Chapter 22 Neil
“I wished I could kick-start my own heart
and make the emotions turn over.”
Neil
People say that life is like a rainbow, each color corresponding to a specific phase, a time span.
Mine has always been characterized by darkness. It was certainly no accident that the liar who gave birth to me called me Neil.
And then, to make matters worse, she’d added on the fucking surname of a man who wasn’t my father.
A man who beat me and treated me like a cuckoo in the nest, a slimy insect. A man who thought I was some insane freak and never showed me an ounce of human empathy.
And now I knew why.
“Fuck you!” That was my new daily mantra against life, against my mother, against William, against John, and against Judith. Even against Selene, whom I’d had to let go so she could be happy far away from me.
I’d stopped giving a shit about other people.
Stopped putting my family first and stopped privileging their problems over my own.
I’d stopped trying to be better, to sand down my rough edges for the benefit of others.
For the benefit of Selene. I’d stopped chasing after people, seeking their acceptance.
I quit chasing the world, and, yes, that meant I stayed behind. But it also meant I stayed myself.
My life was a prison from which no one could free me.
I’d quit believing in anything beautiful. I’d snuffed out my last little lights of hope the same day I was supposed to snuff out my birthday candles.
Was I angry? Probably always would be.
Was I disillusioned? No, I was worse.
I was embittered and disgusted.
The heavy bag swung back and forth with my violent blows.
I’d gotten back into training, and I did it constantly.
Every morning I got up with the sun and worked out my tension that way.
The chains tensed as they supported the weight of the relentlessly jerking bag.
I alternated hooks, uppercuts, and jabs, fast and sure.
Drops of sweat slid down my neck to my bare chest; all my muscles were tensed and burning.
Adrenaline pulsed in my veins, swamping my brain, making it impossible to think clearly.
My black sweatpants were plastered to my legs, my hair kept irritatingly sticking to my forehead, and my knuckles were on fire because I hadn’t worn gloves. Just white elastic wraps that were now stained from the deep tears I was putting in the skin there.
I could smell the sharp scent of the blood, and I liked it.
It made me feel alive, dirty, and satisfied.
“Is it normal for you to make this kind of racket first thing in the morning every morning, Miller?” Megan’s drowsy voice made me stop.
I steadied the bag with both hands and turned to look calmly at her.
I looked first at her long, bare legs and then at her bountiful breasts protruding from under my white sweatshirt, which barely covered her crotch.
Her fuchsia thong was visible.
“I don’t know. Is it normal for you to wear my fucking sweater when you know damn well I don’t want you to?” I snapped irritably, glaring at her sleepy face, her swollen lips, and her still half-closed green eyes.
“I didn’t get a chance to do laundry yesterday, and your sweater was clean and smelled like… Whatever, I wore it. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” She shrugged and walked past me to the kitchen with a familiar arrogant sway to that little ass.
“Take it off, Megan, before you piss me off!” I threatened her sternly. She sat down on a stool, letting the fabric of the sweater ride up on her hips and showing me that scrap of panties again. I swallowed hard.
“Get as pissed as you want. I’m not scared of you,” she grumbled indifferently before taking a bite of Nutella toast. I still hadn’t figured out how she could eat that crap and still have that body.
It is a fuckable body, I thought.
That was exactly the word for it: fuckable.
The thought of sharing an apartment with Megan no longer bothered me the way it had six months before.
It was now just a part of my daily life, like seeing her wander around half-naked and having indecent thoughts about her.
Still, I had set certain boundaries for myself that I wasn’t going to cross.
Those were still firmly in place, and they weren’t going anywhere.
“Oh yeah? You want me to come over there and tear it off you?” I began unwrapping my hands slowly, still holding eye contact with her.
My wicked gaze locked on hers, and I was pleased to see the effect I was having on her.
She wriggled on the stool, tightening her thighs together before gulping down her mouthful of toast and blinking rapidly at me.
I had been learning how to read the female body and sense its wants since I was a child.
And, right now, I was sensing her want in a major way.
“Don’t even try it. I can defend myself, as you well know,” she shot back immediately. She’d given up on eating and assumed a ready posture. But I always got what I wanted, and if I wanted my sweater back, I would take it.
“I can put you on your back whenever I want.” I adopted a menacing expression as I stalked toward her with slow, determined steps like a hunter closing in on his prey.
Megan’s eyes opened wide. Sensing the danger, she leaped off the stool.
“Don’t you start!” She began to cackle as she darted around the kitchen island to escape me. She failed miserably, though, because I managed to snatch her easily and shoved her down on our living room couch.
“Fuck, hold still!”
She laughed against me and the sound of it rebounded off the walls around us, her disheveled hair fanned out beneath her.
I lifted her arms up over her head, holding her wrists, and settled myself over her slender body, putting my weight on her.
I felt her breath catch when my bare chest grazed her nipples.
They were hard beneath my sweatshirt, and I knew she was ashamed.
I knew she wanted me, though she still refused to admit it.
She was in denial because she could not show herself to be vulnerable.
She could not let her instincts get the better of her good sense.
“I know you want to fuck me.” I leaned forward until my nose brushed along hers. It wasn’t because I was attracted to her or found myself drawn to her beauty; it was because I was an asshole, and I liked to make her squirm.
I breathed in her pleasant orange blossom scent, the same as it was when we were children sitting out in the yard and she tried to teach me Spanish.
To me, she was forever that little girl with the white bow in her hair.
It felt simultaneously as though it had been both a blink and a lifetime since that moment.
“And what makes you think that? A little too sure of yourself, I think,” she answered, sounding annoyed.
She hated it when I tried to tame her. She was a fighter, a brave warrior who would never let a man dominate her.
She wriggled under me, twisting her wrists in an attempt to get out of my iron grip.
I smiled smugly as she huffed in frustration.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” I answered lazily.
“Do you think I haven’t noticed the way you’ve been looking at me ever since we started living in this apartment together?
You can deny it to yourself but not to me,” I breathed against her lips, staring at the tiny mole beside her cupid’s bow.
She licked her lips, and her breathing turned heavy, her nipples straining more and more against the white fabric that covered them.
“I don’t—” she began to say, but then we were interrupted by the sounds of someone else’s footsteps in the living room.
Both of our heads snapped to the woman who was watching the scene before her with an expression that was both thoughtful and bewildered. Who knew what was going through her head, finding me in a compromising position with Head Case’s half-naked body spread out underneath me?
“You really do have a type, huh? Blue-eyed brunettes,” Megan noted as I got up, freeing her from my grasp. I stood up, watching the woman in our living room.
She was in her early twenties.
Pale skin with sharp, delicate features. She was undoubtedly hot but very angelic looking.
I scrutinized her more closely, searching for a pair of full, pouty lips that I would not find. My gaze roved over her slim but not upturned nose before delving into her blue eyes.
An ordinary blue like all the others, not the ocean I had been immersed in just a few months before.
Still, she bore a slight resemblance to Tinkerbell the night before.
Now, though, she looked nothing like her.
“I…um…left my number for you in the room,” she stammered, twitchy and timid.
They were qualities I deliberately sought out in my women these days, despite the fact that they all turned into fierce lionesses in the sack and made it clear that their alleged shy reserve was just another strategic front.
What was this particular girl’s name? I didn’t even remember.
I usually didn’t, and I had to cover for it with some banal nickname.
Her gaze swept longingly down my body, lingering on my crotch.
“I don’t give a shit where you leave your number, sweetheart. I’m not going to call you anyway,” I said, cold and clear. She winced at my stormy face.
Why did they all make the same mistake?
These women thought I was going to chase after them just because they’d deigned to give me a fuck that was about as pleasurable as a walk in the park.
“But, I thought—”
I stopped her before she could get on some bullshit. Or worse, start crying.
Shit, I hated having to go through this whole pointless dance the morning after.
I took a few steps closer, looming over her petite frame, and stared down at her indifferently like nothing had happened between us the night before. Like she was nothing.