“One day you’ll be spread out in my kitchen, and I’ll devour you,” he promises. “I’m going to fuck your pussy, and you’ll be screaming my name. But for today…”
His free hand slides up my stomach, and he pinches my nipple, twisting it in his fingers. It’s pain and pleasure, and suddenly a wave crashes over me, knocking me off the cliff. I soar.
Stars burst behind my eyes.
He holds me as my body trembles. When I come back to myself, his nose is in my hair. His lips touch the top of my head.
“Don’t forget what we talked about,” he says, releasing me.
I turn around and look at him. His eyes are dark, appraising me. He smiles at something on my face, but it’s too fleeting.
We get into his car, and he puts his hand on my thigh. I don’t even mind it, because… I think I’m a bit out of my mind.
He’s tormented me for weeks, and now he’s claimed my body. He’s a bully…
He’s my bully.
I hate you, I say in my head, just testing it out. It sounds weak, even to me. It’s a half-hearted plea to my own self. Hate him, damn it!
He stops in front of the Jenkins’ house and glances at me.
I lower the visor and check my face in the mirror, making sure everything is in place. It’s as if nothing ever happened.
I slide out of the car, ready to close it, when he leans toward me.
“You forgot something.”
I raise my eyebrow, and he takes my phone out of his pocket. He tosses it to me.
“Sweet dreams.” He winks.
I shake my head, knowing that I’ll probably dream of him. After that, how can I not?
He watches me walk up the driveway and into the house. It’s only eleven-thirty, and I’m sober as a nun. Just like I wanted.
In the living room, Robert is reading a book with a blanket on his lap. He smiles and gestures for me to come over.
I fold myself into the armchair.
“You’re early,” he says. “Our daughter—”
I bite my lip. They haven’t talked about her, only mentioned her those two times.
He sighs and continues, “She was a rule breaker. If curfew was midnight, she’d walk in the door at twelve-ten without fail. It drove Len crazy. And then our foster was different, but in the same way. She wouldn’t show up at midnight. We’d be lucky if she came home by two.”
I wince. “That isn’t my style.”
“I know, Margo. And we appreciate it.”
I nod.
“We were worried about this transition, but you seem to have your head on straight. How did tonight go?”
“It was fun.” I will my thoughts away from Caleb’s hands on my body and focus on my brief moments with Riley. “Nice to get into the school spirit again.”
He looks down at his book and removes his reading glasses. “We know his family. He’s had a rough…” He shakes his head. “Did you know him when you went to school here?”
“No,” I lie. I’m not sure why it slips out of my mouth, because the truth will probably come out eventually. “Not well.”
He nods. “All right. I’m done with the inquisition. Len and I drew straws to see who would stay up waiting for you. I’ll admit I’m relieved to see you back in one piece before midnight, so I can go to bed.”
We both chuckle, and I follow him up the stairs. I wave goodbye at my room and close the door quietly. I hesitate to turn around, wondering if tonight, Caleb will be sitting on my bed again. If he’ll come calling more now that he’s…
I finally turn, but my room is empty. The window is closed. What was it Robert had said?
He had a rough…
Rough what?
My phone buzzes in my hand. I’d forgotten I even had it.
Caleb: Dream of me.
The fucker slipped his number into my phone.
I drop it onto my nightstand and get ready for bed quickly, more than exhausted. When I dream, it isn’t of him. It’s a nightmare.
My mother clutches my shoulders, holding me close.
It isn’t loving. She shakes me hard, my head snapping back from the strength of it.
“What did you do?”
Tears fill my eyes. The world becomes blurry. She keeps shaking until someone rips her hands off me. I fall backward, my head smacking off the edge of our kitchen table.
“Margo, tell me!”
I can’t stop crying. My whole body trembles with the force of my sobs.
My head hurts.
My heart hurts.
Why?
“Why?” Mom screams.
I jerk upright, clutching at my chest. Sweat drips down my back.
That felt entirely too real.
I get up and lock myself in my bathroom, turning on the shower. Steam covers the mirror in seconds, and I’m grateful I don’t have to see my own expression. What would my face convey? Shock? Horror?
It had to be just a figment of my imagination.
The hot water burns away the crawling feeling of the nightmare. As I scrub my scalp, I realize I’m searching for something. My finger finds a scar on the back of my head, slightly raised and jagged.
I shiver.
Once I’m clean, I wrap myself in towels. One for my body and another for my hair. I climb back into bed and stare at the wall, waiting for sleep to come. It doesn’t. My eyelids grow heavy, but my mind is spinning like a top. I get out of bed and peek out my window. Slowly, like I’m still trapped in a dream, I unlock it and slide it open an inch.
And then I wait. But the devil doesn’t come.
12
The weekend brings new challenges. Namely: Caleb.
And paint.
“We need to work on our project,” he says, leaning against my bathroom door.
He caught me by surprise, bounding up the stairs before Robert had a chance to warn me.
I have one eye of makeup done. One.
He comes in and pushes my hand holding the mascara wand down, then raises his other hand. He blocks first one side of my face from his view, then the other.
I raise my eyebrows.
“You look nice without makeup on,” he says. “You smear black shit all over your eyes. And really, it’s not needed. Is it an insecurity thing?”
I push his hand away. “I like it.”
His gaze roams my face.
I expect him to smirk, but instead he shakes his head.
“Whatever floats your boat, Sheep.”
I grimace, letting him watch from the bathroom door. I lean close to the mirror and apply the mascara to my other eye, then eyeliner. Satisfied, I zip the bag closed and brush past him.
He grabs my wrist. “Slow down.”
“I don’t really like it when you call me a sheep,” I say. “Especially not in my own…”
“Home?” He leans in. “You can call it that, you know.”
I shake my head. Can I? Not yet. It’s a house that I sleep in. Eat in. Have nightmares in.
“Let’s paint, then.”
Robert hovers for about five minutes until I shoot him a death glare. He raises his hands in surrender, chuckling, and mumbles something about being in his office. He lent us small easels that stand on a table. Spread across the kitchen island are Caleb’s and my brushes and paint, laid out in neat rows on newspaper.
I stare at the blank canvas for a few seconds, then set my charcoal pencil down. I lean my elbow on the table and find Caleb watching me. He’s in a similar pose.