Chapter 2 #2
Something washes over him, and he shakes his head and releases me. It takes him only a second for his cocky mask to fall back into place. “You should know I’m always hard. It makes it easier to fuck on command.”
I scoff. “Like anyone would want to fuck you.”
“Oh, yeah. You should ask Chrishell about that.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
He smiles and shrugs. “I don’t know. Ask her.”
“You didn’t fuck Chrishell.”
“Maybe not. But she was so eager to suck my cock.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” He steps closer, rubbing against me through his thin swim shorts. I can pretend it's little all I want, but it doesn’t change the facts.
“You’re disgusting!” I push him away, but he doesn’t go anywhere. There’s no room. I don’t want to believe him, but I can’t help but play back every interaction I’ve witnessed between the two. Would she do that to me? She knows how much I hate him.
“Looks like I’m not the only one who's jealous,” Derek says, looking down at me, his breath thick.
“I’m not jealous.”
“You know, I can clearly see your pebbled tits, even in the darkness. Even if I couldn’t see them, I feel you arching so you rub them up against me.”
I gasp, something burning within me. “You wish I’d want to fuck you.
I bet you dream about it. For your information, I’m just thinking about Tristian.
" I’m not. The guy is on my ick list for letting me flounder in the pool, but I hope Derek can’t catch my lie.
We’ve never spoken this way to each other.
Yes, we’re both intending to insult, but there’s a sexual energy behind our words, not even subtle.
I blame the alcohol, clearly not completely out of my system.
“Shame. Tristian wouldn’t know what to do with you. Probably pump you for ten seconds, leaving you dissatisfied.”
“Speaking from experience?” How did my lips get so close to his? Why can I feel every inch of his hard body pressed against mine?
He clucks, bringing his lips to my ear. “You’ll never believe how good I am unless I show you, huh? But that’s exactly what you want, isn’t it? Practically begging for it.”
I’m at a loss for words. Why are my eyelids so heavy, my skin lifting off my bones?
The door opens, and a burst of light pours over us. A cop shines a flashlight into our eyes.
***
I jolt up from bed, my body covered in sweat.
The walls around me vibrate. I don’t recognize my location for a moment, registering the room in pieces.
The shaking walls are from music. I’m in my childhood bedroom, in my twenty-three-year-old body, not my seventeen-year-old self.
The dream I just awoke from flashes before me again, quicker this time.
I shake it away. Of course, it wasn’t just a dream, but a memory, one I can’t seem to forget.
I haven’t had that recurring nightmare in years.
The blaring music from Derek’s room next door woke me, but also serves as a reminder of the person who’s bringing all the memories back.
I fall back into bed, wanting to return to slumber, away from the nightmare that is my life.
It’s like he senses me seeking comfort and chooses to turn up the volume on his music.
After a few agonizing seconds, I surrender.
There’s no returning to sleep. I drop my feet to the floor, ready to face the day—the terror that is my real life.
I shuffle out of my bedroom and down the stairs, the smell of freshly brewed coffee carrying me onward.
My stepfather sits at the head of the long dining table, his brown hair peppered with grays, slicked back like always.
He drinks a cup of coffee and scrolls on his phone.
His brown eyes rise when he notices me entering the kitchen.
“Good morning,” he says, his gaze only grazing me quickly before returning to his phone.
I don’t expect more from Darrell. Sometimes I wish he would treat me like a father, since I never had one, but most of the time his indifference seemed like a blessing, especially when I witnessed what his special attention looked like in his relationship with Derek.
I pour myself a cup of coffee on the kitchen island, the music growing louder upstairs. This awakens my stepfather from his scrolling stupor. He slams his phone down, his face lined with anger. “Derek! Get down here!” he yells.
At first, I think it’s stupid of him. There’s no way Derek can hear him yelling over the music, even if it was a surprisingly loud scream, but the music turns down, and clomping footsteps follow.
Now that I reflect back on our childhood, Derek has always had keen senses—smelling, hearing, and seeing things better than any of us.
It’s an uncanny animalistic ability that fits with the rest of his untamed persona.
Darrell rubs at his temples, resting on his elbows. I always wanted someone to commiserate with in the hatred of my stepbrother, but it never felt right doing so with Darrell—too cruel.
“How long is he staying?” I ask.
He sighs. “Probably a while. He got shot.”
“Shot?”
“Yep. Got in a fight with one of the idiots he hangs around with, ended with him bloodying our doorstep. He’s lucky he isn’t in jail.”
“Been there, not too bad. The wardens are nicer than they are here.” Derek brushes against me from behind, grabbing the cup out of my hand and taking a sip.
He’s too fast for me to react, giving me a shit-eating grin from the end of the island as he sips from my coffee cup.
He’s shirtless, glistening with sweat. I try to ignore the defined bulges of his pectorals, abdominals, and biceps, sprinkled with dark tattoos I can’t make out without looking too hard, and I definitely don’t want to look too hard.
Parts of him may be the same, but he looks entirely different.
He wants me to react, just like I did when we were younger, but I’m not a teenager anymore—despite my recent dream. Instead of giving him what he wants, I ignore him and fetch myself another white mug.
“Derek, this isn’t supposed to be a vacation. If you hate it here, you can find somewhere else to go,” Darrell says, his hands gripping the edge of the table.
“You’re right. I probably should just turn myself in. I bet they're wondering what really happened to that hunter.”
Hunter? I thought Darrell said his friend shot him? Darrell straightens even more, grimacing.
“Yep, that’s what I thought. Wouldn’t look good for your public image if your son ended up in jail again.”
I’m surprised to hear Derek was ever in jail.
I wonder when. My parents would completely lose their shit.
As parenting influencers, I can’t think of anything worse than their own child ending up incarcerated, but I surmise that whatever and whenever it happened was far away from here, or my parents paid a lot of money to make sure it was covered up.
My stepfather says nothing. Derek walks toward the stairs.
“Great, glad we cleared things up. Now, if you two will excuse me, I have a workout to finish. Isabella, keep it down in your room, will ya? I might have some chicks over later.” He pauses.
“Unless you want to watch. I know how lonely you get over there, and I imagine you’ll run out of money for vibrator batteries soon. Maybe Darrell can spot you some.”
My mouth hangs wide as I watch him disappear up the staircase. No, Derek isn’t the same kid I remember. He’s worse, much worse.
I wait until I hear him shut his bedroom door before marching up the stairs to my room. I’m gluing myself to my laptop until I find a new job and can get the hell out of here.