33. Malachi
MALACHI
After waking super late to find Ophelia already gone, I’d headed back to my room. It had been a happy surprise to find I still had her panties, and I smiled to myself at the understanding that she hasn’t taken them back. Instead of her hair to wrap around my cock, I’ll definitely use these instead.
To get my mind off masturbating with her dirty panties, I’d gone for a run, then sat in my dorm trying out a new song I’d composed.
It’s for Ophelia, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever show her, or the other Preachers, but it’s cathartic to write as it puts all my complicated feelings down onto the page.
I’ve missed all my classes, but I don’t care. The only reason I’d had for going was the possibility of seeing Ophelia, but we don’t share any today.
I glance at my watch and see it’s past six in the evening. I’ve had a message from Rome to say he’s going to be at the tower, working on some new incantations, and he needs the place to himself.
So, basically, a ‘fuck you’ to me and Cain.
I message Cain to see if he wants to go grab a drink. He messages me back after a few minutes.
Sounds good. Shall we see if Ophelia wants to come?
Just the thought of seeing her again has my cock begging in my pants. I want to touch her and taste her so fucking much the next time we get together. I really hope there will be a next time. I live in fear of her calling it all off.
If we can persuade her that we’re her friends, as well as the guys who want to dick her down at every opportunity, then perhaps it will keep her invested.
I message Cain back to say I’ll meet him at seven, and that I’ll stop in at Ophelia’s dorm along the way.
Needing to clean up, I set the shower running and step under the hot water as I wash last night from me. I don’t want to. Part of me wants to keep the smell of Ophelia on me forever.
I think back to taking hold of Cain’s dick and fisting it a few times before I pushed him into her.
It was fucked up, and we’ve never done anything like that before, but I can’t deny it was hot.
The moment I pushed his cockhead into her wet, waiting pussy was a power trip.
I was in charge of them both at that moment.
My dick is hard again, and I have to take care of business before I get out of the shower, or I won’t be able to focus on anything anyone says to me.
I shut my eyes and fuck my fist hard and fast. I’m not looking to drag this out or make it sensual and slow. I just want to come. I need the release. Jesus, Ophelia has turned us all into greedy sex addicts.
When I come, shooting thick ropes against the tile, I pant through it, the sensations strong but nowhere near as good as last night.
God, what I wouldn’t give to be coming inside her pussy. I bet it is tight, and so fucking wet.
I try to stop my one-track mind. Ophelia might not want to do this again, not now she’s been cured of the voice she was hearing. And Roman might also want to stop things going any further. I really hope not because I’m nowhere near done.
I dress fast in black jeans, a faded black concert t-shirt, featuring some eighties rock band, and my Doc Martins, then shove my cell in my pocket.
When I reach Ophelia’s room, I knock and wait for her to answer. No movement comes from behind the door, and I frown. She might have gone out already, or perhaps she’s sleeping. I try knocking again, louder this time, and press my mouth to the wood.
“Ophelia? You in there?”
Still nothing. I’m sure the noise I’m making would have woken her by now. I take out my phone and call her instead. She doesn’t answer.
Maybe she’s already in the bar? I guess she might have wanted to meet up with Camile, who she seems friendly with. I turn to head toward Cain’s room, but a soft groan from behind the door stops me. I freeze.
Did I hear that for real, or was it my imagination? It comes again—a low, almost pained sound. What the hell?
I try to open the door, but it’s locked from the inside.
“Ophelia?” I knock on her door again, and, when she doesn’t answer, I bang against it with my fist.
The door opposite flies open, and a man I don’t know, some fucking preppy kid, shoves his face into the corridor and shouts at me.
“Keep it down, fucker. I was trying to take a nap.” He shakes his head. “Asshole.” Then he slams the door shut.
I call Cain, my voice filled with urgency. “Come to Ophelia’s room, now.”
I hang up and push at the door with my shoulder. I try again, but it isn’t moving. These doors are old and solid. Fuck .
Cain’s room is only one corridor above, and he must have run down the stairs because he bursts through the double doors at the end of this corridor and pounds toward me.
“She’s in there,” I say, “but she won’t come to the door or answer her phone, and I heard her groan.”
His face pales. There’s something wrong, I can fucking sense it, and so it seems, can he.
“Move.” He pushes me out of the way, and I step back.
Cain puts his shoulder to the door and slams his massive frame into it. There’s a splintering of wood, and this time the door budges. It doesn’t fully open, but part of the frame in the middle cracks. He does it again, and on the third time, it gives way, and Cain falls into Ophelia’s room.
Dickhead from across the way opens his door again, but I turn and snarl at him to fuck off, and he does. He raises both hands then shuts his door.
I follow Cain into Ophelia’s room and stop dead in the middle of the space. She’s on the bed, her face pale, her hair damp against her head. Cain drops to his knees on the floor beside her bed and brushes a strand from her face.
“Ophelia?” he says. “Baby. Ophelia, can you answer me?”
She mutters something, but it’s unintelligible. I glance around the room and see a bottle poking out from under her bed. I bend and pick it up, examining the label. Shit, I recognize these. Sleeping pills.
Pushing Cain to one side, I slap Ophelia’s face, twice, to try to rouse her. “Ophelia, how many did you take?”
She doesn’t answer me properly but mutters again. At least she’s not dead or in a coma, but that doesn’t stop my stomach from churning, sick with fear that she’s harmed herself.
“She took these.” I thrust the bottle at Cain.
I pick her up bridal style and walk into the bathroom. Cain follows close on my heels.
“Turn on the shower,” I instruct him. “Cold.”
He does as I say, and I don’t bother to strip the dress from her—the same one she was wearing last night—I set her under the water with her clothing still on, and support her with my arm around her back.
She gasps, and finally her eyes open. She smiles at me as if this is funny.
“Malachi.” Her voice sounds sleepy, the word slurred a little. “You’re here.”
“Ophelia, did you drink anything?” I ask urgently.
“Hhhmm, turn the cold off.” She waves her hands in the water as if she can make it stop that way.
I tap her cheek hard. “Did you drink alcohol?”
“No.” She shakes her head.
Then she yawns and her eyes drift shut again, though the shower rains down over her face. No way is she going to sleep. I tap her cheek again, until her eyes open.
“Stay awake or we’re taking a trip to the hospital.”
“Don’t you think we should take her?” Cain asks.
My mother used to do this, a lot. I have experience in it. “If I can get her talking okay and walking around, I think she’ll be all right.”
“She might have liver damage or something,” Cain argues. “I say we take her in.”
“Ophelia, how many fucking pills did you take?” I shake her shoulders, not caring that I’m getting wet as well, and yell at her.
“Three,” she shouts back. “I took three, Malachi.”
Thank fuck. She’s awake now. With it again. And three isn’t enough to need to go to the hospital.
“Malachi,” Cain growls.
“Do you want them putting her on a fucking psych hold? Because that might happen.” I turn and shoot him an angry look. “She’s talking. She’s awake. Let’s get her a bit more with it, then we’ll get some coffee down her and see how she’s doing.”
Cain presses his lips together, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “I don’t like it.”
“What the hell were you thinking, Ophelia?” I rub her arms, trying to get her to come around more.
“Had to stop him,” she murmurs. “I can’t live with it any longer. I can’t. I keep trying to run, but no matter where I run, he’s there. He always catches me.”
“The voice?” I look at her as her big eyes fill with tears. Her eyelashes are already wet from the shower and cling together in clumps. “It came back?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I’m broken, Malachi. I can’t be fixed, but I can’t live like this any longer either. I can’t .”
She starts to sob. And I break a little inside.