Venom. Fire and heat flood low in my stomach, a pulse between my thighs I wish I could eradicate.
“Semantics, Liam.” I breathe out and his darkened eyes meet mine.
He’s lying.
I feel it in the way his breath stutters against my cheek, in the way his jaw clenches when my lips part in a gasp. The hatred in his eyes is real, but it’s twisted with fucked-up desire when I lean an inch closer, our lips almost joined at the seams.
He wants me.
And knowing that makes me feelalive.
His thumb drags across my bottom lip, slow, mocking, breaking the spell I’m under.
“By the way, you’re going to be a good girl,” he teases with malice, terrifyingly steady. “You’re going to walk straight to Tyler and tell him to go the fuck home.Alone.”
“Or What Liam?” I writhe under him.
“Or I’ll show you what being sick really looks like.” He withdraws and, just as suddenly, pushes off the wall, as if I were filth on his hands. Leaving me trembling, he unlocks the door and storms out.
A line of girls runs in, and I slide down the wall, gasping, torn open between shame, rage, and the ache he left thrumming in my body, leaving me to wonder if I’m not just as sick as he is.
His words echo,Pathetic. Good girl,and I know I have one more thing to do tonight, and that is to make sure Tyler doesn’t come home with me. But Liam didn’t say I couldn’t go back to his place.Hello, little devil on my shoulder, my old friend.
Thirteen
Sara
Iwake up with the taste of last night still burning the back of my throat, lots of different flavors ranging from vodka, adrenaline, shame, and the feel of my bed. After Liam's brutality, I went home. I figured I had raised enough chaos for one night.
Light slashes through my window with a vehemence that scrapes the inside of my skull. I roll over, clutching the sheet like it can anchor me to this new day, but the echo of his grip haunts places only bruises know the truth of.
The second I stand, I slip on a black tank and jeans, then knot my hair up.
I dab concealer over the shadows Liam’s exhaustive words have left under my eyes—not that it would fool anyone, least of all Mimi, who has X-ray vision for misery. She called me in to help at the store, a grateful distraction before the dead season of winter swallows the village and me whole.
When I get there, Mimi’s behind the register, chewing on a licorice stick, concentrating on something on her iPad and shuffling a deck of cards as if she’s taking a course to become the next… magician?
“Bonjour, baby,” she calls, her voice smoke and sunlight. “You look like you’ve been up all night breaking hearts. Do I look as bad as you do?”
“You look like you need to get laid. Not a good look, especially on you.” I smile, dropping my bag behind the counter and ducking so she wouldn’t see the aftershocks etching on my face.
“Look who’s talking!” Mimi winks, but something feels wrong in the way her eyes shine. “Pink dress needs steaming. Then we can box everything until next summer.”
“On it… hey are you okay?” I ask, grateful for a chore that doesn’t require words, but can’t help sensing something is a bit off.
“Yeah, I’m good,” she unconvincingly says and goes back to work.
The bell over the door tinkles now and then, each time sending my heart jerking. Half-expecting Liam’s silhouette in the frame, broad shoulders blotting out the sun. Mimi reappears with chamomile tea and slides it to me. I perch behind the register, pretending to tally receipts.
“But… are you okay?” Mimi asks.
I shrug. “Just tired. Maybe I’ll nap in the dressing room.”
She rolls her eyes. “Sure, and I’ll hire raccoons to run the shop.”
My phone buzzes against the counter and pick up the call seeing it’s my mom calling. Lately I’ve grown needing her, despite hating her for how she uncontrollably couldn’t leash her grief. I’ll never truly be angry. Just deeply hurt, above all, I’ll never blame her.
“Hi, Mom.”
