguised as a boarding school.
Simon was an idiot. I put up with him drooling all over me, using his disgusting crush to get him to do most of my assignments, and then the loser had to go and screw it all up for me. I frown at the memory. I never let him touch me, of course, and it certainly wasn’t my fault that he took too many pills. He should have known that I was out of his league.
I stand over Liam, blocking his sun.
His eyes crack open.
In all this time that I have shared classes with Liam, we have never spoken. His crowd is very different to mine. He’s a stoner, tattooed and defiant. It’s only through careful observation that I realized that he’s one of the brightest students in our year.
Liam Caster made his name at our school as a freshman when he very publicly kicked the ass of some popular, football playing senior. A few of that senior’s friends tried to take him on after that, but he kicked their asses too. So he instantly got that cool status without even trying. He doesn’t hang out with the more popular people, who happen to be my group of friends. He hangs out with the emo looking people who smoke lots of drugs and play in bands and just don’t give a fuck about school spirit. He’s also really good looking with black shaggy hair, tattoos, eyebrow piercing, and this wonderfully sculpted bone structure. Girls want to screw him, and they frequently do but no one ever gets to be his girlfriend. He has a bit of a reputation as a heartbreaker. He’s also scarily smart, like close to top of the class smart. But he doesn’t even seem to try.
Asshole.
That cleverness, aligned with the criminality that he has a reputation for, is why I have set my sights on him. I ran through everyone in my French class, but no one else is suitable. Plus, he looks poor so he could probably do with the money. I never had to pay Simple Simon of course. His infatuation was enough that he would do whatever I wanted, no questions asked.
“What do you want?” Liam sits up, looking disgruntled.
He’s so rude that I decide to drop the fake niceness that I have carefully cultivated as part of this Michaela Matthews person that I have become, and get straight to the point.
“I need you to help me in French, otherwise I’ll fail.”
He watches me for a moment, his eyes revealing nothing.
“To tutor you or to help you cheat?” He sure isn’t stupid.
I take a breath. “Both. Do my assignments but tutor me for the oral exam.”
He's silent.
“I can pay you,” I continue, making sure to keep the desperation out of my voice. “How about—”
“I don’t need your money. That doesn’t work for me.” His voice is harsh, and I nearly take a step back.
Really?
I swallow and look down at my hands. “Are you sure? I really need this.” Somehow a begging tone has entered my voice without my permission and it adds to the disgust that I feel.
My head is getting crowded again, just like whenever I try to sit down and learn French. There are too many voices swirling around saying things I don’t like. Sometimes they are Stefan’s voice and sometimes they belong to others. They make it hard to think, hard to stand, and hard to breathe. I scrunch my hands into fists and remember last night. I have to close my eyes tightly to come back to myself and remember that I am here, speaking to a boy who dislikes me, and I am not there.
He’s talking, and I open my eyes.
“You seem desperate.” He says it like it’s amusing, and a vision flashes through my mind about clubbing a seal to death as it bathes in the sunshine.
I stay quiet. I should be walking away right now as a familiar uneasiness sneaks up my spine. Suddenly he is no longer the prey. We have switched places as he eyes me with those astute, sharp eyes.
“What the hell do you want?” I say in low voice. Michaela Matthews has dropped away, and the girl beneath all that, the one with the crowded head and little hope comes through.
“I got an idea.” He doesn’t look me in the eye now, and he sounds bored. I hate the way he has of making it sound like I’m nothing more than an annoying, unimportant gnat.
“And what would that be?”
It’s then that he meets my eyes, and I want to slap him.
“The deal is,” he pauses; I don’t know if it’s for effect or what, but all he’s doing is making me angry. “I’ll do each of your assignments. You’ll get a B for the first one, then an A on each of the following to make it to look authentic. I’ll also tutor you legitimately for the oral exam.”
“And what do you get?”
There’s a smirk now. I still my hand so it won’t act of its own accord to slap him. He leans in close so he’s right by my ear. “I get to fuck you once a week until the end of the school year.”
The roar is back, screaming like a thousand dead souls trapped in me and trying to get away. Some insane part of me is laughing.
Men.
They are all the same.
They are alike in their depravity.
Except beautiful Lucas perhaps, of the sky blue eyes, but there is no time to think of him now. He does not belong in this ugly world.
This Liam Caster has no goddamn idea who he is dealing with.
I know his game. He thinks I’m some virgin princess, just like the rest of the school, because I never have boyfriends and rarely go to parties.
He’s testing me; saying this to make me uncomfortable. He has no fucking idea what discomfort is!
I am still as clarity comes and the voices cease. An ice cold chill goes down my spine, freezing me in place. I don’t think that I’m even breathing. I think finally I’ve morphed into that living dead girl that I’ve known I’ve been for the last four years. There is no surprise in me.
None.
Boys, men, males, pigs, whatever you want to call them. They really are all the same. Stefan must be right; I really do have the air of a whore about me. What’s one more monster taking this body? He’s just a teenage boy; he probably hasn’t had a chance to be as inventive in his cruelty as some.
I know I’ve been silent for a while now, and he’s looking at me with curiosity, awaiting my reaction. I try to act like a normal girl. What would a normal girl say?
“Why? Why me?”
He shrugs and looks away like he’s bored.
“Opportunity. You’re not special if that’s what your ego’s thinking. I haven’t been lusting after you from afar or anything like that. Hell, I don’t even like you that much. I just need someone to screw on a regular basis without all that emotional crap you teenage girls have to involve in everything. It’s just pure … carnality.”
“Hate sex. Perfect.” I study my manicure, but really I’m checking to see if my hands are shaking like a normal girl’s would be. They’re not of course. They are still as if I’m tough like rock, but I’m not, I’m melting like ice in that sunshine.
He laughs at that. “Hate sex. I like it.”
I swallow. “I need the first assignment before anything else.”
He shakes his head. “No way. I do that and you’ll get all girly and scared and back out on me. My effort would have been for nothing. First assignment is due in three weeks – that means I get three times with you first.”
The nerve of this guy!
“How can I trust you?” I sneer.
He laughs and it’s a real laugh. This is all so very amusing. “You can trust me more than I can trust you. Look at the snakes you hang out with. There’s not a real person amongst the lot of them. They’re all superficial and fake just like you.”
There is nothing compelling or persuasive about the argument he’s just made. But I have a goal that needs to be reached and I will do anything to get it. Besides, I’ll keep the money I’ve asked Stefan for to pay a tutor and add it to my escape fund.
I grab his phone that he’s been playing with out of his hand and type my number into it. “Condoms are non-negotiable.”
“I’m not stupid.” He snorts as he takes back his phone and texts my phone so I’ll have his.
“No blowjobs and no anal.” My voice sounds very efficient, as if I’m negotiating something other than my body and dignity.
He looks up from his phone in surprise, and I feel a small, empty triumph. Finally I got the prick to show some kind of real emotion. He gives a slight nod and opens his mouth to say something but his phone vibrates and his eyes dart to it.
“I gotta go.” He stands up, putting his phone in his pocket. “I’ll text you to make a time.”
“Okay,” and then as he starts to walk away, I call after him, “Oh, and Liam, you’ve got no right to call my friends snakes because that’s exactly what you are.” He just keeps walking and doesn’t even acknowledge that I’ve spoken. Two friends of his come over to greet him. The girl has her head shaved up the side, and I self-consciously touch my own hair that sits Mary-Jane style down my back. Stefan likes it long. The guy is similar to Liam in a metal-t-shirt and baggy jeans, except his dark hair has streaks of violent red through it.
“What are you doing with that stuck up bitch?” I hear the guy say. I don’t hear Liam’s reply.
Chapter Two
I come home to a cold house which is empty except for my mother who is passed out on the couch. Her dark hair is fanned over the white leather. She is so still that for a moment I think she’s dead. Her skin is flawless and pale, her lips just a shade darker. Nothing takes away from her beauty, even death.
But then she moves ever so slightly, and a weird feeling courses through me. Disappointment?
I push down that feeling and pick up a cotton throw that has fallen to the floor.
“I’ll get us out of here, Mom,” I whisper as I cover her sleeping form.
It’s a superficial action. I don’t bother to tuck it around her. My words are too kind; they’re fake just like me. For a moment, I rethink my plan, but then I shake my head, knocking away all thoughts about how fragile my plan is and all the many, many flaws. The world where it is just she and I could be reality
I turn away as she stirs. I have no desire to see that dead look in her eyes. I can’t even stand to see it in mine.
Instead, I make my way up to my bedroom. The staircase is huge and curves elegantly. I take the stairs two at a time, my feet silent on the soft white carpet. My bedroom is mostly white as well, but where most of the house is minimalist, high gloss and hard, this room is feminine. I don’t really like it. There are too many pillows on the bed, the pictures on the walls are flower watercolors, too pale but very, very expensive.
Kicking the door shut behind me, I head straight for my diary’s hiding place.
It’s the same type of notebook that I use for all my school work and I’ve written French on the cover as extra camouflage. It’s not your normal type of diary, not the type that I would write in about my hopeless crush on Lucas Arvans and how beautiful his blue eyes are and how he smiled at me today. No, that sort of thing is saved for discussion with my best friend, Mags. This diary is only for awful things. This is the book of bad things. I’ve been keeping it for the last four years and I’ve never once looked over the past entries again. Once I’ve described events in detail on the crisp white paper, then that is where they stay. If I don’t write them down in this book then they stay in my head and that’s not healthy. My head becomes too crowded to think. If I don’t write them down then I can’t function like a normal person. This diary is my lifeline.
The only page I look at more than once is the very last page. It’s a list of names. Sometimes I don’t have their names, just descriptions but I enter them in anyway. I grab a pen and prepare to mark the page with Liam’s name, but then I stop.
Does he really deserve to be on my list? He hasn’t done anything yet. And technically he is helping me.
Yes, he’s a complete pig, but this is one situation that I will be in charge of.
I close the diary instead, taking great care to ensure that my eyes don’t catch sight of any of the other words that have been written on the other pages. Then I hide it and pretend it doesn’t exist.
I flick though my French assignment questions and sigh. No internet translator is going to help with this. I really do need Liam’s help. I sigh and close my eyes as I lay on the bed. If I get a scholarship, then I’ll be out from under Stefan’s thumb. I’ll take Mom and get an apartment near the school. The full scholarship will pay for school and some living expenses. I’ll get a job and Mom will get sober without the poison that is Stefan infiltrating her brain. We’ll be happy and—
“Michaela.”
I open my eyes slowly to see him standing in the doorway. He’s still dressed in his work clothes—a crisp white shirt, carefully pressed pants, a gold watch.
He is money and success, good looks and charm.
He grins at me.
“Tired?”
I sit up and pull my knees to my chest. “A little. I was just doing my homework.”
“Don’t overdo it, sweetheart. I’ll get dinner started.” He winks at me as he walks away, whistling happily.
I make a face at his back and then begin to work on other homework, but all I manage to do is write the word Hate, Hate, Hate over and over again until my page is covered in ugly black ink and there is no room for anything else.
He’s in a cheery mood today, whistling as he arranges the salad perfectly on
the large, white china plates that he had imported specially. Only the best for Stefan.
Cherry tomatoes, parmesan, nestled artfully in beds of crisp lettuce. His fingers are slim and graceful, as if he were born to be an artist.
I note there are only two plates, and he lets me know that Mom isn’t feeling well and has gone to bed. The reason for his good mood is that he’s taken on a major new client. Stefan is a financial planner and a good one going by the look of our house and cars. He asks me to set the table and as I reach past him to the cutlery drawer he gives me a kiss on the shoulder. I hate it when he acts like this, like I’m his girlfriend instead of his stepdaughter. But I also hate it when he acts like a sadistic creep, so I suppose there’s no winning.
I force myself to eat my salad, avoiding the steak that is too pink and rare for me. When he asks about school I decide now is the time to ask about money.
“I think I’m going to need someone to tutor me in French, now that Simon’s gone, is that okay?” His eyes light up at the mention of Simon’s absence. He never did like me hanging out with him. He was secretly obsessed with the idea that I might be sleeping with him. I denied it of course. But I’ve never given him the satisfaction of telling him that I’ve never even kissed a boy my own age. No one would ever really want me once they found out the truth about the things I’ve done anyway. So I try not to encourage any boys, not even Lucas who I dream about and who Mags is convinced likes me.
Just imagine if Stefan found out about Liam. I shudder involuntarily at the thought, but then another feeling creeps in. It would be like a big fuck you to Stefan. I bite down on a cherry tomato, feeling it squish satisfyingly between my teeth as the flesh seeps into my mouth.
“Of course,” Stefan says. “I’ll put some extra money in your account.” He chews a mouthful before saying, “You know, I’m glad that Simon boy is gone. I think he was a bad influence on you.”
“He was good at French,” I say, then his cell phone vibrates with an important call and he goes into his study so I’m thankfully left alone to finish my dinner in peace. My own cell phone sounds then, indicating a text, and Liam’s name appears on the screen.