Chapter Twenty-One
K i a n G r i m m
Mr. Calve's voice comes to a halt at the loud bell signaling class is over. I stand and clasp the lens of my camera shut.
Photography is my escape but when it comes to his views on it, it reminds me of my father telling me it's not a real profession.
I push the camera into its holster and hike my bag over my shoulder. My mind racing with one thing in mind.
Sylvia.
Where did she go with Pimble two days ago? I wanted to follow but couldn’t. My parents always need something from me when they’re home. They constantly have me all over town taking pictures I don't want to take for people’s Christmas cards.
I step into the hall and see her silky hair disappear down the hall, and I follow.
My steps are soft, deliberate, but rushed in a way I can control.
Students part in my path, either scared or bowing at my feet with admiration.
I hate it. The attention, the recognition for something I'm not. It’s all pointless to me.
She stops at her locker, her cat’s carrier in one hand and the other putting books away. I grab her wrist and pull her with me.
“Kian, get off of me.” She hisses quietly.
She tries to pull away from me, but my grip remains tight and unforgiving. A reminder if you must.
When I reach an empty classroom I push her inside and lock the door, trapping her here with me where she belongs. I drop her arm and she spins to me. Her cheeks flushed and a frown on her sweet face.
“What.” She spits. I raise an eyebrow but my cock jerks in my pants with excitement.
I step closer, shoving her back against one of the desks. She places the carrier down but I stop her from moving any farther. One hand wraps around her waist while the other tangles into the abyss of her hair. She fights me, as always, but I force her to still with a tug of her hair.
Her palms hit my chest as she creates distance between us and my cock twitches from the contact. Her lavender scent wraps around me and I inhale a little too long. I’ve never willingly wanted someone so much but the obsession to have her as mine festers even more.
I can take her here. Now. Her plump lips would wrap around my cock and those fierce eyes would look up at me with beautiful tears of gold.
“You don’t get to ignore me, Little Swan.” I say calmly. “You don’t disappear and you definitely don’t get to go out of town with him like I won’t notice.”
I don’t raise my voice at her or threaten her. I create a space for her to explain, to ease my black soul before I kill him. The option of killing him doesn’t scare me. If anything it makes the pulse in my cock heighten.
“Get off of me.” Her voice is stern, yet I can’t help but notice the tremble in her thighs or the way she likes to hear the obsession in my veins.
I lean closer, my face tilting to meet those green eyes of hers so she can feel the restraint in my stillness. “Do you really think Pimble understands you? Curiosity killed the cat and he’s very close to death.”
She flinches at the word death and I notice. I notice every goddamn thing about her. I feel her surrender, the way she leans into me unknowingly, how her breath heightens with each breath I take.
My grip lowers to her hips, digging into the supple flesh with need.
“You don’t own me.” Her voice is a breathy whisper and I smile, slow and sharp.
“No?” I whisper and her lips part. “Do you really think I just want to own you by now, Little Swan? I want you to forget what it feels like to be alone. I want your grief, your smile, and especially the death you carry around, to be mine.”
A weak tear rolls down her cheek and I kiss it before it falls. Her eyes close, feeling every damn emotion I have to give her.
“Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?” She croaks.
“I want you to see me too.” My hand lowers more, stopping right at her exposed thigh. “I want to confess my sins to you and for you to do the same. I want you to lay before me in a way no one else has ever seen. I want you for myself, Little Swan.”
Her breath stutters and I catch her lips with mine before she can oblige. My lips warm hers, freezing this moment between us into something deeper. My hand finds her clit through the panties she wears and I circle the area, wanting to see what she looks like as she breaks for me.
She lets out a small moan in my mouth and I plunge my tongue deep in hers, exploring everything she has to give.
She tastes of berries and something that's distinctively her.
I pull her closer to me, deepening the kiss until all I can feel is her weak body below mine.
Her hips push into my hand and I push her panties to the side.
My fingers sink into her wet folds and I push two fingers into her soaked hole.
She clenches around me and her walls are so tight I battle to push my fingers any deeper.
“So wet.” I groan against her lips.
She responds with a moan and I take in the pleasure that consumes her. I want to be the only one who ever takes from her. The only person to ever see her so vulnerable and weak.
“You’re not just something I’ve found interesting.” I mumble against her neck as I bite at the soft flesh, leaving bruises in every spot. “That broken little soul weeps for me and I'll gladly devour it whole.”
“This is wrong,” she mumbles through a moan.
My fingers move faster and my thumb swirls around her clit, working her until her legs begin to shake.
“Why is it wrong? What’s so wrong with me?” My jaw tightens and I curl my fingers against her walls, bruising them with my touch and leaving behind a reminder that I’m the one who makes her a mess.
“You’ve bullied me this entire time. You’ve been stalking me. How could this ever be right?” Her gaze focuses on me but immediately goes back to being clouded.
I remain silent, ignoring her question because I have no idea how to answer it. The only thing on my mind is her cunt around my fingers and the beautiful tears streaming down her cheeks as I claim her. Mine.
Her body stiffens and her cunt clamps around my fingers. I feel the juices seeping from her body as she comes and I ride her out until her frail body stops weeping.
I pop my fingers into my mouth, tasting the delicious sweetness of her.
Her eyes widen and her frown deepens. “What—”
I smile, it’s cruel and a blow to her ego.
“You can’t hide from me forever. I’ll only wait for so long.” I pinch her clit between my fingers and she yelps, pulling away from me with disgust written on her face.
I chuckle and fix my shirt she crumpled in her grip before I unlock the classroom door and step out.
The reminder of what I did coats my fingers and I vow to keep her as mine, no matter what it takes.
I’ll have her in my possession.
Frozen in time.
As my muse.
I replay the way she looked, those pale green eyes lit with something feral and alive. Beautiful in a way storms are and I stuff my hands into my pocket to keep her scent on me. I know what desire is and I know the neat, sterile hunger that comes with control.
But this isn’t the same.
This feels like something inside me has recognized her before I ever did. Like my soul has been waiting, pressing against my ribs just to form the shape of her which unsettles me. I’ve always been able to categorize how I feel, how I see things but with her it's impossible.
I feel myself unraveling, each dark thought coaxing me deeper into her delectable scent.
I think of her hot mouth on mine and how she tasted of aged berries and cider. I think of all the times she’s stood her ground, like a cathedral built on bones.
I feel it all of a sudden, a slight crack in my mind that I wired long ago.
I’ve changed somehow, into something I no longer understand.
Photography was supposed to teach me how to see and trap moments before they fled, but Sylvia isn’t a moment.
She’s become every passing thought, a sequence, a descent, a story that won’t be still.
I keep walking down the cobblestone street until I reach my home. The day is just starting as my parents and our relatives come walking out the door, ruining all that I built in my head today.
The dinner tastes like cardboard and obligations. I look down at the plate of unseasoned beans, turkey, and mashed potatoes as if they’re the ones who made me this way.
Destructive, calculated, unlovable.
I glance at my parents sitting around the table as well as my aunts and uncles.
They all talk as if their words are important.
My mother is the main one talking, always talking about nothing and so much more.
My father’s voice cuts through and my gaze cuts to him.
His words are final and I notice the way he enjoys hearing himself speak.
My posture is perfect and my hands rest underneath the table, not bothering to pick up a fork. I nod occasionally but don’t remember anything they say because my mind still sits with her.
“Are you going to say something or are you going to stare at your plate all night?” He snaps and I slowly glance up at him.
Those eyes of his fill with sick admiration for having a crowd of people witnessing his destructive nature.
“I’m eating,” I respond calmly.
“You call that eating?” He flicks his knife around and points at my scrambled plate, not one bit off the plate. “You’re being disrespectful.”
My mother turns to her sisters and shakes her head as if they’ll say something. They never do. Every Thanksgiving is the same. Him bitching. Her tears. Our families' shocked expressions.
I push my chair back slightly and stand.
“Sit back down!” He warns, his voice rasping from his outburst.
I don't, I grab my plate and lower it to the trash then grab my coat off the rack. He continues to lecture me about appearances and throwing away opportunities. I let him talk, he needs the sound of his own authority more than he needs a response.
“Where are you going, dear?” Mother chimes in, her voice sweet as honey.
“Out.”
“It’s Thanksgiving,” she responds, I shrug and push my chair in.
I look at him, my gaze sharp and my mouth twitching. “It’s thanksgiving.” I mock and his eyebrows raise.
I step out the front door before he can escalate it into something physical. He likes control rather than conflict and he’s not chasing after something that won’t submit.
I lift a cigarette to my lips and light it.
The cold air feels like clarity as I walk down the cobblestone street.
Smoke burns sharp in my lungs and I exhale.
The streets are quiet, much quieter than usual because of the holiday.
I keep walking, letting the air and smoke fill me until I feel my head isn’t drowning under water.
My head’s down as I watch my boots shatter some of the leftover ice on the ground. A family like mine is intolerable, nothing is enough for them.
“Owe.” I bump into someone or rather they bump into me. Their body spins but I grab their arm and steady them on their feet.
“Sorry,” I mumble and begin walking.
“Kian.” Her voice is soft and the anger I was feeling vanishes. “Are you okay?”
I barely hear the last part as I turn around, the hoodie over my head falling as my gaze meets Sylvia’s.
“I’m fine.” But my heart thumps in my chest at her question. When has anyone asked me if I’m ok?
I start walking again but she grabs my sleeve and falls into step beside me.
I pull the cigarette to my lips and inhale, trying to distract my mind from her hand on me. Is she brave or stupid?
“You don’t look fine,” she whispers as she drops her hand. “You look upset.”
The smoke from my cigarette drifts around us and she coughs into her palm. I throw it to the dirt and watch as the yellow butt hits the ground. Part of me wants to shut this down, to tell her to run home and worry about herself, but another dangerous part likes that she noticed.
“You don’t know me well enough to tell,” I mumble.
She rolls her eyes. “Unlike you I care about people. You’re cold one minute and then intense the next, it’s confusing. I’m just trying to make sure you’re ok.”
I let out a quiet humorless laugh. “It’s not confusion, it’s control.”
Her face softens and it throws me off. Why does she care about someone like me?
“I’m not trying to corner you, you don’t have to tell me what’s wrong but I’m—I’m concerned,” she admits.
The word concerned lodges somewhere uncomfortable and I tuck my hands into my jeans as I turn to her. I really look at her, letting her feel every emotion I do and the words I’ve been dreading to admit falls off my tongue.
“I like you,” I admit. “More than I’ve been willing to accept.”
She flinches as if I burned her and her eyebrows furrow. She studies me like she’s waiting for the punchline but recognizes the sincerity in my expression. I’ve never been so open with someone, so willing to let them know my feelings but at this moment I don’t care. I have nothing to lose anymore.
“I don’t know how I feel about you,” she responds honestly and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.
The words hit me harder than I expect because they’re honest, not because it hurts.
I nod. “That’s fair.” It’s not but I won’t punish her.
“You can’t shut me out when things get real, how do you ever expect me to like you?” Her words seem to close my mind again and I step back, creating distance where it should be.
“You don’t need to understand me,” I mumble.
She goes silent and we stand there facing one another, the smell of smoke and lavender colliding. Her gaze fights to stay on one part of my face as I watch her. She’s too enticing, too soft, too peaceful.
I turn away from her before I change my mind and want more than she’s ready to give.
“Goodnight, Sylvia.”
I don’t give her the chance to respond as I walk towards my home, creating space that we both need.
I ache for her but I remember Hayden's words, it’s her choice.