Killed them with my bare hands for it.
But seeing that house lying vacant in real life? It’s the only thing that truly scares me.
That solidifies my reality.
That’s the only thing that will demolish everything I’ve rebuilt, force me to realise, I’ll spend the rest of my life never looking into those grey eyes again.
If only my head had been as clear as it is now.
The familiar house fills the screen, and like always, the budding feelings fizzle out as quickly as they came.
He’s not there.
He never is.
I know deep down I’ll never get my wish, but the denial runs thick like the blood in my veins.
I can’t ever seem to drain myself of it.
3
Indie
Wet Dreams – Artemas
Age Twenty
It’stheendofour third semester. Jenna has somehow managed to waggle us into her friend’s graduation party from the year above.
The frat house is full to the brim with people, so thankfully, no one has spotted that we’re technically not supposed to be here.
I turn and fix my hair in the games room window, fingers running through my dark curls to make sure they’re not tangled.
A sigh sounds through the air.
“Girl, if he ever gets his hands on you, I think the least of your worries is tuggy hair,” Jenna mumbles beside me.
My neck almost cracks in half to look at her, my hair whipping me in the process.
“What are you talking about?” I ask dumbly, and it causes her to smirk, wiggling her eyebrows from the armchair.
“Don’t play innocent, why do you think I brought us here? It’s now or never, Indigo, I can’t bear to see this go on for a day longer.”
My eyes do a scope of the games room. Three pool tables stretch across the floor behind me, and when I see the hidden topic of our conversation, my heart grinds to a halt.
Saint Blackwood.
He’s leaning against the unoccupied table, a beer dangling between his fingers, and his other hand gripped around a pool cue between his legs.
Fucking hell.
He’s so goddamn beautiful, and despite his name, I could bet my entire future degree he was crafted by the devil.
It feels like a sin to even look at him.
I’ve been obsessively, painfully and secretly infatuated with him since I was twelve years old.
When the floppy-haired new kid from England turned up for his first day in my class, I was besotted.
