The Secrets of a Sin, page 6
“Oh relax, P.” Verity shushed her with the wave of her hand.
“You’re right, though. I do like to bite.” She widens her mouth and chomps down seductively. “But you'd have to be the last person on this planet for my mouth to touch your skin. Maybe not even then.” She spits in her direction while Verity looks seconds away from jumping her.
“Dike.” Verity snaps.
“Pill whore.” Priscilla coughs.
Verity gives her a fake smile. “I always knew you were secretly in love with me.”
“You’re not my type.” She shook her head and puckered her face like she was grossed out.
“Girls, stop.” Annalise jumps in with irritation laced in her soft voice. They both frowned in unison, following her command swiftly. “So, how've you been doing with everything that’s happened?” She aims her question at me with eager eyes.
“Fine.” I nod slowly, knowing that in reality I wasn’t fine. But telling them that was impossible without getting interrogated for more answers. And I wasn’t about to unload my problems on three girls I barely knew.
“I saw Phoebe’s brother walking the hall one morning.” Verity interrupted, “He’s got the whole David McCall, Patrick Bateman vibe going on. It’s sexy as hell.” The mention of Arsen has me sitting taller. Of course she saw him and thought he was attractive. Anyone with two eyes could see that.
“So basically, he reminds you of a psycho murderer?” Priscilla deadpanned with a ‘you’ve got to be kidding me’ look. Her head slightly shook side to side as she snickered in disbelief.
“I’ve always had a thing for bad boys.” Verity shrugged with a grin, and I could already see the gears working in her head as she started nibbling on a finger. “Maybe he has a thing for bad girls?” The question wasn’t directed at either of us, but I couldn’t stop the slight drop in my heart as I listened to her go on about Arsen.
“What makes Verity fucking Bell bad?” Priscilla scoffs jokingly. “I’m sorry, but ingesting pills like it’s candy isn’t exactly on the same scale as stabbing someone with a pencil.”
Verity quickly attacks back. “Don’t be a jealous bitch. Just because I’d much rather have his manly hands all over me then yours, doesn’t mean you need to be a cunt.”
“Verity.” Annalise growled low. “No one wants to hear about the lady boner you have for the dead girl's brother. I especially don’t think Charlotte wants to hear anything regarding Phoebe.” The sharp tone in her voice surprises me but it’s Verity’s fearful face that catches me off-guard. Her nervous eyes peer down into her lap, and she backs down like a scared puppy.
Annalise’s normal fair facial complexion is a heavy shade of red now. Her eyes are filled with a dullness that sends a chill down my spine as I take in her vexed state. “It’s okay.” I speak up, hoping to alleviate the tension between the two. Annalise’s dark stare is still on Verity, but she tilts her head towards me, and her eyes immediately brighten like nothing ever happened.
“Your hair is so shiny.” Annalise says in awe as she slowly leans forward onto her knees and creeps over towards me. “I love the length.” Once she’s stopped inches from me, she reaches out a hand and softly pets my head, dragging her fingers through my light brown locks. “So soft too.” Her raspy whisper meets my ears, and a long sigh escapes past my lips. Her motions on my head feel strangely good, but everything about this was fucking weird.
“Thanks.” I mumble, watching the exposed skin on her chest heave in and out slowly. Her hand moves down the side of my head and brushes the skin of my neck before pulling away with a grin.
“Perfect skin, too.” She mentions, and I swear I hear a low snarl come from Priscilla.
“You know, I uhh...” I start to collect my belongings beside me. Shoving my half-eaten sandwich into my bag, I rise onto my feet. “I should get going. I have a meeting to get to.” I lie, noticing all their eyes shift up towards me. Annalise frowns but trails her eyes along my bare legs and stops just at the hem of my skirt. But from this angle, it almost looked like she was peering up under my skirt, but that idea was swiftly nixed when she focuses on my eyes.
“See you around, little mouse.” She smirks as I slowly step past them and hurry across the grass away from them.
Little Mouse?
What the hell kind of nickname is that?
5
ARSEN
“Arsen.” Phoebe’s soft voice whispered from her corner of the room as I continued staring at the red shovel that was stuffed under a pile of junk. I couldn’t tear my eyes off the metal, and like always, I chickened out from grabbing it. Sighing in anger, I force my head in her direction to find her curled up in a ball with her stained sheet covering her small body. “Will you tell me a story?” Her big brown eyes plead with mine and it only takes seconds for me to move over to her spot on the floor. The cold basement concrete stings my bare feet but once I’m beside her, I snuggle under her blanket and rest my back against the wall.
“I don’t have a good imagination.” I sadly confess because any normal eleven-year-old kid would be pouring with ideas. But when you’ve witnessed nothing but tragedy in your life, happily ever afters don’t exist. Well, at least in my book, they don’t.
“Just try, Arsen.” She begs, drawing my attention to the small bruise that’s swelled up just below her eye. I take in the deep shade of purple and blue and clench my fist beside me, ready to scream his name until my lungs are on fire. I wanted to bash his brain in with that shovel, splatter his blood all over this floor until he was drained dry. “Please?” She scoots closer to me and lays her head against my arm.
“Fine.” I scowl. “But then it’s bedtime.”
She grins happily, and my heart leaps on the inside. Anything to make her happy. Anything to make this nightmarish life bearable for her.
“Once upon a time, there lived a sad unicorn. Her fur was black as night, while all the other unicorns’ furs were bright colors. No one wanted to talk to her or be her friend because they were all afraid of her.” As I’m making shit up as I go, I feel Phoebe’s head tilt up to peer at me.
“Why were they afraid?” She frowns. “Because she looked different?”
“Yes.” I nod. “She also didn’t have a family. She was all alone while all the other unicorns had mommies and daddies to take care of them.”
Her dark brows come together, and a small frown appears on her face. “Is that why she’s sad?”
“She’s sad because no one cares enough to help her.” My eyes trail down Phoebe’s matted down hair that hasn’t been brushed in God knows how long. We’ve been without the simple necessities for so long that our cleanliness and smell were nothing to us anymore. As long as we were given food, water and warmth, we were okay.
“What happens to her?” She asks.
“She survives.” I stare down into her eyes with emphasis. “She learns to be on her own and proves all the other unicorns wrong.”
“Does she find her prince?” She smiles, clearly enjoying my story.
“Not all happily ever afters need a prince to make the girl happy.” I let her know, but she just giggles softly. A sound that I haven't heard in forever.
“One day, I hope I find my prince charming.” She sighs. “I want a big house with a big cozy bed and all the donuts I can eat.”
Grinning, I shake my head lightly but sorrow courses through me as I soak in our surroundings. A moldy basement that smelled of death was our home. A simple bulb hanging from the ceiling was our source of light. An old Lowe's bucket was our toilet. Stacked cardboard boxes were our beds. And the padlocked door was a reminder of who we were and where we belonged.
We were his prisoners. His toys. His fucked-up version of family.
But he would never be our father.
He was just some sick fuck who orphaned us.
“You think I’ll get married one day?” She asks with a hopeful gleam in her eyes that nearly kills me.
“Yes. Someday far, far down the road.” I tell her what she wants to hear because it will be a damn miracle if we make it out of this basement alive. The shovel was going to be our escape, and one day when I become strong enough, I’ll save us.
I’ll kill the bastard.
“I love you, Ar…” She begins to tell me when the sounds of the locks on the door start to creak. Her body stiffens next to mine, and I quickly grab onto her hand to reassure her that I am not going to let anything bad happen to her. The door slams open, and I can already smell the booze lingering down the stairs before his large frame comes into view. He wobbles down the last step with a sinister smile and glances back and forth between us.
“Who’s ready to play?”
“Sir.” A quiet voice interrupts the trance I’m in, brushing the back of my arm with a light touch. I instantly repel, forgetting for a moment where I was and why I was here. My eyes catch a small woman in a habit with her fearful eyes locked onto mine as she takes a cautious step away from me. “The memorial is about to start.”
Fuck.
Peering around me, I notice I’m outside in the courtyard, just feet away from where Phoebe was found. A cigarette was dangling from my fingers while I found myself staring at the poorly cleaned concrete that still showed the residue of splattered blood. It was almost as if they stopped halfway through cleaning and said, ‘fuck it’. My heart clenches, aching in the worst possible way as I take a strong hit of the cancer stick. Phoebe was gone. Dead and my soul couldn’t grieve the way it needed to. Despair and sadness were pushed aside; all I felt was a fiery rage burning within my veins as I blew out a puff of smoke.
Whoever did this was going to pay. I wanted their blood. Their tortured cries as I ravaged them one body part at a time. I want them to suffer just as I have.
“We were hoping you’d say a few words on Phoebe’s behalf.” The Sister cuts in, causing my fingers to squeeze the cigarette till it snaps in half. Spinning around, so we're now face-to-face, my heated stare meets hers.
“Well, I was hoping that when I came out here, I wouldn't have to stare at the half-assed cleaned blood of my sister. But I guess we don't all get what we want to do, do we?” I drop the rest of the cigarette onto the ground, not bothering with looking at the stunned expression on her face as I stalked past her. I didn’t even want to be here. I didn’t want to listen to random people talk about my sister as if they knew her or pretended to give a shit about her. She was so much more than this school. She had hopes, aspirations to fucking be somebody, even after everything she’s endured. She was so strong and so damn resilient. I couldn’t for the life of me understand why she wanted to come here. We weren’t even catholic.
Hell, we weren’t even slightly religious. But she begged and pleaded that this was the place that she needed to be at and I, being the short-tempered man I am, reluctantly agreed. Without questioning their morals, the curriculum, the fucking teachers.
Nothing.
I walked into Principal Welch’s office and essentially signed papers that, unknowingly at the time, would be the reason Phoebe died.
Passing the frightened Sister, I make sure to glance my heavy eyes down her short frame waiting for the sharp gasp to escape her delicate lips and fuel me for what I’m about to undergo. And, sure enough, she gives me exactly what I’d hoped for. With a wide grin, I stroll past the ground Phoebe was found on and like a switch, my outrage returns.
Opening the doors of the church, I step inside and watch as all eyes land on me.
So many fucking women. Or girls, I should say. Young, damaged girls who watched me as if I was something foreign to them. Surely, they weren’t that deprived of men here that they’d be drooling themselves into a stupor over the sight of me?
Every pair of eyes that I feel on me chars my skin. The mixed emotions in the room were enough to cause my head to burst up in flames. Pity, lust, sadness-it was all maddening to the point I wanted to turn right back around and leave. But I had to do this. I needed to do this because someone in this church could be the cause of this. They could be hiding among the mass of girls, blending in with their godly ensemble and youthful faces, but underneath their disguise could be a wicked human being who belonged in the pits of hell. Or someone far more sinister. Someone who was trusted to protect and educate but lured Phoebe in.
No one has been absolved.
Every goddamn person in this church is a suspect and, if I have to go through each student and teacher, I’ll do so with a fine-tooth comb. Or a knife to their throat. Whatever way gets me answers.
At a leisurely pace, I amble up the aisle meeting Principal Welch’s cold stare that has me grinning ear to ear. For a woman in her mid-forties, she was sure nice to look at. An ample chest, a good handful of dark hair to grab onto and an expensive silver band around her finger that made her even more tempting. But unfortunately for her, I wasn’t interested in fucking someone so desperate that they felt the need to shove my hand down their damp panties. Perhaps if I weren’t mourning my sister's untimely death or over the fact her murderer was still on the loose, I would’ve fucked her the way she deserved. But now, I had my sights on someone far more tempting and forbidden. Even if I wasn’t going to overindulge myself, there was nothing wrong with sampling.
Standing beside Principal Welch was Father Henry. Dressed in a vestment, he was the closest thing to God I’d ever get to. He stood with power and all things holy as his beady eyes took in my dark ensemble, and I could already sense the gears turning in his head as if he already knew what kind of man I was and what I was capable of doing. But he had no idea what torment and suffering I’ve been through, nor was he able to see all the scars and burns that now sheath my body. My grim past has carved me into the man I am today, and if it hadn’t been for Phoebe, I don't know where I'd be. But this wasn't about me. This was about her.
“Arsen, it’s nice to finally meet you.” Father Henry nods with his hands clasped around the long pectoral cross that adorns his neck. I’m assuming my presence was too profane for the Father as I watch his slim fingers tighten around the silver. A small grin rose on my lips, and I couldn't help but chuckle on the inside.
“Father Henry. Likewise.” I give him a nod, and then my eyes drift over to Principal Welch, who is observing us with her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. Slowly, I let my stare trail down her navy-blue blouse and conservative black skirt that has my mind racing with wicked ideas that involve her filthy mouth and my cock. With all this pent-up energy that is coursing through me, any pussy would do at the moment. Even if all I could think about was a certain "forbidden" pussy and all the ways I'd ravage it. Fucking Charlotte and her soft caramel hair and those perfect damn lips.
She was a curse of a woman.
Realizing Cora's heavy stare was on me as well, her body blatantly shivers as our eyes meet and linger. Her eyebrows lower, and her pale complexion turns a dark shade of red as if our previous encounter was replaying in her head. “Principal Welch.” I nod. “Always a pleasure.”
She stiffens almost immediately as I feel Father Henry deepen his gaze on my form. They both appear uncomfortable and uneasy around me. I switch from being perverse and playful to serious. “So, what is it you want from me?” I ask, motioning around us. “I was told from a Sister outside that you want me to speak?”
“Yes, we thought it would be beneficial for the students to hear something optimistic and kind about Phoebe. Especially hearing it come from her brother.” Father Henry gestures his hand towards the podium surrounded by bouquets as his mouth turns into a deep frown. “It's been a difficult week for everyone at St. Catherine's, as I'm sure it's been for you. I know it's not easy talking about her, but this might help you receive some closure in her passing.”
His words all seemed to have blended and blurred together as all I could think about was how he said it would be ‘beneficial’ for the students to hear OUR fucking stories, moments Phoebe and I had together. Beneficial, my fucking ass. None of these girls gave a shit about Phoebe. None of them knew her like I did. None of them were her friends. None of them stopped her from being murdered. If the young women of St. Catherine's needed positive and kind words, they asked the wrong fucking guy. I'd give them something better, though. Something far more factual about what really happened to my sister.
“You want bright, cheery words about my sister, Father?” I ask, feeling my blood temperature already rising to a sizzling degree that has my hands sweating. “You want to hear some positive bullshit on how Phoebe's in a better place now and how everyone at this school can finally move on?” I glare at Cora, who looks as though I slapped her across the face. “Is that what you want, Welch?” I snarl viciously, feeling every eye in the church move to me.
“Arsen, calm down.” Cora snapped, trying to reach for my arm, but I instantly recoil, climbing up the steps of the stage and resting my body behind the podium. Hot with rage and filled with explosive words that rest on the tip of my tongue, I briefly take in the rows upon rows of pews filled with bible thumpers and stunned teachers. They all watch me like you would a freak. Disgusted scowls and dirty looks. I thrived off my haters.
“I'm not letting him up there, Father!” Cora fought against the grip of Father Henry, but he firmly held her back. Causing a scene in a church was most certainly frowned upon, and by Father's conflicted stare, he let me take the fucking stage with a fiery vengeance on my tongue. Leaning over the podium, I take in my audience. A sea of maroon and black burns my vision as they all fuse into one, creating a room full of Phoebe lookalikes. My breathing hitches, and my skin breaks out in intense heat as my eyes try to blink away the delusions. In frustration, I rub at my eyes mercilessly until my lids sting and my sight blurs.
