Chapter 22 Willow
WILLOW
With the Voronin brothers gone, my apartment seems too quiet. Luckily, it’s the weekend, so I don’t have to think about classes for the moment, but it leaves me with way too much time on my hands to think about other things.
I spend the entire day trying to stay busy, taking care of a bit of homework and then finding other projects around the apartment. I take my time cleaning the entire place, loading up the dishwasher with some dirty dishes and then wiping down the island.
I can’t help but blush when I think about what Ransom and I did on top of it. I clean away a bit of spilled cherry juice, sticky from sitting out all night, and fight the urge to lick my lips, remembering the taste of it in my mouth.
I move from the kitchen to my bedroom, stripping off the sheets, which are stained with Malice’s blood, and taking them into the small closet where my washer and dryer are.
It’s nice to not have to haul everything to the shitty laundromat I was using before, where I’d have to sit all day, guarding my shit in case someone decided to steal it or try to stop my machine mid-cycle and take that for themselves.
It’s much less stressful to load everything up and have the pleasant hum of the washer doing its thing in the background as I keep straightening everything up, pulling out fresh sheets to put on the bed and marveling at having more than one set.
Olivia insisted on that when she helped me buy furniture and household supplies for my new place. I don’t think she was thinking about this kind of situation when she suggested having two sets of bedding, but it definitely is coming in handy now.
My phone is on the kitchen island, and when it rings, I jump a little, startled out of my thoughts.
I half expect it to be one of the guys, and I feel a little shiver of anxiety, wondering if something else has gone wrong.
But when I check the screen, it’s Misty’s name that pops up.
I swallow hard, my finger hovering over the screen, caught between answering and hanging up on her. In the end, I give in, sliding the little bar to the right to accept the call.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Willow, baby,” she says immediately, and I can tell she’s at least sober right now. That’s something.
“What’s up?” I ask, hoping she’ll get to the point quickly.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, honey.”
The words spill out of her just as easily as the screaming and insults did last night. I sigh internally and head back to my room to finish making my bed with the fresh sheets.
“I should never have come to that museum event last night,” she goes on. “I made a whole scene, and I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to ruin your night.”
I let my eyes fall closed for a moment, pausing as I tuck the sheet in at the base of the mattress.
This is the routine as usual with her. She does something terrible and then flips to the other side of the coin, begging for forgiveness and piling on the love and affection.
I’m always caught in the middle of it, torn between saying enough is enough and cutting her off already and wanting to give her another chance.
“Mom, you can’t keep doing stuff like this,” I tell her, and I can hear the tiredness in my tone. “What if they had wanted to press charges for trespassing or something?”
“I know.” She sighs. “I know I shouldn’t have done it. But… I was just scared.”
That makes me frown as I pull a pillow into its pillowcase. “Scared of what?”
“Of losing you, baby,” she says plaintively. “You have all this fancy new shit, this fancy new life. I was scared you would leave me behind and forget all about me. Get all hoity toity and forget where you came from.”
“Mom—”
“I just wanna still be a part of your life, Willow,” she continues, cutting me off. “I don’t wanna be replaced now that you’ve got blood relatives.”
I swallow hard, not even sure what to say to that. I think back to what Ransom said last night. Would Misty actually treat me well if our roles were reversed? I’m not even sure, and it makes my stomach knot.
“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” I tell her, and that is true. “I’m just… I’m trying to get somewhere in life, you know.”
Misty hums. “I know. I know, baby. And I don’t wanna hold you back. You know that, right? I’m not trying to fuck this up for you. I promise not to wreck any more events. I’m gonna do my best to come up too. Okay? To get better.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m trying to get clean. Starting today, I’m gonna stop using. I’m gonna try to stop hooking too, get a different job. A real one with some security and everything.”
“That would be nice,” I murmur. “I think it would be good for you.”
It’s funny, because I can’t even imagine Misty doing anything else. Not because I don’t think she can, but because she’s never had any other job as long as I’ve been her daughter. It’s just been the drugs and the hooking and the constant stream of shitty men in and out of her house.
If she could turn over a new leaf and get her life together, that would be great.
“I’m gonna do it,” Misty says firmly. “I’m gonna be worthy of you, Willow, so I can fit into your new life.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her that she says shit like this all the time.
That she always promises to be better, to not steal from me anymore or not let fucking drug dealers come into the house.
It lasts for all of a month, sometimes less, before fizzling out.
Then she’s right back to her old habits.
She sounds more sincere this time, I can give her that, but I don’t want to get my hopes up.
“I hope it works out,” I tell her. “I hope… I hope it works out.”
That’s pretty much all I can think to say, but it seems to be good enough for her. I can practically hear her beaming over the phone, the smile clear in her voice.
“You’ll see,” she says. “Next time you have some fancy shit to go to, you’re gonna be begging to take me with you. That’s how put together I’m gonna be.”
I don’t see a world where that would ever happen, but I don’t want to burst her bubble.
I remember a guidance counselor I had in high school saying something once about how you can’t change people—they have to want to change themselves.
So if she really wants to change her life this time, maybe she’ll actually do it.
“Well, I gotta go,” Misty says, still sounding upbeat. “I’ll talk to you again soon. Keep in touch, alright? I’ve barely seen you lately.”
“Bye, Mom.”
The line goes dead, and I toss the phone down onto the neatly made bed and blow out a breath.
Talking to my adoptive mother is always kind of an ordeal. Between never knowing what kind of mood she’s going to be in and having to take care of her all the time, it can be exhausting.
I shake my head, chewing on my lip as my thoughts run around in circles. Then I pick the phone up again, sitting down on the bed so I can send a quick text to Vic.
ME: Hey. How’s Malice doing?
His reply is prompt as always, and it’s amusing to wonder if he ever doesn’t have his phone in his hand or close by.
VICTOR: He’s grumpy.
VICTOR: Which I take to mean he’s recovering okay.
That second message surprises a laugh out of me, and it’s a good point. A grumpy Malice is a Malice who can’t be feeling all that bad, all things considered.
ME: You just made a joke.
I hit send on the text message, grinning at my phone.
VICTOR: No, that can’t be right.
VICTOR: I don’t joke.
I shake my head, still smiling.
ME: You obviously do because that’s what you just did.
I like this side of Vic a lot. I like how he’s more open with me over text.
As if he’s controlling fewer of his reactions and letting me see a part of him that’s more playful and fun than the usual cool exterior.
It’s less intimidating to talk to him when I don’t have to try to figure out his reactions from his lack of facial expressions.
I scroll up a little in our text thread, my gaze tracking over the message he sent last night. Just those two words, standing out so prominently. You’re beautiful.
My tongue darts out to wet my lips as I hesitate, my thumbs hovering over my phone’s screen. It would be easier not to push, not to bring it up. The original reason I texted was to ask about Malice, and I’ve gotten my answer, so that should be the end of it.
But something makes me want to keep going. To follow this little connection between me and Vic and see where it leads. So I scroll back down to send another message.
ME: Did you like watching us last night?
My heart pounds, the sound filling my head in the space of the few seconds it takes Vic to text me back.
VICTOR: Yes.
One word, just like that.
My stomach flutters at his admission, and I debate in my head for a second, chewing on my bottom lip. I could end it there, say I got the answer I wanted and move on. But again, I want more. I want…
I don’t even know how to put it into words, but there’s something I want to share with Vic, and I let my instincts take over.
Rising from the bed, I go over to the drawer where I stashed the cameras I took down before. Carefully, I put them back up in my bedroom, making sure they have good angles to see the bed. Then I turn them on.
I don’t tell Victor I’m doing it, but there must be some kind of reconnection to his computer system when they power on, and he must be in front of his screens like usual, because it’s only a couple of seconds later when my phone buzzes again.
VICTOR: What are you doing?
I sit back on the bed, looking right at one of the cameras. I bite my lip and start to text back, but then stop. Instead, I speak out loud into the empty room.
“Can you hear me?” I’m going to feel kind of stupid if he can’t.
But the text comes back immediately.
VICTOR: Yes.
My heart thumps harder in my chest, and I lick my lips, my mouth suddenly dry.
“You’ve watched me with your brothers twice now,” I tell him, switching my gaze from one camera to another. “This time… I want the show to be just for you.”
My phone buzzes in my hand.
VICTOR: You don’t have to.
“I know.” I nod, taking a deep breath. “But I want to.”
When no text response comes through immediately, I scoot back on the bed, propping the pillows up behind me. My heart is racing now, adrenaline spiking in my veins, but I don’t feel that sick, nervous feeling. Instead, I feel reckless and a little wild, running off instinct and blind courage.
This isn’t like me—not like the girl I’m trying to become, at least. But the ‘me’ of right now wants this.
Whatever connection I have with Vic, it’s different from how it is with the others.
All the same, I’m drawn to him. I feel close to him, closer now than ever before, with the way we’ve been texting.
Like taking out the need to speak out loud or look at each other face to face has let us be more honest and open than we were before.
So I keep gazing at the camera, biting my bottom lip as I spread my legs a little.
I know he’s watching me, but maybe it’s easier that I can’t feel the heaviness of his gaze. I can just imagine it in my head, the way his eyes would linger, the way his face would be mostly impassive, almost impossible to read.
“You’ve seen so much of me,” I whisper. “I know you watched when Malice ate me out in my old apartment. I know you watched me touch myself. You watched Malice and Ransom… f-fuck me in your living room, and you watched me and Ransom last night.”
My cheeks flush darker with each memory I bring up, and I stumble over some of the words. It’s like when Ransom wanted me to tell them about my dream that time. The words don’t come naturally to me. I’m not experienced with dirty talk or trying to seem sexy.
But at the same time, with Victor, it’s a little easier. I know I have to be the one to take the lead here, so it gives me a small boost of bravery.
My hand slides over my body while I talk to him, tracing a long line down my front and over my thigh before heading back up. My breasts feel sensitive already, the fabric of my shirt rubbing against my nipples, making them go hard and tight.
I grip one of my breasts through my shirt, sucking in a soft gasp at the sensation of it. It’s not quite the same as having someone else do it, but knowing Vic is watching makes it feel more intense than usual.
I brush my thumb over my nipple, pressing a bit into the stiff peak of it. Heat curls through me, pooling in my stomach, and my hips buck forward a little, all on their own.
My pussy is starting to get wet, my clit tingling with the first signs of my arousal. I roll one nipple between my fingers, pinching it a little harder than I usually would and gasping when the pain sends a hot line right down to my pussy.
“Oh,” I breathe out, arching my back. I do it again, harder, just for the feeling of it.
My breath comes faster as I glance at the camera, letting my other hand dip below the hem of my shirt.
“What do you want to see?” I ask Vic. “Tell me.”
Again, the answer is immediate.
VICTOR: Take off your shirt.
I do it, dragging my shirt over my head.
I’ve spent the day in that loose cotton shirt and a pair of comfy shorts, and I never bothered to put on a bra.
So as I toss the shirt to the floor, my naked chest is bared to the camera for him to see.
I arch my back a little, letting him get a good view of my breasts, and then go back to playing with them, groping at them, feeling the softness of my skin.
I run my hands along the sides of my breasts before grasping them both in my hands.
I’m not super well endowed, but they’re big enough to fill my palms. I circle each nipple with a finger, starting outward and moving in, my breath coming faster and faster as I get closer to the sensitive buds of my nipples.
It feels so good, every sensation heightened by the knowledge that I have an audience. I start to lose myself in it a bit, pinching and twisting, the heat going right to my head.
My phone buzzes again, and I try to glance down at it, but I don’t want to let go of my breasts to answer the message. I shift my gaze to the camera again, and my voice comes out breathless when I speak.
“I want to hear your voice, Vic,” I whisper. “Not just read your texts. Will you call me?”