He pinches my nipple, and I automatically try to lean away from him.
“Stop.” I hate how it shoots straight to my center. How everything inside me is alive in a way that it hasn’t been in a really fucking long time.
“You give in?” His eyes light up. “You like this, Sheep. Admit it and I’ll stop.”
He opens my shirt, inch by inch.
I bite my lip, refusing to play his game. It’s dumb, really. A tiny, terrified part of me is screaming to say whatever I need to in order to escape. To claim my sanity back, because he’s slowly walking us to the cliff’s edge.
Once we fall, there’s no going back.
“Admit you like it, and I’ll stop,” he repeats. He looks at my bra, tugging my shirt open wider. He pulls down the top edge of the bra cup. It exposes my breast, nipple hard under his attention.
Shame floods through me, but I press my lips together.
I can make this stop.
He leans down and touches his lips to the flesh just above my nipple. And then he bites, sucking hard, and my whole body stiffens. It’s pleasure and pain wrapped together, confusing my mind. Building until I can’t take it anymore.
“S-stop.” I push at his head, and my skin pulls before he releases his teeth’s hold.
He steps away, grinning at me. “Are you afraid?”
“Of you?”
His eyes gleam, and he looks down. “I know you’re afraid of me. I don’t need to ask. Are you wet?”
I suck in a breath.
“Yes or no, love,” he says. “If you don’t answer, I can easily find out.”
“You wouldn’t—”
His eyebrow rises. I lift my hands to push him away, but he grabs my wrists and pins them against my chest. His grip is bruising. One of his hands slides up the inside of my thigh, under the edge of my panties. His finger strokes me, sudden and vicious.
I arch away from him, glaring holes in his head. It’s foreign and painful, but also… not. He thrusts his finger into me again, his thumb on my clit.
“Soaked.”
He pulls back, and I choke on a gasp. Tears prick my eyes at the violence of it. At the audacity.
“You won’t—”
“Get away with this?” He rolls his eyes, raising his finger to his lips. It glistens in the light streaming in through the window. “I almost wish you were right. But here’s a fact, love: everyone adores me. No one will believe you. Especially with the rumors circulating about your parents.”
I swipe at my eyes, desperate to not cry in front of him.
“Suck,” he orders, shoving his finger at me. “And I’ll take you home. Promise.”
The tears fall, and I try to blink them away. “Fuck you.”
He shrugs, sticking his finger in his mouth. He does a thorough job cleaning me off him, withdrawing his finger out with a pop. When he’s done, he walks out of the kitchen.
I follow him on shaky legs out the front door. We didn’t get to the best part, I almost say, but honestly—I’m done for today. Exhaustion settles over me, cold and thick.
He climbs in his car. Again, I follow.
Except, the passenger door is locked.
He rolls down the window, shooting me a wink. “Shouldn’t have tested me, Sheep. See you tomorrow.”
And then he leaves me. Rolls up the window and drives away, not even casting me another glance.
I sink to my knees, my little tears evolving into huge, hiccupping sobs.
From a first kiss to… this.
I regret ever being excited about coming back to Rose Hill. Not with a monster as the school’s leader.
7
No one is home when I get there. They mentioned where they hid the spare key, but it still takes me a minute to find it and get in.
I grab a snack and head to my room, unwilling to hang around the living room and wait for their return. Sleep comes quickly, chased by dreams of my mother and me in a field of flowers.
A storm sweeps in, and we run for shelter.
Suddenly, we’re in Caleb’s kitchen, watching him eat me out. His head is hidden by my uniform skirt, and my body is rigid. I can feel him as I watch the scene.
The me on the table disappears, and Caleb licks his lips. He rises. Glancing behind me, I see my mother has vanished, as well.
“Turned on, Margo?”
He never calls me Margo.
He prowls forward and shoves me backward. “Wake up.”
I wake with a start, flat on my back with my hand down my pajama shorts.
Oh my god.
I slowly retract my hand and roll onto my side. I don’t want to dream about Caleb. I don’t want to think about him or let him have any sway over my body.
This is unacceptable.
Uncomfortable.
I get out of bed and put on a pair of leggings, then go downstairs. Robert and Lenora are watching television, and they both perk up when they see me.
“Feeling better?” Robert asks. “You looked pale in class.”
I nod. “Yeah, I was just a bit dizzy. The nap helped.”
Lenora unfolds herself from the couch, coming over to where I’m hovering by the kitchen island. They have a big open-concept house. The kitchen is separated from the dining room and living room by a large island, and the other spaces are sectioned off by artfully placed furniture. Her style is impressive. She knows how to fill a home without overwhelming it.
“Hungry?”
“Starving,” I say, shifting my weight. She’s been nice—they both have. Yet the dream, plus past experiences with foster families, has me feeling particularly flighty. In the past, if I missed dinner? Too bad. Go hungry.
Lenora gestures for me to follow her, and she starts pulling out containers. “I’ll let you make a plate. Do you mind just putting the stuff away when you’re done?”
“I will.”
She puts a plate on the counter for me.
“Feel free to join us.” She heads back to the couch.
Once my plate is loaded and heated, and everything is back in the fridge, I sink down in the chair adjacent to the couch. I split my attention between the reality show they’re watching and the food. Halfway through, I lift my head. “This food is amazing,” I tell her.
Lenora smiles. “Thank you. Do you cook?”
I freeze. “Me?”
We cooked to survive. I know how to make rice and chicken, ground beef and pasta. How to thin out a can of soup to make it last an extra three days… but cook like this? Never.
“I could teach you,” she offers. “If you had any interest.”
I swallow. “Yeah,” I manage in a hoarse voice, “that’d be… that’d be great.”
She smiles. “I’d like that.”
“Me, too.” I wipe my face and clear my throat, pretending that I don’t have tears in my eyes for the fifth time today. At least they’re tears of happiness.
“Aw, honey.” She gets up and takes the plate from me. She passes it to Robert and wraps me in a hug.
It takes me a minute to unlock my muscles and hug her back. Touching is a weird thing in foster care. It gets to the point that you can’t really trust anyone, especially once you’re a teenager.
I survived all of that.
She rubs my back in small circles, and I lean my cheek on her shoulder. I close my eyes, absorbing her warmth. But then it’s over. There are tears in her eyes, too. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I should’ve asked—”