Just as far away as possible from the Varners. From Sylvia. From Rick.
Just one more year. I can make it for one more year. I can.
The woman beneath me drags her red nails down my shoulders, her breath breaking into desperate moans I barely hear. I wrap my hand around her throat and tighten my grip, setting a harder rhythm just to make it end faster. Her head falls back against the pillow as the pace turns rough, mechanical. The scars on my hands blanch white against her skin.
Just finish. Come already.
Her body finally tenses beneath me, small tremors running through her legs. The moment the tension leaves her, I pull out and throw the condom in the bin before she can see it’s empty.
I don’t even know how many whores Sylvia made me fuck. I lost count. At first I fought it. It felt wrong—they were touching me and I didn’t want them to. But eventually I learned something useful.
Control.
If I took control of the situation, it ended faster.
Sylvia says I need to learn how to fuck to become a good manipulator. That if I learn how to control people in bed, I’ll learn how to control them everywhere else.
She’s fucking sick.
It doesn’t even make any sense.
Or maybe it does, I don’t know. If that’s what leadership means to her, no wonder they are rotting from the inside.
Maybe she wants me to become as empty as possible. To suck all the life out of me so I can do the dirtiest work for her.
She hasn’t made me kill yet, thankfully.
I only clean.
I hate blood and dirt. I always wash my hands hundreds of times, almost ripping open some of the old scars, and it’s never enough. Then I take a shower and it’s still not enough. It feels like the blood is everywhere.
On my skin.
Under my nails.
Inside my head.
Adrien helps me all the time. He’s better with blood. He doesn’t mind getting dirty.
But me? Most of the time I end up vomiting just to feel clean.
I get off the bed, pull on my boxers, then my pants. I grab my shirt and my car keys and get the hell out of that room. It smells like her perfume.
I’m so sick of all the perfumes that linger on my body after.
I take the stairs and run toward the exit of this house. Sylvia and other Vermilion people are gathering in the lobby, laughing, clinking their glasses together.
My eyes flick to her for a second. A dozen different ways to kill her flash through my head.
She just made me fuck one of her clients, goddammit.
Her gaze finds mine as I push through the main door and step outside.
The summer sun finally hits my face and the air feels like oxygen again.
She keeps saying sex teaches power. That understanding desire means understanding people. That one day I’ll make a good Vermilion leader.
What the hell kind of logic is that?
