Page 8 of Darkest Obsession

Kit’s right. I look sloppy and I need another tattoo, quite frankly. Tonight, I’ll cover up most of my ink, which I hate. I’d rather show off. I modified my body to send a message, not just to piss off dad, but to piss off everyone. This is who I am, Thomas Bainbridge, a work of fucking art. I have plans for more, but that’s for another time. Kit hands me his flask and I allow myself a few sips of Barclay rum. Not too much drinking or I’ll lose my head. I can’t afford to do that and I can’t afford to get expelled. I’d do anything to stay out of the Bainbridge house right now. I don’t want to be there to witness my parents’ relationship burning and then fizzling out at once.

Love isn’t real, is it? It’s just a lie people tell themselves when they’re ready to breed.

Fuck’s sake. I dunno when I got so cynical, but I doubt I’ll change.

After two spliffs, Kit drives to the party. It’s his party, but he’s late, naturally. Barclays would all hire people to wipe their arse if they could. They’re the only family in this country dad fears, not like there are many Barclays left in England. Once we get to the party, I feel that familiar urge to drink, to use, and to consume until I feel nothing. But I can’t do that anymore, can I? I have to be better than that so I don’t hurt another girl. Clover.

There she is lurking around my head again. Bloody hell. There are plenty of other girls at the party to talk to. Kit only takes a few minutes to forget Clover and disappear into the first girl who gives him any attention. Some shrill blond, I dunno her name. Probably Sarah. Every fucking British girl’s named Sarah. Not like Thomas is anything common, but mum would have never named me something common.

Like Clover. That’s common. I don’t know why she isn’t here yet. I should text Syl.

Thomas: Syl. Are you coming?

Sylvia: Still not talking to you.

Thomas: You just replied.

She replies with a .gif of the character Annalise Keating from that bloody television show throwing a purse over her shoulder and rolling her eyes. Fuck’s sake. How many times does she want me to apologize for allegedly being a dick? We’re friends but… my team’s my team. I have loyalty, you know.

Whatever. I lurk in the corners of the party, making idle chit chat with a few people and fending off some aggressive flirtation. After refilling my cup of water for the third or fourth time, I heard that familiar, twangy American accent. It’s her. Before I can get a hold of myself, I find myself stumbling towards her. I was an awkward kid and you might think shooting up to 6’3” by eighth grade would have made things better but… it didn’t.

Beanpole. I grew out of that and into some muscle. That smoothed things over with women. Girls. Women. When I first noticed that they were bloody noticing me, I lost myself in them, as many of them as possible And then I met someone. She’s gone now, and she isn’t coming back, but I don’t want to meet another girl. I can’t handle myself with women. I become a monster, someone I don’t really want to be.

If I let things get too far with them, I know I’ll become just like my father – a monster.

She fills her glass with more alcohol than a woman her size should drink. I mean, really? And that dark-skinned girl who isn’t Sylvia and definitely does not look like Sylvia (because that would be racist) taps her glass to Clover’s and they pound them back. Why are the only Americans at this school black? My sister would probably box my ears for asking. I just find it odd, is all. Doesn’t matter. I want a drink, even if maintaining even a tenuous hold on my sobriety is a much better idea.

I watch the girls from my spot on the wall for a few moments. Fuck, I could use another spliff. I nicked my first ever joint from Theo Hargreaves’ jacket at a Christmas party when I was twelve and things were never the same between me and Mary Jane.

“Kola, let’s take another shot!” Clover says. She sounds happy and she has a nice smile. Clover. Too bad I know what I do about her. Jude and Kit? It’s not a smart idea at a place like this. Sleeping around leaves you with a reputation, it doesn’t matter how progressive everyone pretends to be. They might not say what they think out loud anymore, but they still say it. Slut. As my sister loves reminding me, girls have it harder in so many ways. Kit and Jude won’t get the reputation, Clover will. She doesn’t look like a slut. She looks… normal. Maybe even pretty. I dunno.

I never thought a black girl was pretty, until Amina, I suppose. But Amina’s different. She looks like a very miniature model. She stands out. Clover… she looks… I dunno. I ought to find her normal, but I don’t. I know it’s fucked, but Clover gets me rock hard. Maybe that’s her problem, she has the effect on too many men.

As long as she avoids Kit’s drunken, stumbling arse, no one will touch her tonight. I can make sure Kit stays out of her way. She’ll have to worry about Jude tonight. She’d better have a plan for staying away from Jude.

I’ve never known anyone to get away with talking to Jude Fox like that, except perhaps Amina. (Never mind if you don’t know her, just trust me.) If I were Clover, I would watch my back talking to a Fox like that. If I were Clover, I’d watch my back in general. She hasn’t even noticed me staring across the room. I don’t mind – the staring, or her ignorance. I can get to know her just as easily watching her as talking to her. Talking to her feels like sticking my cock into a wolverine cage anyhow. She has absolutely no refinement about her. Another thing dad would hate, aside from her skin color.

I don’t like the way she spoke to me in the dance studio and the way she refused to meet my gaze with her nostrils all flared out and her hands on her hips. Sassy. To put it mildly. She sends a current of fury through me. It’s been ages since a woman responded to me like that. Women love me now that I’m large, muscular, tall. Luck of genetics that I grew out of my awkward phase, and here she is, making me feel rather unlucky.

Her friend Kola touches her exposed shoulder. (Clover would look great with a tattoo there.) Clover turns, nearly sloshing her drink, as Kola points to a tall dark gentleman – a Brit. Jamal. He has famous and incredibly wealthy parents, but that’s all I know about him. He lives a couple doors down and despite his height, he refuses to join the rowing team.

I dunno what her friend says, but Clover nods and then Kola darts off towards Jamal, leaving Clover standing there with her drink alone. My stomach lurches as I nearly rush for her. No. I need to be patient. I should have told Kit what I was feeling earlier, how I got this dull throb in my stomach from the moment I saw this girl. I couldn’t help but feel like I would do the same thing all over again. If I touch her, I’ll ruin her. I’m not her only suitor, however. They don’t make me jealous or anything, but I feel a ripple of fury that someone else gets to touch what’s mine.

She gazes down at her cellphone, causing a stab in my chest as I imagine some hairy bloke (I dunno why he’s hairy, but he is) texting her and demanding her knickers. She could meet anyone in a bathroom at this party and part her legs for them. My heart catches in my throat imagining that horrible outcome. It could be Jude for all I know and she’ll duck out of here and end up in another man’s bed. Fuck’s sake. Go over to her, Thomas. Don’t just watch.

She giggles at her phone and then slips it in her pocket, wandering away from the table. That’s it. I can’t take it anymore, and I follow her, my heart beating out the syllables of her name. Clo-ver. Clo-ver. Clo-ver. My throat tightens as she turns down a hallway of the rented mansion with a sign in front of it – the loo.

The coke loos are upstairs and the dirty loos closer to the front door.

This hallway is dark and silent. The perfect place to hunt for anyone with ill intentions. Why isn’t Clover for careful? She stumbles against the wall, already a little tipsy and then she mutters, “Oh shit” under her breath. She doesn’t realize how close I am, moving softly across the marble in navy formal socks behind her. Suddenly, Clover stops and I know she hears me breathing because fuck, I’m breathing loud.

“Hello?”

There’s no point in hiding. It’s not like I’m afraid. She might get angry, but a woman that small could never hurt me and even if she tried, I could overpower her.

“Clover.”

“What are you doing here?”