Chapter 9 Dread
DREAD
“Isaw you at Craig’s party, but we talked for a total of thirty seconds before you ran off. I was hoping to give this to you then, but I didn’t get much of a chance. So, uh, here you go.”
The girl hands me a piece of paper, glancing up at me through her eyelashes shyly while biting her bottom lip.
I bet she thinks it’s sexy. It only makes her look like a child, and that’s the quickest way to make my dick shrivel back up into my body.
Not to mention she’s a redhead, not blonde.
Craig’s party was a little over two weeks ago, though, so I have zero recollection of talking to her.
I left the following morning of the party to fly to Texas for a national event and came back to Colorado for three days, just to fly out again to Virginia for a training camp with the USA team for a week.
I just got in last night, and I’m fucking exhausted.
I want nothing more than to go back to fucking bed, but there’s a particular blonde I’m itching to see.
Silently, I stare down at the paper, keeping my arms firmly at my sides. The second she realizes I’m not taking it, the surrounding air grows awkward, and she hesitates to bring it back toward her, as if she can’t decide whether to physically push it against my chest or just give up.
Any other time, I would be a lot nicer to her.
Being a public figure, I make it a point not to be an asshole to others if I can help it.
My publicist would walk off the top of a building if I treated everyone like I treat Reverie.
And if they hated me the way she does, I’d sooner drown than land sponsorships or brand deals.
Plus, when the majority of people who interact with me have positive experiences, it makes them a lot more complacent when they bear witness to my and Reverie’s feud.
“I mean, her father did kill his mom. Can you really blame him for giving her a hard time?”
“She kinda does deserve it, though…”
“He’s actually so nice. He only acts that way toward her because of what her family did to him, and it's honestly understandable.”
Truthfully, her fucking with me back has helped keep my reputation fairly positive, because now, most people see our dynamic as a mutual war. I'm not the sole aggressor, and I have justifiable reasons.
Now Reverie, on the other hand…
When I meet the girl’s stare, she’s wiped that childish expression clean from her face, replaced with embarrassment, bright red cheeks, and a slight frown, her eyes darting all around us.
I guess she’s in my finance class and stopped me just as I stepped out into the hallway. The lecture ended two minutes ago, and dozens of students are filing out around us, forcing me to step back and lean against the wall while she stands only a few inches in front of me.
I should be nice and just take the goddamn paper, but I'm just really not in the mood. I still haven't seen Reverie outside of my stupid fucking screen saver, and it's making me extremely irritable.
Whatever. I'm allowed to have my bad days.
“Uh, y-you don’t have to take it. I just wanted to get to know you, that’s all,” she says, ending the sentence with an uneasy laugh.
“All these other girls talk about you like you’re not a real person, and I hate the way they dehumanize you, ya know?
I guess I just wanted you to know I see you for you, not the Olympic gold medalist everyone reduces you to. ”
She’d be extremely surprised to hear I’ve heard that exact speech from nearly every single girl who’s tried to seduce me.
“I’m different. I see you for who you really are.”
“They just want to use you, but not me. Never me.”
“You’re more than just a celebrity. I see beneath all that. I see the real person you hide from the world, but you can’t hide it from me.”
Truthfully, I prefer they be upfront with me. When they tell me they just want to fuck, I respect it a hell of a lot more than the ones who try to act like they’re special.
Not a single fucking one of them is special.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
That perks her up a little, and her lips curl into another shy smile. She tucks a lock of red hair behind her ear, and I think she meant that to be endearing.
It wasn’t.
“Victoria.”
“If I told you all I’m interested in is a quick fuck, would you spread your legs for me?”
She blinks, surprised by the question, but she recovers quickly and smooths out her expression into contemplation. “If that’s what you needed from me at that moment. I would never push you into giving me something more until you’re ready.”
Until I’m ready.
As if I’d keep fucking her, and she’d somehow worm her way into my heart.
Somewhere in that eager little brain of hers, she’s convinced me sleeping with her one time will be all it takes to hook me, keep me coming back for more.
She probably thinks she’ll be the greatest fuck of my life, purely because she’s determined to be.
I bet she’s played out a million different scenarios, and in each one, she pulls off some trick with her body or says something she thinks I’ve never heard before.
In her mind, I’d just become so addicted, I’d need more.
She’d be wrong.
Pussy is pussy, and they’re all the fucking same, especially when they pretend like theirs drips gold.
“Then why not just get down on your knees and offer to suck my dick?” I ask dryly.
Again, she blinks, stunned.
“B-because I want—”
“To fuck me, to date me, then marry me, in that order. Would we get a puppy together, and would you take me home to meet your family? Have you imagined the ring I picked out for you already? And the way I’d propose?”
Her cheeks flush tomato red, and she guiltily glances away, answering my questions despite the way she tries to deny them.
“Of course not.” Another awkward laugh. “I’m not that desperate, Dread. Jesus.”
Another lie. She’s very fucking desperate. I could smell it from between her thighs after ten seconds of speaking to her. I could probably smell it at the party, too, which is why she wasn’t even slightly memorable.
“You think you’re different from the rest? Maybe try coming up with a speech I haven’t heard before,” I say, my irritation growing. For the life of me, I don’t know why the hell she’s still standing in front of me.
Her mouth drops, hurt flashing across her eyes.
My annoyance climbs, so I spin on my heel and walk away before I make her cry.
Eventually, I'll come to my senses and go find her to spit out some charming apology that'll have her batting her eyelashes and thinking I'm dreamy again. But right now, I’ll burn through all my calories searching for a fuck to give, and I need those for swim practice later.
I don’t know why the hell I’m so angry, anyway. Women hitting on me is a daily occurrence, and typically, it’s something I don’t think twice about.
However, these past couple weeks have been especially irritating, and every single time a girl has stopped me on campus, on the street, or even at an event, I’m ready to wring someone’s neck by the time I’ve finished kindly rejecting them.
I haven’t seen Reverie since the party, and for whatever reason, it’s gotten under my skin. During the three days I was home last week, she was nowhere to be seen, and I was too busy with practice to go looking for her.
I can’t stand that she hid from me. It’s pathetic. Weak. Something she’s never done before.
And fuck, is it pissing me off.
Usually, I’m met with some type of fire by now, whether it’s putting a padlock on my locker in the gym, forcing me to walk across campus in nothing more than a towel in the dead of winter, or writing a goddamn Reddit post claiming to have gone to high school with me and said I had an addiction to fucking citrus fruit—literally fucking them.
It went viral, of course, and she spent a solid nine hours replying to people, saying school faculty had to hide all the oranges and lemons from me during lunch because I kept sneaking off to the bathroom to jack off with them.
Eventually, my publicist got the post removed, and real people from my high school spoke out and refuted the rumors, but occasionally, I come across comments from people who still think it's true.
That's the Reverie I know and hate.
But to hide from me?
That’s fucking new, and it’s driving me insane.
Maybe I went too far these last couple times, but even considering being regretful only pisses me off more.
She deserves to be reminded of the women she continues to ignore. Because the only ones who deserve my fucking compassion are them.
I slam the exit door open as I charge out of the Ada Lovelace Center, where our finance class is located, but the icy air does little to soothe my temper.
Christ, maybe I do need a quick fuck. Between Reverie’s insistence on existing and Lionel’s parole hearing, my head is all fucked up.
And I still haven’t heard a single goddamn thing about the board’s decision, which has weighed on me more and more each day.
I'm supposed to receive a letter as soon as they reach one, but it’s been over a month since the hearing, and still fucking crickets.
I’ve been checking the CDCR’s website several times a week, confirming he’s still in custody as of this morning, which has been the only thing keeping me from losing my mind completely.
I’ve had so much pent-up aggression because of it, and neither swimming nor fucking with Reverie has been cutting it, but the thought of getting any woman beneath me makes my insides recoil. Doesn’t matter which pretty face I picture—they all look abhorrent to me.
All except one, at least.
I've become desperate. I’ve googled countless celebrities, models, and sex workers in hopes of ridding her from my mind, but then I blink, and I'm suddenly staring at my screen saver. I blink again, and my dick is in my hand, and I’m coming all over myself.