Hearts of Darkness: A Valentine's Day Bully Romance Collection

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  I pull her close enough to trail kisses down the back of her neck. She wiggles until she’s as close to me as she can get, and we savor the afterglow together.

  I don’t know how long we doze. When I wake, she’s dressing. She makes no noise, and I pretend to sleep. I grapple with the tumult rushing through me. I should confess it all, but something holds my tongue.

  Ten minutes later, she stands beside the bed. Minutes tick by until she bends to kiss my cheek.

  “Goodbye, Andrew Kensington,” she whispers. “Have a nice life.”

  The finality sears my heart. As quietly as she arrived, she leaves, and the home for my soul walks away.

  Inhaling the lingering scent of her, I turn my face to my pillow.

  8

  Project

  Nude modeling isn’t my thing... but Andrew is my new obsession.

  So, I’m here ten minutes early this time. Andrew should be in class. I’m excited. No, I’m aroused. Maybe the students won’t mind “glistening folds” on the stage. Hopefully, they won’t dock my pay for having a shiny twat.

  I didn’t spend the night at his place. It’s too much, too fast, and I don’t want to answer questions about it. We’ve slept together, but I don’t know whether that means we’re back together or not. Maybe he meant it as a goodbye.

  Taking my seat on the lounging couch, Professor Miller flips on the photographer lights, and the glare makes me squint. I can’t see anything past the bulb stands, but I can hear the shuffle of students filing into the room. One of them has to be Andrew.

  I’m pent up, ready to see him. I haven’t talked to him since last night. I left my number on a slip of paper on the table, but he hasn’t texted me. Needy, I’m not, but having sex with your ex is a pretty big about-face in anybody’s book, right? Especially when you basically take back all the pissed-off-ness you’ve held onto for years.

  Andrew could have run me out of his living room the moment I offered a change in our status. Maybe he should have. But he didn’t, and I thought about him all night. I slipped out before he woke up, shocked we’d wound up in bed together, reeling from the change from hate to... to... whatever we are now.

  The class zips by. Professor Miller chastises me several times about fidgeting. After all the students file out, I approach Professor Miller at his desk to the side of my performance stage.

  “Where’s Andrew?”

  Professor Miller frowns at his book and then frowns at the computer screen. “Andrew?”

  “Andrew Kensington. Did he attend class today?” What other Andrew could I possibly mean?

  “Oh, he dropped the class. I believe he enrolled in a different Art class to fulfill his credits, but I’m not certain. Perhaps administration can assist you.”

  The news guts me.

  Spots dance in front of my eyes. I haven’t been on campus a whole week yet, and I’m ready to call it quits, inheritance be damned. I lean against the nearest easel. I don’t know how I’m going to make it to Valentine’s Day.

  Professor Miller adjusts his spectacles. “Are you quite all right, Miss Cargill?”

  No, I’m not alright. “I’m fine,” I wheeze. It isn’t true, but what difference does that make? Why would Andrew drop the course?

  Maybe it was seeing me naked in front of everybody else. That’s probably it. I leave the class and head for my dorm. Andrew will be in class for several hours more. Heading to his house can wait.

  At the great intersection of sidewalks, a red-headed young woman stops directly in my path. I give her a nasty look and try to step around her, but she moves in front of me again.

  “Watch it.” I refrain from tacking the word bitch onto the end. Barely.

  She flips her red curls over her shoulder. “Are you Whitney?”

  “Who the fuck are you?”

  She shoves my shoulder. “I asked you first.”

  I shove her back, mentally sizing her up. “I don’t have time for this shit. I’ve got to get to my next class.” Plus figure out what happened with Andrew last night. Did we get back together or didn’t we?

  She crosses her arms. “Listen, Andrew said to tell you to fuck off.”

  I scowl. “Who are you?”

  She draws herself “I’m Marissa Bradford.”

  I make a show of squinting my eyes and tapping my chin. “Ah, yes, the poor man’s Whitney.”

  At that, her face flushes, and she stammers a string of syllables that resemble curse words. A mini crowd gathers.

  “Careful,” I say. “You suck your daddy’s dick with that mouth.” Then I wink, step around her, and go on my way. Not sure where I’m headed; anywhere but here.

  Laughter titters through the crowd.

  Marissa’s sputtering increases in volume and goes up an octave. “You stop right there, Whitney Cargill,” she screeches. “Andrew Kensington came to see me last night.”

  That’s when I stop. I hate it, but her words burrow into my brain. I glance at her over my shoulder. “Oh, yeah, did he call you by name again?”

  The crowd reacts, and Marissa looks like she’s eaten something sour. I resume my course. Something impacts my back, and I spin around, expecting—no, hoping—to deck her. Instead, her designer purse is on the ground at my feet, the contents rolling over the sidewalk.

  She jams her index finger into my chest. “He came to see me when you couldn’t get him off. He told me how bad you were, and then he fucked me the rest of the night.”

  Our audience titters. When I raise my fist, somebody shouts, “Po-pos.” The spectators disperse.

  A fat man in a blue suit hustles toward us. The word Security is printed on his cap and his t-shirt. The ink glints in the sunlight. He stops to lean on a light pole, huffing and puffing about ten yards from us.

  “Rent-a-copy is here,” I say.

  “Lucky for you.”

  “Whatever.” I wave her away like the pest she is, and start on my way once more. I’d rather not have a run-in with campus security yet. I’ve been close to it often enough since I’d arrived At the rate I’m going, I’d have to talk to them before Valentine’s Day, but anything to keep out of it for today

  “Keep walking, bitch.”

  I extend a middle finger on each finger, show my hands over my shoulders, and stomp away.

  I head toward Andrew’s house. Marissa’s accusation is most certainly a lie, but it struck a chord. The quickest way to the truth is to ask him myself.

  When I knock on the door, Adam answers. He invites me in. Once we’re over the threshold, he studies me a long while.

  The seconds wear on, and a tickle starts at the soles of my feet. Something’s wrong. “What is it?”

  “What’d you do to my brother?”

  I shrug. “Why?”

  “He’s been in his room all day. He hasn’t come out once.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. He shouldn’t... I mean, we...”

  Adam’s eyes widen. “You what?”

  “We... we had sex.”

  Adam slaps his forehead and groans. “Are you shitting me?”

  “It wasn’t on purpose.”

  “So, what? You tripped into his penis?”

  The image his words conjure makes me laugh. “No, not like that.” I wish I knew how much he knew about our relationship from before. It would make it easier.

  “Sex is pretty intentional.”

  “I know, Adam. It’s just that I didn’t come over here expecting it to happen.”

  “He doesn’t want to see you. I intend to respect his wishes.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Did anything else happen last night?”

  I wrack my brain. “There’s nothing. Nothing, but the sex.”

  His lips tighten.

  That’s when it hits me. “Oh.”

  Adam’s eyes narrow. “What?”

  “He... he told me some things about your situation, and I came back to check on him after that. Sex cam
e later.”

  Adam blanched. “He told you about our financial situation?”

  I offer an apologetic smile. “Yeah.”

  Adam sighed. “It’s my job to protect my family, Whitney. I’d ask you not tell anyone about our dire straits. I won’t risk our mother’s position here.”

  “I don’t think anybody’s going to care about—”

  “She cares. She has many faults, but I respect her wishes in this. I expect you to do the same.”

  “Sure.” I peer around Adam. “Can I see Andrew?”

  “No, go back to your dorm room. If Andrew changes his mind, I’m sure he’ll know where to find you.”

  I frown. “This is bull shit.”

  “Nevertheless,” he says.

  I dart to the right, and he tries to tackle me. At the last second, I jerk to the left and get around Adam. I march to Andrew’s door and burst inside.

  All the lights are off. He’s wrapped in sheets.

  “Andrew?”

  At the sound of my voice, he puts his head up. “What do you want?” he barks.

  “Marissa said you fucked her last night.”

  He laughs, but the sound isn’t humorous. “She would say that.”

  “Is it true?”

  He pauses.

  In the quiet, my mind races a million miles an hour.

  “No,” he says, finally. Why does he sound so weary? He’s making me nervous.

  I step closer. “Are we okay?”

  He climbs from the bed, naked as I was the first day in Figure Drawing. I don’t know to look or look away. He shoves his hand through his hair. “Don’t you get it, Whitney?”

  My gaze jumps to his eyes. “Get what?”

  “Last night was our last hoorah. It was the final goodbye in a long and sordid past.” He glances at me. “You thought it was real?”

  I don’t answer. Instead, I move closer. Is he for real? I must be misunderstanding him.

  He steps so close his cologne tickles my nose. He points to me. “Once a bitch, always a bitch. You’re nothing to me. Don’t you get that?”

  I sway, but his bed frame is enough to keep me upright. I lift my chin to hide the impact of his words. The cracks spread out from the center of my chest so fast, I feel like I’m going to shatter in a thousand pieces. My knees tremble, and I’m afraid they’ll buckle.

  “Get out,” he says, his voice low and ugly.

  Instead of sinking, I raise my hand and bring it hard against Andrew’s cheek. “Goodbye, Andrew Kensington.”

  The floor creeks as I move toward the house exit. Adam observes with sadness painted on his face. His mouth droops, and he steps toward me as though he wants to say something. Yet no words come, and I close the door behind me.

  Pausing on the porch, I dash the moisture from my cheeks. Andrew isn’t worth more tears. He isn’t worth any more time. Then I march out of their lives.

  Four weeks. I have to survive four weeks, and then I’m out of this place.

  Within days, we’re trapped in a mire of politeness, and I don’t want to admit it’s slowly poisoning me to death.

  9

  Intervention

  Valentine’s Day

  Shit outta luck. No more booze. The condiments rattle when I slam the door.

  Maybe Atticus got dumped by his older woman. He probably deserved it.

  Wandering into the dining in room, I plop down onto one of the table chairs. Scrubbing a hand over my face, I try to remember what day it is. It’s some time or other in the middle of February, I think.

  Adam stares at me over his cereal bowl. Without looking away, he shoves another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. He doesn’t bat an eye.

  Blink. Dammit. Finally, I slap the table. “What?”

  “Stop with the high school angst already. Self-pity does not look good on you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Motherfu—” His spook clatters against his empty bowl. “When are you going to admit it?

  “Admit what?”

  “You’re in love with her. You always have been.”

  I sneer. “Fuck off.”

  Adam hits his cereal bowl across the table. Milk splashes over the edge and spreads until it drips off the edge. “I’m tired of this shit. You mope around here like you’ve been given a death sentence. You barely function. Your professors are trying not flunk you.... How many hours have you been in bed?”

  I fold my hands in front of me. How many hours have I been in bed? Since Tuesday, I think. How many hours is that? Maybe thirty?

  To be honest, flunking out would solve a lot. I could leave the campus and find something else to do. Then it’s on me not our mother. She can keep on working.

  “They should let me fail,” I say.

  Adam drags his hand over his face and tugs his chin. “If that happens, where are you going to live?”

  “I’ll figure it out. I’m a fucking grownup.”

  Adam shakes his head. “Then stop acting like a kid with a pouting problem. Besides, you don’t have a source of income. That’s why mom is pushing so damn hard. You know that.”

  “I’m not marrying an heiress to fix the shit our father fucked up.”

  “Then fucking don’t. Don’t get married. But you better follow Whitney’s ass to Tibet and tell her how you feel.”

  I freeze. “Tibet?” That catches me off guard. “She’s going to Tibet? Whitney shouldn’t go to Tibet alone. She’ll get herself kidnapped.” She’s gorgeous. Some pervert will try to own her.

  Adam rolls his eyes. “For being so heartsick over her, you don’t know anything about her, do you?”

  I lean forward. “What about Tibet?”

  “Her passage is booked. Today is her last day here. Her aunt is signing over her inheritance on Friday. She’s leaving the country, Andrew. It’s forever. Any chance you had will be gone.” He gets up from the table, scoops up his bowl, and trots into the kitchen. He returns a moment later with a paper towel to wipe up the milk splash.

  “You’re sure about Tibet?”

  He chucks the sopping paper towel in the trash can. “Fucking hell. Where have you been, Andrew? She tells anybody and everybody who actually asks.” Then he slams out of the house, muttering under his breath. “And take a fucking shower,” he yells as he crosses the porch. “You smell like ass.”

  Atticus pokes his head out of his room. “Y’all done fighting?”

  “We weren’t fighting.”

  “Y’all done agreeing competitively?”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  Atticus steps out of his room, tugging an older woman behind him, probably the source of all the appearing alcohol. She carries a bottle of red wine in her hand, and she’s vaguely familiar.

  She winks at Atticus. “Sorry I slept so late. See you next week.”

  Atticus grabs the booze and hands it to me. “Do something with that, will you?”

  When I take the open container, the woman turns, and I get a better look at her. I cough to cover my shock. It’s Professor Shin, the Intro to Art instructor. I blink once.

  He ushers her out, and she’s off and running.

  When he walks back by the dining room, he’s got a smile plastered on his face.

  “What are you doing?” I ask. I can’t help it. I have to know. It’s like he’ll sleep with anything on two legs.

  He stops and shrugs. “I’m not taking any of her classes. We met in the faculty dining room. We’re having fun.” His grin widens. “I think older women might be my new thing. A lot less drama.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I gape like an idiot. Then take a long swig from the dry red wine.

  He points at me. “What are you doing?”

  “What do you mean?” His tone makes me suspicious, so I head toward the kitchen, hoping Atticus will get distracted and run off.

  He follows. “Adam isn’t wrong.”

  “Eavesdropping, were you?”

  “More like waiting for
Adam to leave.”

  I sort through the cups in the sink, find one that’s reasonably clean, and rinse it out. “I’m not taking dating advice from you.”

  “Fine. Then take ‘happy advice.’ I’m happy. Are you? When was the last time you were really happy?”

  “I don’t know.” I dump some of the wine into the cup and put the rest in the fridge. A memory of Whitney, laying beneath me, flashes through my brain. When I was buried hip-deep in her.

  Atticus stares at me, his arms crossed. “I think you do know. Maybe you just need to admit it and let the chips fall where they may.” He wanders back to his room without another word. He’s snoring within minutes.

  But I’m still for a long time. I don’t think my two, wildly different brothers have ever given me the same advice before. I should mark it down on the calendar and make it a national holiday.

  More than that, though. Do they have a point? The same point?

  Carrying my cup, I plop down in the same seat at the dining room table, and I sit there for a long time. My thoughts are stuck in a hiccup-stutter. Tibet? What the hell is she going to do there? It doesn’t make any sense.

  I’ve lost almost thirty days to wallowing in self-pity. If I lose Whitney to some Tibetan monk spiritual guru, I’ll never get her back.

  I jog toward our bathroom. If Whitney thinks she’s leaving the country, she’s sorely mistaken. I’ll convince her otherwise. Even if I can’t have her, I’m not about to lose my woman to some other country.

  10

  Peace Made

  A buzzing noise fills my room. It takes me a minute to figure out it’s the speaker next to my door. Nobody has used that shit since I moved in. What kind of sad college life is that? I scoff at myself. I definitely do not belong here, and I’m glad the experiment is over.

  I press the blinking button. “Yeah?”

  “Somebody here to see you, Whitney.”

  “Oh, my Uber must be early. Tell him to come back.”

  There’s a pause, and then Luca comes back on. “He wants to charge the money. What do you want me to do?”

  “Damn. I’ll be right down.” I’m not sure what the rules are, but it’s my mess to clean up. Maybe the driver can come back or I can talk Luca into taking me to the airport.