I deserved more.
More respect.
More patience.
More acceptance.
Just more.
I headed for our apartment and flung the door open. The small living room, like my mood, was dark and cold. Mama and Daddy were already asleep, and when I opened Rosie’s door, her room was depressingly empty. She was probably hanging out by the pool with some of her friends. Unlike me, she’d made a few of those at All Saints High. Mostly people from neighboring, less affluent towns.
I entered my room and slammed the door. Pulling my blanket over my head, I closed my eyes, wishing for sleep. I didn’t even bother to crawl into my pj’s, just kicked off my boots. I wanted the night to end and for tomorrow to swallow the memory of it whole.
I tossed and turned, knowing full well I couldn’t go to bed with all the music and shouting coming from outside. Lord only knew how my parents slept so peacefully through these parties. I stared at the ceiling, and it stared right back at me. I started thinking about Dean, but my thoughts quickly moved to Vicious.
Vicious. Always ruining everything. Pinning me down, kicking me out, throwing me into an emotional twilight zone. My eyes fluttered in the dark, and I sighed.
The door creaked. My heart stopped. I knew who it was. Rosie would’ve asked if she could come in, so would Dean. No. The only person who’d never bother knocking, even though he wasn’t welcome anywhere near me. He’d walked into my parents’ house like he owned it, because he did. In his mind—I had no doubt—he owned me too.
“This shit stops now.” His voice echoed in my small room, dripping with ire.
Rolling over in bed so my body faced the door, I felt my pulse beat against my throat. I took him in silently, my eyes roaming every part of his body. He leaned against the wall, glaring while I lay in my bed. My heart did something crazy in my chest. Cartwheels or somersaults—I wasn’t really sure.
Because he had never been so close.
Never been in my territory.
This was the first time he’d deliberately sought me out, and it didn’t feel nice and safe.
It felt divine but dangerous.
Even though I liked the notion of him looking at me while I was in bed, I rubbed my thighs, pushing myself to a sitting position, my back against the headboard. Sonic Youth’s version of “Superstar” seeped through my window, and I got drunk on this one perfect moment.
It felt like I’d won something, and I hated that I was flattered. Vicious always seemed so unaffected when it came to the opposite sex. I rarely saw him with the same girl and he never visited any of his flings at their houses. It was just one of those facts of life every girl at school knew. Girls came to him, and not vice versa.
Yet here he was, in my house, in my room, near my bed. Even if he’d come here just to threaten me some more, he’d still made the trip. I got to him.
He was in my veins.
But I’d managed to crawl under his skin.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Vicious?” I mocked. The words felt bitter on my tongue. I wasn’t a meanie. Before we moved here, I was friendly. Kind. Now, less so, but still incapable of deliberately hurting someone.
The room was dark, but light poured in from the party outside, invading every inch of space that belonged to me.
Except it actually belonged to him, and Vicious never let me forget that.
He didn’t even look at me. Just stared at a mural I’d painted on my wall—his wall—of a cherry blossom tree. His eyes were blank. Turned off. I wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, turn on the light inside him, make sure someone was home.
Vicious rubbed his jaw, kicking my door shut behind him. “If you wanted my attention, congratulations, you’ve got it. Now break this Dean bullshit off.”
I flung the blanket to the floor and bolted to my feet. My sweater slid down one shoulder, and my plain white bra peeked out. I was too agitated to care. I pushed him with all the strength I could muster, not even a little worried about the consequences. His broad back bumped against the wall, but his expression remained cool.
I took a step back, placing my hands on my hips. “What’s your problem with me, huh? What have I ever done to deserve this? I don’t go in your house. I don’t look you in the eye when I see you at school. I don’t talk to you or about you. But it’s not enough for you. Look, I don’t want to be here either, okay? I never signed up to live in Todos Santos. That’s all on my parents. They need the money. We need the money. Rosie has an illness and health care’s better here, not to mention this place is rent-free. Tell me what you want me to do that doesn’t require my family being homeless, and I’ll do it, but for Lord’s sake, Vicious, leave me alone!”
I wasn’t sure exactly when I began to cry, but hot, fat tears ran down my cheeks. I think I must have boiled to the point of overflow. I didn’t like that he was seeing me like this, vulnerable and broken, but hoped it would inspire him to be a little less hateful to me.
His eyes dragged slowly from the mural to me, his stare still vacant.
I raked my fingers through my hair, frustrated. “Don’t make me be mean,” I muttered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Break up with him,” he repeated, curt. “Make it stop.”
“Make what stop?” I frowned.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Emilia,” he warned.
About what, I didn’t know. But for once, he didn’t refer to me as Help.
“He makes me happy.” I stood my ground, because who the hell was Vicious to tell me who to date?
“He’s not the only one who can make you happy.” He opened his eyes, and pushing off the wall, he took a step in my direction.
My skin was on fire, and I knew what would soothe the burn away, like an aloe balm, but it was wrong. So wrong. So was him ordering me to stop dating Dean.
Then why does a part of me feel pleased?
“Ask me what I want again,” he snapped. His voice was ice rolling on my skin, leaving uncomfortable shivers of pleasure in its wake.
“No.” I started walking backward, still facing him. He followed me. A predator stalking his prey, and he had the physical and psychological advantage over me.
I was about to become his next meal, and I had no doubt in my mind—he was going to devour me.
“Ask,” he breathed, my back had hit the opposite wall and his arms came up around me, caging me in. I was trapped, and not only physically. I knew there was no way out, even if he’d stepped aside.
More respect.
More patience.
More acceptance.
Just more.
I headed for our apartment and flung the door open. The small living room, like my mood, was dark and cold. Mama and Daddy were already asleep, and when I opened Rosie’s door, her room was depressingly empty. She was probably hanging out by the pool with some of her friends. Unlike me, she’d made a few of those at All Saints High. Mostly people from neighboring, less affluent towns.
I entered my room and slammed the door. Pulling my blanket over my head, I closed my eyes, wishing for sleep. I didn’t even bother to crawl into my pj’s, just kicked off my boots. I wanted the night to end and for tomorrow to swallow the memory of it whole.
I tossed and turned, knowing full well I couldn’t go to bed with all the music and shouting coming from outside. Lord only knew how my parents slept so peacefully through these parties. I stared at the ceiling, and it stared right back at me. I started thinking about Dean, but my thoughts quickly moved to Vicious.
Vicious. Always ruining everything. Pinning me down, kicking me out, throwing me into an emotional twilight zone. My eyes fluttered in the dark, and I sighed.
The door creaked. My heart stopped. I knew who it was. Rosie would’ve asked if she could come in, so would Dean. No. The only person who’d never bother knocking, even though he wasn’t welcome anywhere near me. He’d walked into my parents’ house like he owned it, because he did. In his mind—I had no doubt—he owned me too.
“This shit stops now.” His voice echoed in my small room, dripping with ire.
Rolling over in bed so my body faced the door, I felt my pulse beat against my throat. I took him in silently, my eyes roaming every part of his body. He leaned against the wall, glaring while I lay in my bed. My heart did something crazy in my chest. Cartwheels or somersaults—I wasn’t really sure.
Because he had never been so close.
Never been in my territory.
This was the first time he’d deliberately sought me out, and it didn’t feel nice and safe.
It felt divine but dangerous.
Even though I liked the notion of him looking at me while I was in bed, I rubbed my thighs, pushing myself to a sitting position, my back against the headboard. Sonic Youth’s version of “Superstar” seeped through my window, and I got drunk on this one perfect moment.
It felt like I’d won something, and I hated that I was flattered. Vicious always seemed so unaffected when it came to the opposite sex. I rarely saw him with the same girl and he never visited any of his flings at their houses. It was just one of those facts of life every girl at school knew. Girls came to him, and not vice versa.
Yet here he was, in my house, in my room, near my bed. Even if he’d come here just to threaten me some more, he’d still made the trip. I got to him.
He was in my veins.
But I’d managed to crawl under his skin.
“To what do I owe this pleasure, Vicious?” I mocked. The words felt bitter on my tongue. I wasn’t a meanie. Before we moved here, I was friendly. Kind. Now, less so, but still incapable of deliberately hurting someone.
The room was dark, but light poured in from the party outside, invading every inch of space that belonged to me.
Except it actually belonged to him, and Vicious never let me forget that.
He didn’t even look at me. Just stared at a mural I’d painted on my wall—his wall—of a cherry blossom tree. His eyes were blank. Turned off. I wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, turn on the light inside him, make sure someone was home.
Vicious rubbed his jaw, kicking my door shut behind him. “If you wanted my attention, congratulations, you’ve got it. Now break this Dean bullshit off.”
I flung the blanket to the floor and bolted to my feet. My sweater slid down one shoulder, and my plain white bra peeked out. I was too agitated to care. I pushed him with all the strength I could muster, not even a little worried about the consequences. His broad back bumped against the wall, but his expression remained cool.
I took a step back, placing my hands on my hips. “What’s your problem with me, huh? What have I ever done to deserve this? I don’t go in your house. I don’t look you in the eye when I see you at school. I don’t talk to you or about you. But it’s not enough for you. Look, I don’t want to be here either, okay? I never signed up to live in Todos Santos. That’s all on my parents. They need the money. We need the money. Rosie has an illness and health care’s better here, not to mention this place is rent-free. Tell me what you want me to do that doesn’t require my family being homeless, and I’ll do it, but for Lord’s sake, Vicious, leave me alone!”
I wasn’t sure exactly when I began to cry, but hot, fat tears ran down my cheeks. I think I must have boiled to the point of overflow. I didn’t like that he was seeing me like this, vulnerable and broken, but hoped it would inspire him to be a little less hateful to me.
His eyes dragged slowly from the mural to me, his stare still vacant.
I raked my fingers through my hair, frustrated. “Don’t make me be mean,” I muttered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Break up with him,” he repeated, curt. “Make it stop.”
“Make what stop?” I frowned.
He squeezed his eyes shut. “Emilia,” he warned.
About what, I didn’t know. But for once, he didn’t refer to me as Help.
“He makes me happy.” I stood my ground, because who the hell was Vicious to tell me who to date?
“He’s not the only one who can make you happy.” He opened his eyes, and pushing off the wall, he took a step in my direction.
My skin was on fire, and I knew what would soothe the burn away, like an aloe balm, but it was wrong. So wrong. So was him ordering me to stop dating Dean.
Then why does a part of me feel pleased?
“Ask me what I want again,” he snapped. His voice was ice rolling on my skin, leaving uncomfortable shivers of pleasure in its wake.
“No.” I started walking backward, still facing him. He followed me. A predator stalking his prey, and he had the physical and psychological advantage over me.
I was about to become his next meal, and I had no doubt in my mind—he was going to devour me.
“Ask,” he breathed, my back had hit the opposite wall and his arms came up around me, caging me in. I was trapped, and not only physically. I knew there was no way out, even if he’d stepped aside.
