Absinthe Of The Heart (Sins Of The Heart Book 1)

by Monica James

  What the fuck am I doing?

  I’ve just encroached on a private moment, and I suddenly feel sick.

  I pull away, almost giving myself whiplash. I take three deep breaths before I turn and take off in a dead sprint. What I just witnessed sobered me right up, and now that I’m semi-coherent, I’m mortified at what I just did.

  I push past drunken couples, the walls suddenly closing in on me. I need to get out of here, and I need to get out of here now. I vaguely hear Lincoln call my name, but I don’t stop, afraid he’ll know what I did if I do.

  The foyer is filled with masses of people blocking my exit. Each second trapped inside this prison is tipping me over the edge. Turning on my heel, I make a mad dash for the alfresco doors. I bypass classmates, too riled up to apologize for breaking up their make-out sessions or interrupting their D and M’s.

  The moment the crisp air hits my heated cheeks, a moment of clarity collides with me—I need to get the fuck away from here.

  I have no idea where I’m going, but I continue running, the soft grass cushioning my heavy footsteps as I race toward the hills. I’ve completely blown whatever progress I’ve made with the “cool kids” but I couldn’t care less. If being one of them transforms me into a perverted slime bag, then I’ll take solidarity any day.

  The darkened night passes me by in a blur. The farther I run, the more I escape my demons and what I just did.

  How am I supposed to face Belle? I’ll never be able to look at her the same way again. Not to mention the fact Sin caught me watching him…and he knows I liked what I saw.

  The muscles in my legs protest as the incline of the terrain gets steeper and steeper, but the pain is my new best friend. I persevere, almost slipping down the rocky field many times, but I eventually manage to get to the top. The landscape is flatter, but as I peer out over the edge, I take two steps back. I can see why they call it Los Feliz Hills.

  Taking a moment to catch my breath, I stand beneath a towering sycamore tree and get lost in the world in front of me. The twinkling of lights over the horizon has me wondering if the millions of faceless people out there feel as vulnerable as I do.

  Images of what I witnessed slash across my vision, the excitement of seeing Sin that way thrumming through my body.

  Tonight was a night of many firsts. I got ridiculously drunk, I somehow managed to be a part of the “beautiful people” for five minutes, but the icing on the cake was that I saw Sin’s…dick.

  Wow. Dick and Sin are two words I never thought I’d use in the same sentence unless it was attached to head or wad. But what I’m more surprised about is the fact I had multiple chances to turn and look away…but I didn’t.

  I lower my face into my palms and wish I could hide away forever.

  “You shouldn’t be up here. You could hurt yourself.”

  That deep voice sends a sharp shiver through me, and I hate myself for it.

  With that as my driving force, I put on my big girl panties and stop hiding in the dark. “Why do you care?” I cry, uncovering my face with force.

  He’s standing a few feet away, the high moon illuminating his good looks and this inappropriate attraction I feel for him.

  “I don’t,” he replies with an unruffled shrug, his hands dug deep into his pockets.

  Those words are my tipping point, and I explode. Marching over, I don’t care that I’ll probably fall to my death, but I shove at his chest with both hands. “Fuck you! I hate you!” I scream, shoving at him over and over again.

  He stands rigid, his face unmoving, and his apathy enrages me even more. “You’re a selfish asshole, and I was a fucking idiot to think you cared!” My tiny fists pound against him, hating him, but hating myself more for getting this worked up. I don’t even know why I’m so mad.

  Tears leak from my eyes, but they’re tears filled with anger and betrayal. “Stop it, you’re hurting yourself,” he demands, but fuck him, he doesn’t have the right to tell me what to do.

  “No!” I bellow. As I attempt to strike him again, his hands snap around my wrists. His hold is punishing, but it only stokes my inner banshee. “Let me go!”

  I fight with him, but it’s fruitless. He’s entertained me long enough. “Why are you so angry?”

  We move in a deadlock, as he’s not releasing me an inch. “You really need to ask me that?” I scoff, glaring at him something wicked.

  His puckered lips lift into that cocky smirk, and the sight is my undoing. I let years of anger and confusion burst out of me, uncaring that it’ll cross this imaginary line of hatred we’ve drawn over the years. “I’m angry with you because you’re a self-centered, egotistical asshole who has made my life hell! You’ve picked on me and called me names; you’ve gone out of your way to torment me, and after a while, I got used to it. I got used to hating you with every inch of my being. But then…” I take a deep breath, the truth bubbling so close to the surface, I’m afraid it’ll burn me if I don’t force it out. “But then you go and do some fucked-up thing and act all chivalrous…”

  The star-filled sky sets his blue irises on fire. He watches me closely, his jaw tight. “And…” he coaxes, the tightening of his fingers around my wrist is akin to manacles clenching around my heart.

  “And then I write, figuring I owe you a thank you, but then that thank you doesn’t seem like enough, and before I know it, I can’t stop writing you because I fucking missed you!”

  It’s out before I can stop myself. Those vile, indecent words are my vulnerability handed to him on a silver platter. I’m a mixed bag of emotions. I would rather cut out my tongue than continue, but I’m suddenly possessed and I can’t stop.

  “How fucked up is that? I miss the person I hate the most in this world. What the hell is the matter with me?”

  “You don’t hate me,” he states, his voice low, heavy with unspoken words.

  “Yes, I do!” I rebuke, shaking my head angrily. “I hate you, but I hate myself more. I hate that after everything you’ve done to me, I can’t stop thinking about you! I hate that I care what you’re thinking.” I need to stop—now. But I can’t.

  Beneath the stars and the moon and the sky, I will bare my soul to this boy because I’m afraid it’ll eat me up inside. With tears streaming down my face, I sob, “And I hate that my best friend was down on her knees before you because I wanted it to be me!”

  I don’t have time to process what I just said because Sin is on me before I can move. I’m engulfed in his scent, his pull, and nothing has ever felt more aligned than it does right now. His warm lips smash brutally against mine, robbing me of breath and sound. I want to fight him, but I can’t. My traitorous, needy lips have had their first taste, and every part of me is hooked.

  I don’t move a muscle, too afraid of what’ll happen if I do. His mouth is pressed against mine, his hot breath sparring with my winded exhalations. My eyes are wide open, searching his poignant baby blues. I’m desperate for him to tell me what he’s doing…I’m desperate for him to make the first move because I’m too afraid if I start, I’ll never stop.

  “Princess, nothing happened with Belle,” he whispers against my lips. I can’t hide my surprise.

  “But I saw…” Although I’ve just given myself away, I don’t care. I need him to soothe this heartache I feel.

  “If you stuck around, you would have seen me tuck myself back into my shorts and offer Belle a ride home. I don’t…I don’t want her.”

  We are toeing a very dangerous line.

  “Then who do you want?” I whisper, my lips still pressed to his.

  But no further words are spoken because he finally closes the distance between us and shatters the past sixteen years of my life.

  He kisses me with such ferocity, I stagger back a step, but one hand wraps around my middle while the other presses gently to my cheek. Our mouths work in sync, tasting and teasing for the very first time. His lips are smooth, sinful, and utterly addictive. He angles my head, moaning into my mouth when I surr
ender, avid to be his.

  His large hand cups my face, his fingertips circling my blistering skin while he slips in his tongue. I gasp, the feel of him stroking me so intimately strikes a delicious resonance between my legs. The flick of his tongue has me imagining he’s working that magic somewhere else, and I’m instantly turned on. The heavy press of his scruff abrades my skin, but it’s a sweet tingle of pleasure and pain.

  He hums when I match him stroke for stroke, standing on tippy-toes to engulf him whole. His fingers squeeze my waist, but I suddenly wish nothing was between us. I want to feel every part of him imprinted on my body, and when something deliciously hard strikes me in just the right way, I latch onto the longer wisps of his hair and pull.

  We’re frantic, tearing and pawing at each other, our mouths never missing a beat. This kiss is frenzied and messy, but it’s everything I’ve been craving. He bites my bottom lip before sucking it into the warm cavern of his mouth.

  Every part of me is crackling, and kissing is suddenly not enough. The hard-on pressing into me displays just the same. I tug at his soft hair and fist his tank, kissing him like I’m ready to devour him whole.

  He seems to like my aggression, which really is no surprise considering who…he…is.

  I get doused with a bucket of icy cold wake the fuck up! What the hell am I doing? I’m kissing London Sinclair, and I like it—a lot—which is funny, considering I hate, or should hate, his guts.

  I pull away with such force I stagger backward, gasping for breath. It takes me three seconds to realize what I’ve done—what I can never undo.

  Sin appears just as stunned as I am, his chest rising and falling with a staggered tempo. His lips are plump, his hair wild, but most of all, his eyes are eating me where I stand.

  “Oh my god. What have I done?” I scrub frantically at my lips, hoping to wipe away the sins of my past, but nothing will ever rid me of his taste because like a junkie, I need another fix.

  “That will never happen again!” I exclaim more to myself than him as I rub the back of my hand over my lips hysterically.

  He’s standing still, that perfect poker face in play. I want him to corroborate my story, confirm we had a lapse in sanity because what happened was pure madness. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything at all.

  “Stay away from me.”

  “Princess…” He takes a step forward, but I use my arm as a barricade to keep him away.

  “No, don’t. That was a mistake.” The waning moon dips low, masking my lies. But I can’t do this with him. What kind of self-respect would I have for myself if I allowed that to happen again? He’s been my abuser, my tormentor, not to mention his mom is a downright bitch who takes great pleasure in seeing my family hurt. But most importantly, my best friend was just on her knees before him. Even though he said nothing happened, this still needs to stop.

  Nothing about this equation will add up…the only thing this equates to is tears.

  “Say that, and you can’t take it back.” He’s seething, but underneath that, I can sense he’s wounded. I’ve never seen him vulnerable before, and my heart aches and flutters at the same time.

  Pulling back my shoulders, I stand tall. I don’t allow that to cloud my judgment. Sin and I are fighters, not lovers. And nothing will ever change that. Nothing. “I don’t want to take it back. I never will. You’re a mistake.” The lie lodges deeply in my throat, but I shake my head. I need to get out of here.

  “I never took you for a liar, Princess. That was what I liked most about you. But now, there’s nothing left to like.” He folds his arms, his face blank.

  Tears instantly sting my eyes, his admission cutting me deep. But it’s what I should want. It’s the only way to rid myself of this addiction. “Good. For once, we see eye to eye. Goodbye, London.”

  We’re locked in a stalemate, and a small part of me hopes this isn’t really the end. But that small part gets crushed, absolutely obliterated when his mask slips into place and London is gone for good.

  I’ve never liked goodbyes. I especially don’t like goodbyes that change your life forever.

  “Goodbye, Holland.”

  2006

  “Sweetie, are you sure you don’t want to go to prom?”

  Even the word is stupid.

  Peering up from my Law 101 textbook, I shake my head. “Yes, Mom, I’m sure. It’s a stupid rite of passage for girls to get drunk and make excuses for forgetting their virtues and underwear.” My dad splutters up his coffee.

  I smile, going back to my study, which makes sense. Me going to prom—that doesn’t.

  I know why she’s so insistent that I go. She never went to hers, thanks to me. But not once has she ever made me feel guilty for that fact. She just doesn’t want me missing out, but I’d rather chop off an arm than go.

  I’m three weeks away from turning eighteen. Most girls would be planning their big day, but I’m planning on staying in my pj’s and watching Dexter all day. Lincoln has insisted we go out, but he knows how I feel about…people. Well, two people in particular.

  Who would have thought my best friend and my best enemy would hook up and live happily ever after? That’s a slight exaggeration, but after “the incident” between Sin and I, he’s gone out of his way to torture me in unfathomable ways—he pretends I don’t exist.

  I would give anything for a spark of acknowledgment, a “Hey, Princess, out of your training bra already?” but I get nada. He walks by me like I’m a shadow, one he can’t see. And to make matters worse, he’s now “dating” Belle.

  I use the term lightly because someone like Sin doesn’t date, but Belle is living in denial, thinking she’s the woman to change someone who is set to be an asshole forever.

  We’re still best friends, but things have changed between us. I hate myself for kissing the guy she’s been crushing on, and it’s kind of hard double dating, seeing as Lincoln hates Sin, and Sin hates everyone. Belle has suggested we try to be civil, as she and Lincoln are two peas in a pod, but unless there are several continents between us, that’s not happening in this millennium.

  So I sit in silence, suffering, hoping that one day he remembers my name.

  “You’ll be late for school,” Mom says, passing me an apple, which looks like a pea in comparison to the massive brown paper bag she slides along the kitchen counter.

  Peering down at the arsenal, I arch a brow and poke at it with my finger. It doesn’t budge an inch. “How much is in there?”

  She wrings her hands nervously; it’s a discussion we’ve had before. “Honey, you’re so skinny.”

  “I’ll eat after exams.” But truth be told, everything has lost its taste since that night.

  I don’t like to separate my life into BS and AS—before Sin, after Sin—but that’s how I feel. I’ve lost a sense of who I was. Who I’ve been for the past seventeen years, and I hate it. I hate that I need him to remember who I was. To remember what it felt like to be alive.

  Pushing away such depressing thoughts, I humor her and snap the apple from the counter, taking a bite.

  What will I do without her when I go to Stanford? The thought, while sad, is also so exciting in the same breath. I got accepted into my dream school and on a scholarship, too.

  I’ll be out of here in three months’ time, and although I will miss my parents like crazy, I need to spread my wings and fly. Lincoln is certain he’ll get into Berkeley, which means he won’t be too far away from me.

  Lincoln and I are sort of dating. It’s still so hard to wrap my head around it. I will never be one of the “mean girls,” which suits me just fine, but I’m merely tolerated now, as opposed to being treated like a social pariah. It sucks that to get to this kind of “status,” I had to date a jock. The rules of high school have always remained a mystery to me, and I’ll be happy to say goodbye.

  Goodbye.

  That word is still a sore point for me. In fact, I’ve become part French and opted for au revoir nowadays as that word does not exist i
n my vocabulary any longer.

  Thoughts threatening to tip to the dark side, I gulp down my juice and reach for my lunch. “I’ll see you guys later. Have a good day.”

  Mom kisses me on the head, still treating me like a child. “You too. If you change your mind about prom…” I hold up my hands in protest, but she pushes a fifty into them in response. “Then here. If you don’t, get yourself something nice to wear anyway.”

  “Mom, I don’t need this.” I attempt to give it back, but it’s a losing battle. Belle’s horn sounds from outside, hinting we’re late.

  She would usually come inside and have coffee with my folks, but today, we’re not late for class; we’re late for Belle’s regimented schedule to get her organized for prom.

  “We’ll discuss this later.” My parents laugh lightly as I put the fifty in my back pocket and run out the door.

  Belle’s Mercedes idles near the curb, her petite frame barely visible over the steering wheel. Her huge sunglasses eat up her heart-shaped face, but her red pout could take out an eye. I run across the front lawn and open the door, about to make a smartass remark about prom, but when I see her pale skin and that she’s in sweats, instead of sequins, I know something is wrong.

  “Are you okay? You look like shit.” I place my hand on the doorframe and peer inside, not game to enter without a bubble suit and a spray can of Lysol.

  She chuckles, but it gets stuck in her throat. Clearing it, she shakes her head. “Gee, some best friend you are. You’re supposed to tell me how beautiful I look and that I’m hours away from being prom queen.”

  I move my lips from side to side, holding back my smirk. “The fact you’re wearing two different colored shoes would probably contradict that claim.”

  Belle shrieks, her head snapping down to look at her pink Chuck versus her yellow Nike. Groaning, she runs a hand over her face, drawing down her lips. “Oh my god. Today can go to hell.”

  Jumping in the car, I turn in my seat to look at her. “What’s the matter?”