“Will do.”
I click the End button and stare at the soft glow of the sun in the distance.
It’s a mixture of yellow and orange, but appears gray.
Black, even.
Despite my best efforts, none of this suffocation is disappearing. If anything, it’s thickening and growing in density.
I should blow off steam in a different way.
This time, with the person behind this fucking mess.
I send Cecily a location, then follow with a text.
Be here tonight. Seven p.m. Don’t be late.
She might become a coward again, erase that text, pretend she didn’t admit to her tendencies out loud, and kill the animal inside her.
But something tells me she’s been approaching the boiling point for a while now and she might have reached it last night.
I sensed the trapped emotions inside her and saw the way her eyes shone with dark lust when I was using her mouth.
Cecily might be finally ready to act on her fantasy.
And when she does, I’ll show her who the actual monster is in this equation.
13
CECILY
What the hell have I done?
I’ve been asking myself that question ever since I woke up this morning with an epic headache, an ache between my legs, and a huge bite mark on my neck.
No kidding. It’s so big and angry red that no amount of makeup could erase it, so I had to wear a scarf to hide it.
During class, I’ve been on autopilot, zoned out, unable to concentrate for more than ten minutes.
My head swims and I give up on one of my favorite lectures, human behavior, halfway through. The professor’s words rise and fall in intonation, but none of them get past my ears.
Slumping in my seat, I pull out my phone and stare at the text sitting at the top.
My index finger rubs the side of my nose once, twice, and then I push up my black-framed glasses as I read and reread the text.
Be here tonight. Seven p.m. Don’t be late.
It’s Jeremy. I don’t have to guess since it has his name. I didn’t have his number, but apparently, it was saved on my phone last night.
I was drunk, but that doesn’t mean I don’t remember. The moment I woke up, memories flashed in my consciousness and bombarded every principle I thought I had.
Such as not getting involved with someone like Jeremy.
Sexually or not.
But last night, I was totally out of it—I refuse to believe sober me would’ve enjoyed being eaten out and having his thing in my mouth.
Sober me would’ve fought…right?