A heavy sigh rolls out of my mouth, “I don’t care what Olivia told you. Callum, you no longer have a decision in what I do or say.”
“I don’t believe you. I think you are being a bloody stubborn girl. You are so afraid of getting the life you not only want, but deserve…”
“I’m not afraid. You are what I want, but I can’t have you. You know that I’m right. Your mother laid it all out for me. I am trying to save you from public humiliation and disgrace.”
He sits straight up, erect, as his body pulses with an irritating substance, causing his muscles to quiver, “Screw the bloody society! It is my life.”
“And your family’s life.”
“Then to hell with my family, too,” he spits out.
“Callum stop, I am done. I have moved on and so should you,” I stutter, pushing the lump in my throat down. The palms of my hands are beginning to sweat as my lies start to reveal their ugly head.
“You haven’t moved on any more than I have, I can tell.” Leaning in he begins examining my body with a voracious look consuming his face, “Your pupils dilate slightly whenever I am close to you.”
“Stop, Callum,” I breathlessly add in an unconvincing tone.
His fingertips lightly trace my thighs, causing my heart to palpitate, “Your heart rate still increases when I tenderly touch you…” He slides his chair closer to mine, allowing him to now fully overpower me. Both of his hands firmly grasp onto my upper thighs, digging his thumbs into my sensitive inner thighs. His need pulsates within his trembling hands. Deliberately his hands begin gradually sweeping into the inner portion of my thighs, causing my breathing to increase into a nearly hyperventilating state. Resting his warm, smooth cheek against mine he causes his hot, sweet breath to pour down my neck, “Your breathing quickens to an almost dangerous level…” I can feel the corner of his mouth pull up slightly, forming a luscious smile against my cheek. “The best part is how my breath…” he exhales softly onto my skin, “…causes your skin to break out into goose flesh.” A hypnotic state washes down my body as a joyous tingling sensation ripples throughout my body. Melting into my chair, I am slowly becoming a puddle of boiling flesh within his grasp.
He is winning this battle as I close my eyes in pure joy, forgetting where I am until a booming voice knocks me out of my trance, “Mr. Hughes, I am assuming that your close proximity to Miss Hayes is to do with the assignment, correct?”
My eyes instantly snap open like a stretched coil ricocheting back to its primary position, immediately recalling my original will.
Callum slightly turns towards Mr. Bramble, keeping his hands firmly gripped onto my thighs. “Yes, in fact it does have to do with the lesson. Thank you, Mr. Bramble.”
Pulling my cheek free from his allows the cold air to invade the section of my face where our cheeks seemed to be melting together. The cool air quickly extinguishes my smoldering skin as it screams in a tingling sensation, wanting his warmth to once again reside there. Reluctantly leaning back in my chair I peer into his face, grabbing hold of my internal strength I state flatly, “I have moved on. I have a date this Friday.” Placing my hands firmly on top of his, I begin prying his hands off of my thighs.
His hands aggressively spin around, capturing my wrist within his iron clasp. His long fingers easily envelop my wrists within a heated prison. Surging warmth pulses against my wrists as if his hands have their own heartbeat. Firmly pressing my hands on top of my thighs, he hunches his torso over my lap, resting his head just inches away from my face. I can feel his quick breath rushing out of him, sending a warm sensation to roll over my hands, flowing gently onto my thighs. His breath slowly comes to a steady rhythm, causing the heat radiating out of his hands to subside.
Looking up into my face, his eyes lock onto mine, “You have a date?”
His caramel eyes sear deep into my soul, causing a rippling current to flow throughout my body. A sick sensation spins in my stomach, pushing up the thick bile, lodging itself firmly in my throat. Fighting back my instinct to kiss him, I utter hoarsely, “Yes.”
“Is it by chance that bloody wanker Conner Fairfield you were talking to?” his voice is thick with an incredulous tone.
“It is none of your business who it is. You have Emily now,” my razor tongue slices through him.
Squeezing my wrists even tighter he snaps, “I am not, nor will I ever be with Emily, you bloody, stubborn, daft girl.”
“I am not daft. I saw Emily put her arm around you the other day, besides you have every right to be with her. She is your future wife and we are not together.”
“You are bloody driving me barmy. How many times do I have to tell you? I am not with Emily. And she is not, nor will she ever be my future wife. Of course she put her arm around me, she saw me looking at you. She will do anything to keep you away from me. Look at the bloody situation she put you in with Gavin.”
A shiver runs up my spine as I recall my terrifying experience in the Hellfire Cave with Gavin. If it wasn’t for Callum things would have turned out much worse. I am amazed I can still sit in the same classroom with Gavin after what he attempted to do to me. But because of Callum’s threat he has tried to avoid me, fearing Callum’s retribution.
“Okay fine, you are not with Emily, but it still doesn’t change the fact that you cannot be with me.” Trying to pull my wrists free, he clenches tighter onto them, still holding me prisoner. Relinquishing my attempts to break free, I add dolorously, “I am still going on my date and I am still leaving.”
Leaning further away from me but still gripping onto my wrists he utters with fastidious care, “I don’t trust Conner. You don’t know him like I do.”
“How do you know him?” I question disbelievingly.
“He’s a ponce. He likes to find out who the minted students are then try to weasel his way into their wallets. He is a greedy, conniving bastard and you are not going out with him.”
“Yes, I am. You are not my father. I can take care of myself. Besides, I don’t have any money he can weasel out of me,” I firmly state.
Peering deep into my eyes he adds cautiously, “What about the inheritance you were left after Andrew died?”
My eyes widen, completely taken back, “How do you know about that?” My voice is quiet as I stammer out the question.
“My mum, you told her how you are able to pay for Miss McNally. Besides, I knew you had to have some money in order to go to school here and not have to work. I don’t want Conner getting hold of any of it. It is Andrew’s final gift to you and Noah.”
I exhale sharply, shaking my head in frustration. The class, which was previously buzzing with scholastic discussions, is now beginning to dissipate, revealing it is the end of our class. Several students turn in our direction, attempting to eavesdrop on our conversation. Callum’s eyes remain fixed on me, undeterred by their prying ears.
“Callum, will you please let go of me. My wrists are beginning to hurt.”
He stares at me suspiciously but gradually obliges with my request. His hands peel from my wrists like an orange rind freely pulling away from the soft fleshy center. My wrists are slightly red and moist from the heat of his hands causing warm sweat to develop between our skins. Slowly I begin rubbing my wrists with my hands, wiping away the perspiration and reinvigorating my skin.
“Thank you for your concern, but I am going on the date.” Gathering my things I proceed to get up and leave.
This time he softly grabs hold of my hand, tenderly stopping me from leaving. “Breanna, will you at least tell me where he is taking you?” his voice pleads with an underlying concern. His eyes remain fixed straight ahead, not meeting my gaze.
Letting out a sigh of defeat as my body deflates to his will, I utter reluctantly, “Fine, I am meeting him at a place called ‘The Black Boar.’ I hope you are happy now.”
Gradually I walk away from him when suddenly I hear him respond. “I am,” his voice is bright, full of resolution. A hidden plan vibrates off of
each word, leaving me with a surprising sense of relief in telling him where I am meeting Conner.
You Don’t Drink
The cab stops outside of a wide, brick lined, pedestrians only alley, with several different entrances leading into small pubs and inns lining the inside of the alleyway. I stare skeptically down the long, thin alley, not quite sure as to where the pub is. The cab driver points down the center of the backstreet, stating in a thick gutter accent, “Oi’ the Black Boar down th’ road o’bit.”
Staring down the dark alley causes my stomach to twist and turn viciously. The only lights down the road are dimly lit electric lanterns positioned next to the main entrances of the establishments. One lone, large gas lantern hangs above the entrance to the alleyway with a rustic worn-down sign reading ‘Historic Pubs’ placed just below the lantern. A few groups of young adults stammer out in a state of disequilibrium, laughing and carrying on in a robust manner. Rolling the cab’s window down, a strong aroma of bitter, dark ale laced with an unnatural earthy scent pulsates through the window, stinging my nose. Though I am vastly familiar with the strong stench of alcohol, this smell has a heavy, darker, almost rancid meat smell mingled with malt to it. The strong aroma turns my stomach slightly, heightening my already queasy state.
Handing the cabbie his fair, I gingerly proceed down the dimly lit passage. The narrow brick road has hundreds of years’ worth of heavy use put on it, tainting the color from a deep brick red to an almost dirty grey. There are several pubs flanking the sides of the road such as: The Rabbit, The Blue Ox, and a tiny one tucked in the corner called The Lion’s Mane. It seems that each pub invokes the name of a wild or type of hunted animal. Decent-sized painted wood signs hang crosswise out from the brick walls near the pubs’ entrances.
Though the night is cool with a slight mist rolling over the buildings like water-falling down into the alley, the air oozing out from the pubs is thick with a dank, hot smell to it. Occasional belts of laughter intermingled with songs ring out of the different pubs. Tinkling noises of several pint glasses clanging into each other pierces out into the now narrow alley. The road narrows slightly the further in I go. I haven’t seen a sign for The Black Boar yet, causing a nervous shiver to roll up my spine.
This area of town is lit with a lower, more serious partying type of clientele than what I am used to here. These were my mom’s type of people when she was young and attractive. She would use her good looks and sex appeal to lure young men into offering her an assortment of alcoholic beverages. On some occasions, she would agree to let one of the men satisfy his needs on her. She has told me on more than one occasion that this is how I was conceived, not quite sure who my father was exactly. Knowing my whole life that I was a product of one of my mother’s many manipulative one night stands caused me to grow up with a feeling of disgust towards myself. I can’t help but look down this alley and feel like my mother, out on the prowl for alcohol and sex. Several guys standing outside of one of the pubs take in my tantalizing appearance. My form fitting jeans enhance my long, slim legs, balancing nicely with the curvy portion of my rear. The slim, cut button down, white shirt frames my trim yet hourglass figure perfectly. I let the top three buttons of my shirt hang open freely, exposing my heightened cleavage. My appearance seems to be luring several male gazes in my direction. An instant wave of anger mingled with satisfaction slowly consumes me, allowing me to embrace a dark side I always tried to run from. Relinquishing my internal fight to become something I know I can never achieve, I slowly concede to the inevitable. I never wanted to be my mother. But no matter how hard I have tried to push her life away I have naturally succumbed to it. I am a young, single mother, homeless, no family, and now walking into the gut of the beast – a bar. I am on a runaway train holding on for my dear life. A dark cloud envelops my heart as the sign for The Black Boar finally comes into view.
Inside the pub I am hit by a wall of thick, stale air mixed with smoke, and a concoction of fried food laced with the strong aroma of dark, heavy alcohol. Swarms of young people fill the small yet surprisingly cozy environment. Loud music pulses through the pub, vibrating within me, causing my heart to beat to the same rhythmic, yet energetic rhythm. A wave of contagious excitement presses through me, allowing my surrendering attitude to embrace this situation. The call towards the dark side is paved with cheers, fun, social acceptance and escape. But what will I have to give up in answering the dark side’s request?
Though the smell takes some getting used to, the surrounding environment is quite pleasant. The large, ancient, wood planked floor looks as if people have been enjoying this establishment for the past hundreds of years. The dark mustard colored walls add to the warmth. There is a large trophy plaque of a black boar’s head hanging on the wall above a roaring fireplace. A large fire burns within the mouth of the fireplace, heating up the already warm atmosphere. Crowds of people are standing around the open bar while others are positioned nicely in small alcoves. Burgundy velvet loveseats and brown leather club chairs are placed in groups around small tea tables, allowing people to visit while they eat and drink. As I look around the crowded room for Conner, I am sucked into a group of pissed young men. The alcoholic state they are in has completely melted away their inhibitions. One young man says some incoherent vulgar remark to me, while at the same time offering to buy me a drink. The smell of alcohol pours out of his mouth as if something has died in his stomach, forcing the rotting smell to push its way up out of his mouth. Reacting to the foul smell I lean away from him, trying to locate Conner. Suddenly I see him sitting on one of the burgundy velvet loveseats placed in front of the fireplace.
Pushing my way out of the over-aggressive group of young men, I briskly head over to Conner, noticing that he has already taken the liberties of ordering the both of us a dark pint of beer. Walking up to him I utter loudly, trying to talk over all the noise, “Hi Conner, how did you hear about this place?”
A quirky and slightly nerdy smile spreads across his flawlessly manicured face, “This is a perfect place to drink.” Gracefully he gestures down at the two large pints of dark beer placed on the small table in front of him. One of the stouts of beer, which I am assuming is his, is nearly gone already, leaving the sides of his glass covered in thick, frothy foam.
I gaze down at Conner with a slight perplexed expression radiating from me. Pulling my eyes firmly together, twisting my face in disbelief, I watch Conner with a puzzled countenance on my face. He is a conundrum. He is wearing perfectly polished attire with everything precisely placed, as if an overbearing mother has laid out his coordinating outfit. His hair is neatly plastered with a heavy amount of styling gel, giving it an almost helmet appearance. Though his natural looks are quite handsome, his style is attempting to allude towards English uptight aristocracy. His neurotic and almost nerdy appearance is such a sharp paradox to this beer drinking, party going guy in front of me.
Silently I sit next to him on the small sofa, pressing myself into the arm of the couch, trying not to sit close to him. I begin fidgeting in my seat, attempting to decide if I am going to fully give in to the darkness gnawing at my ankles. The condensation forming on the glass from the cool drink meeting with the warm, almost hot air from the crowd and fire, sends rivulets of water droplets down the glass, making my mouth water. I stare at the thick, dark brew glistening in front of me, as dangerous thirst consumes my battling mind.
Conner picks up the large, moist glass, handing it to me, “I took the liberty of ordering you a strong stout...” passing it to me he forcefully adds, “Now drink it so my money doesn’t go to waste. You are the lucky girl here who gets a drink from me.”
His pompous attitude sends nails ripping up my spine, tearing away at my nerve. If I am going to have to sit here with him I am going to have to do it under the influence. Wrapping my hand around the tapered portion of the moist glass causes the water droplets to collect on the top part of my hand, between my thumb and index finger. Closing my eyes and fully deciding t
o drink it, I bring the glass to my mouth, smelling the vile stench oozing out of the glass. Holding my breath I slam a large amount down my throat. Pulling my mouth free I aggressively wipe the dense, thick foam from my upper lip. The burn of alcohol stings my throat as it pours down my esophagus, landing firmly in my empty stomach, filling it with warmth. The taste is not as bad as I was expecting. Though there is now a heavy, lingering bitter taste rolling around in my mouth, mingled with a slight roasted flavor, and a surprisingly dry sensation coating my tongue.
“That is better,” Conner adds. “Now you can relax. Shall we converse?”
“Um, what do you want to talk about?” I state suspiciously.
“Well, for starters, what brought you here from America, with a child nonetheless? And how can you afford to be here?” his high pitched voice squeaks out.
My mind instantly recalls Callum’s warning about Conner and his desire for money. Trying to avoid his questions, I hastily guzzle another large amount, firmly pushing the thick substance down my throat. Shock and dismay roll over me as I look down into the hollow opening of my glass, realizing I have downed an entire glass in just a few moments. Looking over at Conner his eyes widen in amazement, “Since your drink is gone, why don’t you answer my questions now.”
A nervous wave rolls through me, mixing with the nasty bitter brew, slopping around in my hollow belly. I hadn’t eaten anything, thinking that Conner was going to at least offer to buy me dinner. Realization rolls through my mind, if I am going to survive this I need to drink a hell of a lot more, “I need another drink.”
His eyes widen in dismay, "Umm, brilliant, I was hoping you liked to drink,” he states in a lascivious tone.
“I am hungry, too.”
“You can go order yourself something to eat. I will wait here while you pay for it,” he states plainly, making sure I understand he is only purchasing the alcoholic beverages.
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