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“You shouldn’t treat people like that.” Both of us turn to Thea Kennedy, twisted around in her seat in front of Bishop’s. Her cheeks are pink, and she looks a little surprised she intervened, but she holds her ground, gripping the back of her seat with white knuckles. “It’s not right.” Thea licks her lips, taking a breath. Her eyes dart to Bishop before swinging back to us. “So please stop.”
We’re all craving something that makes us feel alive.
If anything, I’m the fucking villain, the thing that lurks in the shadows of nightmares.
In front of me, Bishop clenches his pencil in a tight grip. The tip breaks against his notes when he presses it to the page on purpose. An angry red flush sneaks up the back of his neck. Bishop’s knee bounces for a few seconds, then he explodes from his seat. “Mr. Bishop, you’re disrupting—” “Fuck off,” Bishop barks. “I’m out of here.”
Whenever I’m around her, I feel alive. For a short while, I can forget about my demons.
I’ve never shown anyone my spot. I don’t bring girls back to my house, but I can picture her there on the roof with me.
I could make her mine and only mine.
We’re not some sweet love story. We’d be a hate fuck at best. Raw, angry, and dead set on hurting each other as much as possible. Blair and I are oil and fucking water doused in kerosine and lit in hellfire.
I memorize the look on Blair’s face. Hatred. That’s all. Not desire, not love. Because that’s not something we’ll ever share. No one feels that way about me. I won’t make that mistake again, lured in by those kissable lips and the thrill I get telling her what to do. Maybe in another life, one where our circumstances were different, we could’ve been something that worked.
Then she was gone. Like my parents. No one wanted to stay with me.
She’s belonged to me since she signed that contract. Before that, even.
People are your home, not the places you live.