Wide smooth hands slide under my shirt, kneading and caressing my skin.
“Asshole.”
It doesn’t take long for our clothes to hit the ground and our bodies to be set aflame as we rediscover ourselves through desire and lust.
“I love you, Aoi.”
I wish it were true. I really want to believe that he means it but it’s all wrong and twisted. He’s hateful and yet I can’t let him go. Why can’t I let him go? He’s all I have but now I have Visha too. I have a family. Maybe now I could finally soar out of his cage.
Every touch of his sends me over the edge and every word reminds me why I loved him so much. Times may have changed but we’re still the same. Intertwined, sewn together. I gobbled up his lies and transformed them into poetry.
He’s as addictive as any drug, but it’s my fault as much as it’s his. He may have manipulated me into falling for him, but I stayed when everything screamed at me to run.
Nothing changed and it never will if I lay down and take it. I’m still cursed to bleed for him.
30
Visha
I step outside for a breath of fresh air, far from the drunk teens and loud music. My head is pounding from the constant shouting and music bursting my eardrums.
I thought parties were fun, but it really isn’t as great as I expected.
Staying home with Aoi and watching a movie together would’ve been more fun.
It’s pitch black outside apart from the lights flashing different neon colors from the villa. The further I stroll, the more muffled the noise from the party becomes and the closer to peace I get.
I lean against a wall in a dimly lit alley and turn on my phone to check for a message from Aoi. If he called or texted while I was busy with the others and he can’t find me, he’ll kill me when I get home.
“Are you Visha?”
I turn around to face the owner of the dark male voice. He stands tall and refined in a black suit. His dark brown hair is neatly coiffed as he smokes a cigarette, leaning against a black car.
“Depends. Who’s asking?” I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes at his figure hidden by the shadows of the night.
The whole scene seems highly suspicious and the smart thing to do is to head back to the villa and alert someone of thatstrange man lurking around town. But the curiosity of a stranger knowing my name glues me to the pavement.
He takes a drag of his cigarette before blowing the smoke out. “Your big brother.”
What the fuck is this psycho talking about? The simple fact that he so confidently utters such nonsense makes me physically recoil.
“Ain’t got a brother. I don’t know what the hell you want but I don’t wanna have shit to do with you,” I snap, pushing myself off the wall. “Get the fuck away from here or I’m calling the cops.”
My eyes wander around the area, hoping to see another pedestrian or someone from the villa, but we’re alone in the empty street.
I don’t like this. It smells fishy.
The man takes another drag of his cigarette and glares at me. “We’ll have to work on your lack of respect for your dear elder brother who came all the way from France to bring you home.”
“Bullshit-”
“Visha, fifteen years old, born on the thirteenth of November. Our biological parents were Amelia and Christian Lacroix. They died in a car accident in Seattle on their work trip during which you were sent to foster homes because I was still too young and broke to adopt you. But I found you and I’m not letting you go again,” he states with such self-assurance that I find it hard to doubt him.
“You’re lying.”
“Need more proof?”
“I don’t believe shit and even if it was true what makes you think I’d leave with you?” I ask, incredulously.
