39
Fucking shit. I'm running out of options.
Sensibility calls for me to return her to the Void, stall Mortensen until graduation, get Clara to safety, then fuck off and never see the bastard, or her, again.
Only, she's caught in my web. I can't let her go.
I think I need some help. I want to dive deep into her broken past and steal it for my own.
It does something to the devious beast in me.
My father’s words resonate deep within my inner tomb.
He is sharpening his blades, readying himself for the final blow.
His moves are always calculated and thought out.
Unlike him, I thrive off chaos. We are diametrically opposed.
How I'm his son, I'll never fucking understand.
If I can keep him off my dick for a while longer, I can wash my hands of all of this bullshit.
Nothing pisses him off more than my I-don't-give-a-fuck attitude.
He wanted an obedient son to take over his empire, instead he got me. Too fucking fitting. I snort at that.
Clara's sleeping form crowds the bed. Her hair is fanned out on the pillow beside me.
Her scent clouds my senses. The argent glow of the lamp catches on her golden strands.
Her breathing has finally evened out. I knew she'd eventually drift to sleep from all the excitement.
Her body needs to heal after the shit I've put her through.
It's definitely a risk keeping her here under Mortensen's nose.
Thinking things through aren't my forte.
My hand drifts along the bedsheet. I run my thumb and forefinger along the ends of her filaments.
My thoughts run rampant with devious dark ways to keep her beside me which is utterly ludicrous.
I've never slept next to any bitch. Ever. I don't do feelings bullshit.
Nah. Much easier to get off and send them packing.
It gives these bitches the wrong idea, but something about her fragile nature intrigues me.
It would be criminal not to use her until she collapses at my feet.
She's a jagged puzzle. I want to construct her pieces, only to watch their galvanic collapse from my calloused hand.
My phone buzzes on the end table, disrupting my sick, idealistic ideations.
Another text from Clara's professors. Having her texts routed to my phone has made it easier to hide her from the world.
I told all her professors she's out sick.
Very few know about her involvement in Void.
It helps she has no family or close friends other than Vesper.
Could be a hell of a lot worse if she did.
Admittedly, I haven't thought far enough ahead on what the next step will be, but fuck it, I'll roll with the punches.
My phone flashes with a phone call. Zain's name floods the screen.
“Yeah, what's up, man?” I keep my voice low. I slip out of the bed and stalk out toward the wet bar. I could use a heavy hit and stiff drink.
“You got shit figured out? Wait, is Clara—”
I suck my teeth. “Yeah, man, she is.” I refuse to let him finish the sentence.
That would make shit too real. This shit isn't anything.
To me at least. She's a fun distraction.
I dig in my jeans to pull out a joint. I need a heavy hit after today's bullshit.
I lean against the bar. A bottle of Absinthe sits waiting for me.
I always get pleasure from drinking away Mortensen's money.
He keeps this shit well stocked even though I piss through it within a week when I'm under his roof.
“Vesper is livid. You're losin’ it, Kieran.”
I flick open my lighter and take a hit. My eyes drift closed. Since when does he lecture me? It's always the other way around. I've talked him off the ledge more times than I can count.
You were ready to forgive him. Then you read her side of the story.
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