Chapter 32
He’s conditioned me to enjoy cruel, unbridled masochistic pleasure.
He’s cynical and wild, but part of me wonders if maybe I can show him how to feel something other than disdain and hatred for the world around him.
Is he a lost cause? His harsh words sting, but I no longer believe he is incapable of feeling indifference for me.
The moment he leaves, I feel empty, and I’m desperate to seek him out.
I must be insane. It’s the only logical explanation.
I no longer feel like the shy, inexperienced innocent girl.
I feel in control and powerful. He’s shown me things I now crave.
My body is sore from his rough fucking. I should be livid.
I should be acrimonious. Instead, he’s wearing me down, weakening my resolve.
If Jax had taken me by force, I would be broken.
A crumpled mess. Not with Zain. My father would disown me if he knew I gave someone like Zain my first time.
At some point, he has to let me be free to make my own decisions.
Though, I don’t see that happening anytime in the near future.
I make sure to cover the bruises, cuts, and tattoo Zain stamped on me.
The corner of my eye catches something shiny.
His discarded switchblade lays on the hardwood floor.
He must have forgotten it in the heat of the moment.
I bend down and pick it up; it’s heavy in my palm.
I inspect it, remembering all the things he’s done to me with it.
Then the unsettling thought rolls in of all the things I don’t know about. Maybe he’s killed someone. Is this the same blade he used to carve into Jax? Before I come down for breakfast, I slide it into my sweater pocket with the intent to return it.
My father is sitting at the dining table in his wingback chair reading his newspaper in silence.
Platters of crisp bacon and eggs sit beside decorative bowls of vibrant sliced fruits.
He doesn’t look up when I enter. Slowly, careful of my sore body, I sink into the velvet chair.
Suzanne shuffles over to pour orange juice into my glass.
The only sound is the wrinkling of the newspaper and the faint crackling of the adjoining fireplace nestled into the farthest reaches of the room.
“I think I’m going to head back to campus early. I don’t want Clara to be alone,” I say, breaking the silence. “She has no one.” I take a sip of the orange juice.
I don’t think he will be too upset. He has enough work to keep him busy.
He doesn’t look up as his icy tone reverberates through the hall. “If you wish. I assure you though, Miss Vane is far from…lonely.” The last word rolls off his tongue slowly, as if he knows something I don’t. I raise a brow.
Suzanne piles my plate full of delicious food. I take a small bite of my bacon, inspecting it. It crunches against my teeth, and a burst of flavor fills my mouth. “I will stay longer for our next break, Father. Will you be attending my Symphony? I will be singing and playing the pianoforte.”
He sets the paper down. “Of course, sweetheart. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
His face is laced with sincerity. I deeply wish my father was less controlling. We have a good relationship—if only we could just move past that.
The paper steals his attention again. “Dante will drive you. I will be on campus for business in a few weeks. I’ll check in on you, sweetheart.
” Again, he doesn’t bother to look my way.I nod and finish my breakfast in silence.
Packing takes no time at all. Since I’d only planned on staying a few nights, I hadn’t even bothered to unpack fully.
Dante readies the car and we make the hour trek back to Grimshaw Academy.
When we pull up to the Scion Building, Clara is outside waiting for me.
Excitement fills her face the moment I exit.
Her blonde hair is tied into a messy bun.
The sting of the cold air makes her cheeks look freshly pinkened.
I rush into her arms, embracing her in a deep hug.
“I missed you,” I mumble against her sweater.
She pulls away, clutching my shoulders. “Not as much as I missed you!” she says gleefully.
Dante unloads the back of the car in silence. We link arms as we approach the building, chatting about what we’ve missed. I punch the code in and hold the door for Dante so he can wheel the bags inside.
“So, you’re back early,” she wags her brow, fishing as to why. We were only gone a few days. Our steps thud down the quiet hallway. My reasoning of not wanting to leave Clara alone is not the whole truth.
Of course I miss her and hate the fact she was alone, but I have an ulterior motive.
We unlock the dorm, and the fresh scent of home hits my nostrils.
Dante wheels the bags to my bed; they scrape along the carpeted floor. I bid Dante farewell before he heads back to the car. I climb on Clara’s bed and tell her everything. I mean everything. “Vesper Santi!” she gasps with a wide mouth.
I bury my forehead in her shoulder. “I fully intended to stay away. He keeps showing up! Breaking into my freaking father’s house was absolutely wild.
I mean how does the dude even know where I live?
Instead of being concerned, all I can think about is when I’ll see him again.
How messed up is that? “She waves me off and pulls me by my upper arm to face her. “I look at it as if it’s just like our romance books,” she says pointedly, but I know she’s joking.
But…maybe she has a point. He has a fetish for knife play and blood, but he’s never tried to kill me. There is definitely some underlying trauma, though he refuses to discuss.
I blanch at myself. I’m going insane. I’m reasoning out his maniacal, delusional behavior.
Clara snaps in my face. “Stop it,” she warns with a stern look, sensing my conflict. “You’re really considering seeing him again? Listen, Vesp, when I told you to let loose, that was before I realized he’s a bit psychotic.”
“He accused me of wanting to fix him. I suppose he’s kinda right. I know there’re feelings buried there somewhere,” I murmur. Or maybe there aren’t? Maybe he is just a cold, merciless man.
We both let ourselves fall back onto the bed. I stare at the ceiling, rationalizing.
“We have a few days before classes start back up. I’m going to try to talk to him.” I suck my bottom lip.
She turns towards me, her eyes full of apprehension. “Don’t push a guy like that, Vesp.”
But deep down I know he wouldn’t hurt me…would he?
***