Chapter 52
CHAPTER 52
OLIVER
A nytime she’s in the same room as me, my fingers itch to run through that ginger-dyed hair and look into her fairy-green eyes.
I want her, yet I can’t have her.
Not yet at least.
I didn’t think I was capable of feeling this anymore. I’ve never been capable of walking away from temptation, but I’m very talented at destroying the source of it. If she hates me, I can’t hurt her, but I can’t bring myself to make Beth hate me. I don’t want her to go back to sneering at me every time I walk into the room.
I got a kick out of it for the longest time, knowing I both scared and pissed her off.
Everyone is scared of the terrible Oliver Doyle. I’m the town psychopath, and everyone knows it.
I’m an impenetrable shield.
Nothing.
Bothers.
Me.
Nothing except Beth, my crazy girl. She’s just as unhinged as I am, but she masks it so the world doesn’t see it. I crave to unleash it, but I can’t.
She’s not my caged bird to set free or my lion to tame. She’s with Nigel, and we both know it. It’s a waiting game, but the past two months have fucking killed me. I can’t handle having to sit by and watch her be with him, knowing what he did to her, knowing that this isn’t what she wants for herself. I fucking burn for her, inside and out.
That’s why tonight has to be the end. I got to have her one last time and pretend it was just us, pretend that I could keep her.
It was fucking breathtaking. I could burrow myself in her flesh and never leave for those hours I had her in my bed. And I did. I took, and she gave.
I repented. I prayed. I sinned.
She was the church, and I was the poor sinner begging for her salvation.
Nigel fucked up by letting me have her past the first time because now it will be stuck with me, thinking of her naked every single time she walks into the room, imagining her cunt wrapped around my cock, fantasizing about those full lips sucking me down her throat while she stares up at me like her eyes sing a siren song.
I’ll always be conjuring her up in my mind in a million different sexual situations, and he’ll know just from the way I stare at her. I know he knows. I may not say it or make a move, but he’ll know how bad I want her.
I watch through the window as he looks to be yelling and she stands there impassive, a wall erected between them.
This whole thing is tearing me apart, and I hate it. And I hate her for making me crave her like my next shot of blow. Like a fucking drug-induced coma full of immoral sexual fantasies. And I hate myself for walking into this mess blindly.