Arkin takes the quilt with him, a smug smile on his face as he crashes to the ground.
I straddle his hips and punch him square in the jaw, but his unreadable, intense expression makes me even more fucking irate.
Another hard punch shoots pain through my sore knuckles and I shake out my hand, standing up on trembling legs.
Outside, a car illuminates the cut on Arkin’s bottom lip as it drives past briefly. His chin is coated in slick blood, but it doesn’t make me feel better like I thought it would. If anything, I feel worse.
“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are.” My voice is eerily low, even to my own ears. “But you better stay the hell away from me.”
With a final long, disgusted look at him crumpled by my feet, I stride back to bed. “Come near me again, and I’ll make you regret it.” Avoiding the wet stain, I climb in and pull the quilt to my chin just as the sky begins to lighten outside.
Arkin’s sheets rustle as he gets comfortable, but then silence falls—an uncomfortable silence filled with tension and repressed emotions. But it doesn’t matter because I’m exhausted, and before I know it, I’m fast asleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Today is the day Arkin starts college, and special measures have been put in place to accommodate him, but I have no idea what any of it means, nor do I care.
We’re seated around the breakfast table.
Between staying out late and being attacked by the freak across the table, I’ve had an hour’s sleep, two tops, and I’m exhausted.
Whenever I’m reminded that he’ll hang around at my college, I want to punch something… Preferably something hard, like a brick wall.
I’ve gone to great lengths to avoid him since he got here, which is easy to do at college. But now he’ll be there too… every day, and then at home… in my bedroom.
No, I’m not fucking doing this. I need some space.
“What’s up with you?” Neriah whispers so our parents won’t overhear. She has a new shade of purple lipstick, which she wears proudly.“You look like shit.”
I couldn’t be bothered shaving before my shower. Just dragging my tired arse out of bed was a struggle. Before I could even open the bathroom door, it flew open and Arkin steppedout, freshly showered, with a towel perilously clinging to his hips.
My sister nudges me. “Earth to Zach.”
“I’m fine,” I mutter, shoving the unsettling memory far down in the gutter, where I’ll hopefully forget about it.
Showering a man’s cum off my skin was not something I ever thought I’d do, even less so a second time. Nevertheless, tired as I was, my dick pointed to the ceiling, so I had to treat myself to a cold shower to get the fucker down.
I hate my dick.
Across the table, Arkin is typing on his phone. Dad tells him, “No phones at breakfast,” but he ignores him, which is a first.
When he sets it down, mine vibrates beside my cereal bowl and I distractedly pick it up, shoveling another spoonful of Weetabix into my mouth.
Surprised, I almost spit it back out.
Arkin: I took what I wanted, alright.
My eyes shoot up, but he’s listening to my mum talk to him about his new tutors and not looking at me.
“She took what she wanted, alright. After we hung up, she fucked me again?—”
Those were the words I said to Arkin last night when I returned home.
I crush the phone in my hand as I narrow my eyes on him.
Last night, I felt riddled with guilt, but not anymore.
I type out a response.
