“I know…” I try to formulate the right sentence to express how it made me feel, but there are so many words wanting to come out all at once. I grab a spoonful of flan and then another before the words finally settle into a sentence. “When he pinned me to the wall, it didn’t feel like he was caging me. It felt like he was making sure no one else could see me. And he was careful when he pulled my shirt back.” My pulse thickens anddrops between my thighs. Another sip and I carry on. “And his words…” I huff out a wanton breath. “They were demeaning, but I liked them so much, I wanted to hear him say more. Call me more names.”
I squeeze my thighs once, remembering what he said word for word. “‘Who needs a pet when I could have you. I should get you a collar, maybe a leash, walk you like a dog, fuck you like one too.’” I take another sip, but this feels heavier than the last because warmth courses through my veins and I don’t feel as tense as I did a second ago.
An image sparks in my head, a picture I was doing my best not to visualize, but the alcohol is good about drowning my ability to care. I can see it clear as day.
A collar. Sylas fucking me doggy-style.
“Goddamn, Anna.”
I drop my hands to my lap. “Did you picture it too? Is it wrong that I want that? Jesus, that can’t be okay, can it?”
“It’s very much okay, as long as you’re enjoying and consenting. Don’t be embarrassed,” she scolds. “Tell me more.”
A sluggish smile curls my lips. “‘You’ve got a great body. Just look at how I’m using it’ is what he said while he was rubbing his dick against me.” I bury my flushed face in my hands and grin before continuing. “You know how disgusting it would be if anyone else would have done that? But he does it, and I’m fucking melting and begging for more.”
“Dios,” Jenny mumbles, fanning her face as she drinks half of her cup. “And all of this happened inside Salt?”
I nod. “It was dark and no one was around. He moved my hair, and you know how the saying goes: one thing led to another.”
“Does this mean you and Sylas are going to…” Her black eyebrows perk up, a sly, lopsided grin stretching across her face.
“No, it was a one-time thing. It also doesn’t change who he is. I’m sure he’s already forgotten about me by now.” Like he did three years ago. “It’s better that way. For all I know, I could’ve been some sort of bet or God knows what.”
Now she sobers up. “You don’t think he?—”
Something heavy settles in the middle of my throat and suddenly my body feels tight and my head spins. “No, but you know how weird rich people are. When they’re bored, they play games, and athleteslovetheir games.”
Jenny snorts. “Okay, you’ve been watching too much TV. I really don’t think it’s like that. I’m sure if that had been the case, we’d know about it now.”
“I know.”
I don’t want to use thepoor girl, rich guycliché bullshit and pretend a girl like me couldn’t be noticed by a guy like him. Because I’ve been noticed and I’ve fucked around with said rich guys, but one cliché that remains is that they’re all the same. Same entitled dicks who think they’re untouchable. And unfortunately, they have the kind of money that makes them untouchable.
Which is why it was a one-time thing that can never happen again. Whatever I felt must’ve been a blip, a necessary deviation to distract me from how stressed and broke I am, and from how close I was to calling my parents. I would’ve hated myself if I’d called them.
Jenny must know I’m done talking about it because she veers the conversation to my journal on the coffee table. She picks it up and opens it right where I left the pen.
“Can’t wait for the day all these recipes are in a cookbook.” She drags her finger along the page, probably tracing over my drawings.
If I love something I’ve cooked or baked, I draw it in my sketchbook. I don’t know if I’ll ever have my own book withrecipes, but that doesn’t stop Jenny from hyping me up and making me believe I will.
“And when they are, you’ll get the first copy.” I grin, imagining it actually happening.
7
SYLAS
Monday, December 9
I check under my bed,making sure there are no stray socks or that a bottle didn’t roll down there. Minus the minimal dust, it’s clear.
I’m not doing this for any other reason but to be tidy. I realized a few days ago I should make an effort to stop being disgusting. It wasn’t my intention, but between practicing with Dad, then my team, games, and classes, cleanliness has been the last thing on my mind.
So I’m trying to amend that, or at least do better. Now that fall semester has ended and it’s officially winter break, I won’t have to worry about homework or hockey after tonight. We’ll have practices here and there, but it won’t be anything heavy or mandatory until the end of the month. There’s practice with Dad, but that’s about it.
Speaking of games, I need to meet up with the team soon to review film against the school we’re facing off against.
I do a final check—again, just to be sure. Not because Anna’s about to show up to clean or anything. She’s supposed to be herearound noon, I think. I’m just trying to end the year off right or whatever.
