Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Adeline
Cyrus pushes between my legs, standing between them, his hands on either side of my waist, trapping me. He leans in, his lips almost touching mine, and I gulp, dread filling me when I see his lips turn up slightly.
“That attitude is going to get you in some serious trouble,” he says.
I can feel his lips brush mine as he speaks.
His hand goes to the back of my head before he grabs a handful of my hair, making me shriek when he rips my head back.
I don’t get any time to process what the fuck is going on when I feel his tongue move between my lips, his tongue tasting every inch of my mouth, and I gasp when he bites down on my lip.
I can taste the coppery metallic liquid of my blood filling my mouth.
He sucks on my lip, and I moan softly, heat flooding my cheeks at my reaction to him.
Sparks rush over my skin as his hands move under the towel, his thumbs brushing the insides of my thigh near the apex of my legs as he pushes them further apart and presses himself against me, deepening the kiss.
My hands go to his shirt, and I kiss him back, his scent overwhelming me, and I feel drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
The sound of someone clearing their throat makes me jump, and I gasp in horror, my hands going to my mouth at what I have just done. I kissed my boss. I kissed my other boss’s husband.
“Dinner is downstairs. Hurry up before it gets cold,” Eli says before turning on his heel and walking back downstairs.
“I shouldn’t… I should…” I jump off the basin and run for the bedroom. Shame and guilt smash into me. If Eli didn’t hate me before, he definitely would now. Dread fills my stomach, and I suddenly lose my appetite. I quickly get dressed but don’t go downstairs.
I miss home, and now I can’t bear being under the same roof as them.
This day just keeps getting worse. Grabbing my phone, I try to ring my sister, her phone going automatically to voicemail, and I listen to her voice, letting it calm me.
I have done it a few times, just needing to hear her voice, needing some sort of comfort while I feel so uncomfortable and out of my element here.
I don’t expect her to answer—she never does—but hearing her voice always helps.
I message my mother, asking if Maya got to her okay, and she sends me a picture of Maya eating her dinner.
I feel a tear slip down my cheek. I feel lonely here, unwelcome, and well and truly out of place.
The door opens, and Eli walks in. I half-expect him to yell at me or call me a slut.
Instead, he puts a plate of food on the end of my bed and says nothing, just walks out, shutting the door, which is worse.
I was ready for him to curse me out and call me every name under the sun. So, why does his silence scare me more?
The night passes by in a blur, my anxiety reaching magnitude levels.
I don’t leave the room, too frightened of what might happen.
I eat my dinner, which is the Chinese they’ve ordered from somewhere.
I am extremely thirsty, and I am nearly debating whether to duck out to the bathroom and drink from the tap, just to avoid going down the stairs and possibly running into them.
I am so fired, but I don’t care. I no longer want the job.
Working for them is sending me insane. Sending my body out of whack and muddling my thoughts.
I dread being stuck on the plane with them tomorrow.
For once, I’ve found something more terrifying than getting on that flying death trap; I fear Eli’s wrath more.
Grabbing the plate, I decide to go find the kitchen. I can’t exactly leave dirty dishes in the bedroom. That would be rude. And it’s also the perfect excuse to go down there so I can get a drink of water.
Opening the door, the house is dark except for the foyer light that has been left on, making the stairs visible.
I creep down the stairs, making as little noise as possible, go into the dining room, and walk through the other entryway, which I assume to be the kitchen.
The rangehood light is on, giving off some light, though it isn’t very bright but plenty enough for me to see.
I put the plate in the dishwasher and find a glass before filling it with water.
I drink quickly before refilling the glass; I feel so dehydrated.
The water soothes the dryness of my throat.
Rinsing the glass, I turn to place it in the dishwasher when I jump, seeing Eli standing directly in front of me.
I step back. His eyes look so dark in this room as he steps closer, trapping me between him and the black marble benchtop.
“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. I… I…” I stutter over the words, trying to explain myself, but nothing would be a reasonable explanation for kissing his husband.
Panic hits me, and my heart thumps erratically in my chest when he just stands there.
He turns his head to the side, observing me, and I gulp, fear consuming me.
The way he just stares is making him look even more sinister.
My hands start shaking, the glass at serious risk of slipping from my fingers.
Eli’s eyes dart to my hand, and he reaches for the cup, taking it from me and placing it in the dishwasher before closing the door and standing back up.
“That’s not why I am mad. I know Cyrus kissed you. I don’t care about that,” he says, confusing me.
Goosebumps rise on my arms, and a chill runs down my spine, and I fight the urge to shiver. Eli’s hand moves, and I flinch, wondering if he will slap me before his fingertips trace over my nipple, which has hardened and is poking through my thin shirt.
He rubs his thumb over it before his index fingers move around in a circle around my areola.
My body reacts to his touch as it did to Cyrus, shocking me.
Why do they have this effect on me? Why isn’t he yelling at me?
I do find it odd, though, that they appear to be fine.
I expected them to get into a fight over Cyrus kissing me, yet I heard nothing all night.
Eli steps closer, my eyes watching him carefully when I feel him pinch my nipple, rolling it between his thumb and finger, his other hand palming my other breast roughly as he squeezes it, making me cry out in pain.
The corner of his lips turns up, and he lets go, his hand dancing along my hip as he leans closer.
I thought he was going to kiss me when he suddenly turns on his heel, walking out of the kitchen as if nothing happened and leaving me there stunned.
I am definitely quitting my job as soon as I get back home.
I am just going to email them my resignation and change my number.
My mother will be pissed off, but after I explain and she gives me a good scolding, I know she will get over it.
Hurrying upstairs, I race back to my room, locking the door behind me and slipping into bed, and willing sleep to come.
My dreams are plagued with nightmares and have me tossing and turning all night.
My dreams are strange: me being on a plane and them drugging me and not being able to move.
Then my dreams turn horrifying as I dream of the night my sister overdosed on drugs, and I found her passed out on the floor in her bathroom.
I will never forget the dead look on her face, how her eyes were glazed over, open but unseeing, as foam ran from her lips, spilling onto the floor.
My niece had been screaming in her cot for god knows how long before we found her.
That day will forever haunt me for the rest of my life.
That was the first time we discovered she had a drug problem.
We had suspicions, but at first, she was so good at hiding it and explaining away things that we hadn’t picked up on it, not wanting to believe she had fallen down that path.
I wake up in a cold sweat, my breathing uneven and my heart racing. I haven’t had nightmares in years. I usually fall asleep the moment my head hits the pillow, so it’s a little unusual and definitely unwelcome.
I notice the sun is barely up, the events of yesterday hitting me, and now I have to travel back with them, endure going on another plane home, this time hopefully not passing out as I did on the way here.
Forcing myself out of bed, I get dressed, slipping on my jeans and singlet before putting on my socks and grabbing my shoes.
I pack up my belongings before making the bed and straightening the cushions. Just as I am about to walk out the door, it opens, and Cyrus steps into the room.
“Good, you’re up. We are leaving soon,” he announces, and I nod before grabbing my small luggage bag and following him downstairs.
I place my bag near the door, putting my handbag on top of it. Cyrus waits for me to finish doing what I am doing before pointing to the kitchen, and I walk through the dining room. The smell of coffee hits my nostrils as soon as I step inside the kitchen. Eli hands me a mug of the liquid gold.
I take a sip before sitting on one of the stools awkwardly. Nobody says anything, and I feel a little uncomfortable with the silence.
Eli keeps glancing at me as he sips his coffee while Cyrus is reading a newspaper, mug in his hand, and I can actually picture him being like this every morning. He looks relaxed, while Eli looks tense, his fingers tapping the side of his mug.
“Will you stop that? It is annoying,” Cyrus says, eyeing Eli’s fingers. His fingers stop, but he doesn’t turn away when I look over at him. Instead, he holds my gaze until I look away.
“Are you hungry?” Cyrus asks.
I shake my head. I have never been a breakfast person; too early in the morning to eat. I always feel horrible eating first thing in the morning; the only thing I need in the morning is caffeine, and I am good to go.