Riot Rules (Crooked Sinners)

by Callie Hart

“I can’t be direct like you people. I’ve tried. It causes me physical pain to be so abrupt. But fine. If you insist, I’ll give it a go.” He straightens, standing up tall, cracking his fingers as he stares down at me, his eyes full of ice-cold flames. “I’d fuck you, love. I would. But I’d probably never speak to you again. And you’d hate me. And I wouldn’t care, which would only make you hate me even more. Graduation will eventually roll around, and I’ll make some kind of speech. You’ll sit there in your chair on the second to back row, and you’ll be filled with a burning hatred for me. And I…I won’t notice any of it. I won’t feel a fucking thing. I won’t care. It’ll be a miracle if I even remember you exist. “So, like I said. You’re better off forgetting all about me, love. Once you’ve come on my dick, I’ll move onto the next pretty girl with a decent sized rack, and that’ll be that. You won’t hear from me. There won’t be any texts. We won’t go skipping, hand-in-hand, down the corridors of this dumpster fire. I’ll have ruined you. I’ll be this ugly sore of a memory that never goes away, festering in the back of your head, poisoning every future relationship you ever have because I made it impossible for you to trust all other men. And then I’ll be back in England, sitting on my spoiled ass, re-reading the classics and fucking the housekeepers ’cause I’ve got nothing better to do. Not thinking about you…” He steps closer, reaching up, taking a piece of my loose hair, windin...