Kasien （Age 18）
Kasien
One more year and I’m gone.
The day Natalya hits eighteen, I’m taking her and Adrien and we’re gone. Fucking gone forever.
Different states.
Different countries.
Maybe a different planet if it’s possible.
Just as far away as possible from the Varners. From Sylvia. From Rick.
Just one more year. I can make it for one more year. I can.
The woman beneath me drags her red nails down my shoulders, her breath breaking into desperate moans I barely hear.
I wrap my hand around her throat and tighten my grip, setting a harder rhythm just to make it end faster.
Her head falls back against the pillow as the pace turns rough, mechanical.
The scars on my hands blanch white against her skin.
Just finish. Come already.
Her body finally tenses beneath me, small tremors running through her legs. The moment the tension leaves her, I pull out and throw the condom in the bin before she can see it’s empty.
I don’t even know how many whores Sylvia made me fuck. I lost count. At first I fought it. It felt wrong—they were touching me and I didn’t want them to. But eventually I learned something useful.
Control.
If I took control of the situation, it ended faster.
Sylvia says I need to learn how to fuck to become a good manipulator. That if I learn how to control people in bed, I’ll learn how to control them everywhere else.
She’s fucking sick.
It doesn’t even make any sense.
Or maybe it does, I don’t know. If that’s what leadership means to her, no wonder they are rotting from the inside.
Maybe she wants me to become as empty as possible. To suck all the life out of me so I can do the dirtiest work for her.
She hasn’t made me kill yet, thankfully.
I only clean.
I hate blood and dirt. I always wash my hands hundreds of times, almost ripping open some of the old scars, and it’s never enough. Then I take a shower and it’s still not enough. It feels like the blood is everywhere.
On my skin.
Under my nails.
Inside my head.
Adrien helps me all the time. He’s better with blood. He doesn’t mind getting dirty.
But me? Most of the time I end up vomiting just to feel clean.
I get off the bed, pull on my boxers, then my pants. I grab my shirt and my car keys and get the hell out of that room. It smells like her perfume.
I’m so sick of all the perfumes that linger on my body after.
I take the stairs and run toward the exit of this house. Sylvia and other Vermilion people are gathering in the lobby, laughing, clinking their glasses together.
My eyes flick to her for a second. A dozen different ways to kill her flash through my head.
She just made me fuck one of her clients, goddammit.
Her gaze finds mine as I push through the main door and step outside.
The summer sun finally hits my face and the air feels like oxygen again.
She keeps saying sex teaches power. That understanding desire means understanding people. That one day I’ll make a good Vermilion leader.
What the hell kind of logic is that?
I don’t see it. I never will.
But as long as I do what she says, she keeps her hands away from my sister at least. That’s the unspoken deal.
She told me she only wanted to adopt me. That my childhood trauma would make me a good leader one day. But of course it’s not possible to adopt only one sibling.
Natalya bears the Varner surname because of me. She’s in this hellhole because of me.
They usually leave her alone. But lately I’ve started noticing that Sylvia urges her to wear heavy makeup, to dress like a middle-aged woman. I don’t like that. Natalya’s favorite clothes are literally Adrien’s old rock band T-shirts. Now she’s wearing lipstick and dresses, just like Sylvia.
I think that’s only the beginning. I have a bad feeling she has a plan for my sister too.
One year and we’re gone.
I get to my car, open the door, put my hands on the wheel and let my head fall back on the headrest, resting for a moment, trying to calm my nerves, but my dick is still hard, suffocating in my pants. The vardenafil takes too long to wear off.
My phone dings in my pocket.
Sylvia: The charity event is starting in an hour, just pick up Natalya and come back.
I quickly type back and start my car. I thought she wanted me here so early to help with preparation for the event, not to fuck the host.
When I get home, I text Natalya to be ready in thirty minutes while I hit the shower, rubbing that disgusting perfume off my body and making myself cum so the pill finally wears off.
I put on a clean shirt with a suit jacket and black pants, hoping it’s a no-tie event. I don’t want to wear a stupid tie. I run my fingers through my hair, messing it up so I don’t look like one of those slicked blond idiots I will probably meet again today.
I get out of my room and run down the stairs, grabbing the keys and getting myself into my car, honking twice outside the house. Natalya finally comes out and runs down the sandstone stairs with bare feet, holding black heels in her hand.
She gets to the car and sits in the passenger seat, slipping the heels on. I stare at her. Her naturally wavy black hair is completely straightened, ironed, and styled, just like Sylvia wears it.
“Why are you dressing like that?” I exhale.
“Could you stop with that? I’m almost seventeen and Sylvia wants me to look presentable at those parties. Just get over it.”
She pulls down the sun visor and checks herself in the small mirror.
“Are we waiting for Adrien?” she asks while correcting her lipstick.
“No, he has work, he’ll come later.”
“What work? Sylvia is sending him to the city all the time lately.”
“Just running some errands.”
Natalya knows damn well that our parents are not just global investors with a lot of rich friends. But she doesn’t know how deep the business goes and how bloody it can get for me and Adrien sometimes. We’re all doing a pretty decent job of leaving her out of it.
She doesn’t answer me anymore as we get on the road.
We’re soon back at the property I left not even an hour ago. Some men come to our car and offer to park it for us, but I decline. Nobody’s touching my precious baby.
I help Natalya out of the car and we head toward the garden party. Small standing tables are spread out along the huge garden, white stones making little paths for people to walk on, so the perfectly maintained grass doesn’t get ruined by heels.
On the right side of the garden is a huge white tent where most of the catering is. Across from it stands a small stage. I’m not even sure what this charity is about, I just know that a lot of money will be collected and laundered for our clients.
We get to one of the small standing tables with a little lantern in the middle and one of the caterers immediately gets to us with two glasses of prosecco. We take it politely and drink almost all of it right away.
I know Natalya hates this posh bullshit even more than me. She would probably rather take her shoes off and jump in the fountain, then she’d flip off the security trying to drag her out, then Adrien would probably jump in there too and take the blame the next day.
She’s not doing shit like that anymore, since the consequences started to appear as bruises on Adrien’s face.
We get another glass of prosecco and take a trip around the garden, politely greeting everyone and participating in small talk.
When we’re finally alone again, Natalya’s eyes suddenly light up as she waves at one of the catering girls and I freeze.
She’s young, with long wavy dark hair pulled into a ponytail, and she just crashed into one of the tables, dropping her tray of water glasses when she noticed Natalya.
“Oh my God,” Natalya murmurs and runs to help her.
I’m paralyzed.
Should I help them too?
It was nothing really and none of the glasses broke on the soft grass. Both of them get up and laugh it off, then the girl turns around and walks toward the catering tent, shooting a quick glance toward my table before grabbing clean glasses.
Natalya walks back to me, still smiling.
“Who was that?” I ask her quietly.
“Kiara. She’s from my school.”
“Mhm,” I hum, not taking my eyes off her.
She’s cute. A lot.
My face is warming up ridiculously fast.
What the fuck.
And then she turns her gaze toward us and her eyes meet mine.
Fuck.
I look somewhere else quickly and put the glass of prosecco to my lips to distract myself. But it’s empty. Jesus.
Why am I being so weird?
I look at her once more.
She’s still watching me.
Fuck fuck fuck.
What am I doing?
I run my fingers through my hair, feeling like I don’t know where to put my hands.
And then it hits me. She was just staring at my hands. They’re brutally ugly and people always stare.
I check her again but she’s already on the other side of the tent, filling more glasses with alcohol, not minding us.
Okay. Calm down.
Natalya snorts next to me and when I turn my gaze toward her, she’s staring at me with her eyebrows up, smirking.
“Jesus Kas, if you want her number, just ask,” she laughs. “She’s really sweet, so she would probably go out with an emo like you.”
She rolls her eyes and I just scoff.
“Shut up, I don’t need you to be my wingman.”
I nervously look around to distract myself but I accidentally end up finding Kiara one more time.
“You sure? You’re starting to sweat, my dear brother.”
She’s right. Why the hell am I sweating all of a sudden?
“She was just staring at my hands, it made me uncomfortable,” I mumble, lifting the empty glass of prosecco to my lips before realizing—again—that there’s nothing left.
“No, she wasn’t. She was staring right into your eyes,” she says, laughing.
Was she?
“She’s already gone. Don’t mind it anymore,” I mutter.
“What? She’s right there!” Natalya shoots her hand in Kiara’s direction and I immediately catch it and take it down.
“Shh. Shut up,” I hiss quietly while the corner of my mouth is tugging into an embarrassed smile.
She starts laughing more and almost spills the rest of her drink as she’s fighting me.