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21
DAHLIA
This iswhat addiction looks like. This is what ignoring logical reason and personal boundaries in the name of chasing the next hit looks like.
I’ve never once done drugs. And I hardly ever have more than a few drinks. I don’t like giving up or losing control. I get antsy and on edge if I’m not in charge of my faculties.
I don’t even drink coffee every day, for God’s sake. So I’ve never felt what a real chemical addiction is.
Until now.
Until Deimos and I started these dark, fucked up, depraved games. And now, there’s no stopping. Not because he’s forcing me. But because I wantmore.
Constantly.
In the two weeks since that time in his loft where he unwittingly took my virginity in the most vicious, brutal way imaginable, we’ve played that game again almost every day. The days when he’s not turning the lights out and chasing me like an 80’s horror movie psychopath, he’s simply bending me over his desk, or having me kneel between his legs, or throwing mine over his shoulders.
It’s relentless. And consuming.
But I. Can’t. Stop.
And I don’t want to.
I wince as I lower myself gingerly to the bench outside one of the academic buildings on campus. Sweetfuckam I sore. Ridiculously so, to the point where my vagina is begging me to knock it the fuck off for a whole twenty-four hours at the least.
But again… This is what addiction looks like.
Even when I settle onto the bench and groan, immediately that painful sensation makes my brain flash hungrily back to how I got it. How Deimos chased me through the still pretty empty office earlier today and wrestled me to the floor. How he pinned my arms down as I tried to smack him, and bent my knees up to my chest before cutting—literallycutting, with a switchblade—my panties off, stuffing them into my mouth, and fucking me until I swear I saw a higher power before he pulled out and came all over my face and my breasts.
Yeah, so…yeah.
I feel my cheeks burning as I replay one filthy, fucked up flashback from the last two weeks after another. I know deep down that this is seriously messed up—that it’s…weirdfor me to crave the brutality and the loss of control, especially after what happened to me.
But there’s no reasoning with it. No rationalizing these desires.
“Hey!”
I gasp, whipping my head around as the peppy voice rips me from my daydreams. Victoria makes a face as I stare at her with what is probably a harried expression on my face.
“Oh my God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you!”
My throat bobs as I force a smile. “No, not at all!” I push the x-rated memories from my head. “No, I was just…” I smile awkwardly. “Just a lot going on in my head.”
It’s weird, talking to a “normal” person after doing the things Deimos and I do. It’s like you’re hiding this terrible secret beneath the surface, smiling sweetly so they don’t realize what a twisted, deviant, kinky little bitch you are.
She frowns. “Is everything okay?”
God, every time this poor girl sees me or even interacts with me, I’m falling apart at the seams, and not in the good way.
“Yeah, no, I’m good,” I shrug before making a face. “And, again, I’m so sorry for bailing the other night.”
“Oh, no worries at all. I’ve actually connected with a tutor to catch up a little more on what I missed at the beginning of the year.”
I nod. “Awesome. Well, the notes are really yours if you still want them.”
“Yeah?” She looks at me hopefully. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no…” She grins at me. “What are you doing now?”
Going home to soak my bruised ass and pussy in a warm tub with some kind of bath bomb thing Eilish recommended when I lied and said I’d fallen down some stairs onto my butt and bruised my vulva.
