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At the time, I didn’t feel like what Bastien did to me was wrong. Over the years, though, it was drilled into my head by my mother and the therapists that she forced me to see that what he’d done was abusive and manipulative. Then again, she would only let me see faith-based therapists, and they held a very narrow view of what kind of sexuality was acceptable. Thinking about that time in my life makes me nauseous and dizzy. I curl up in a ball and hug my legs.
After Bastien killed those rats, and the rumors started flying around school, my teachers heard about it and contacted my parents. My parents demanded to know what else he’d done. Whatwe’ddone.
I wasn’t good at lying to my parents. Avoiding them, dodging them, yes, but not outright lying.
But I couldn’t tell them about my secret life with Bastien. These weremy parents. They slept in separate beds. They washed my mouth out with soap for saying “damn” when I was five. When I was twelve and my mother gave me “the talk” about the birds and the bees, she looked so horrified that I cried and said I never wanted to get married. And that made her even angrier. She told me that I was selfish and disrespectful to God if that’s truly what I chose. She told me that the “marital duties”—that’s what she called it—were God’s punishment against Eve and all her daughters for the original sin.
When I wouldn’t tell my parents what Bastien and I did together, my father locked me in my room and only gave me a glass of water every day. I held out for three days. Then he locked me in my closet. I’ve had crippling, terrible claustrophobia ever since. I don’t take elevators; I only take the stairs.
After a day of being locked up in that little dark, stuffy coffin, I puked water on myself and screamed and pounded on the door. I swore I’d tell them everything. I howled my surrender to the heavens.
It was all for my own good. That’s what my father told me, anyway, and I believed him for years. It wasn’t until I started taking classes at college and spending time with normal people that I realized how abusive my parents were.
I sobbed and dribbled and told my parents everything. I told them about touching myself in my private place, about kneeling in front of Bastien and kissing him through his pants. The disgust in their eyes… I wanted to die. After all of that, they refused to believe I wasn’t having sex with Bastien. When they made me let the male doctor examine medown there, I felt as if I were being raped. They needed three nurses to hold me down and pry my legs open while I screamed. The doctor saw where I’d written Bastien’s name above my pubic hair because I hadn’t been able to scrub the permanent marker off, and he told my parents.
The worst part of it? Even after all of that, I couldn’t stop thinking about Bastien and the feelings that he’d awakened in me.
I hated Bastien for what he did in that dungeon. I hated him for the lies he spread about me at school. But the things he made me do to myself? I couldn’t hate that. I’d never played with myself before—but when I touched myself and thought about him, I finally learned why God made vaginas.
I’d never felt such pleasure before—or since. How could that intense ecstasy be wrong? Why did God give us that pleasure spot if we weren’t supposed to use it?
Was what he made me do really perverted? How could anything that felt so right be evil?
I’ve never really recovered from Bastien. I tried dating in college. I had sex with a couple of guys. It never worked out. Even picturing Bastien as I had sex with these guys didn’t help.
I felt nothing. I was numb between the legs. I lay there fake groaning and making sex faces that couldn’t have been sexy in the slightest. I wanted it to end just like I do these days with Landon.
When I’m really desperate for release, I’ll lock myself in my bedroom with the lights off and touch myself between the legs the way that Bastien made me, and I’ll say his name again and again. That and only that will make me climax. It’s a true curse. One I’ll blamehimfor until the day I die.
CHAPTER10
Bastien
I’m stayingin a hotel in Philadelphia because it’s close to the Cyber-X headquarters and Dark Desires. And Camille, if we’re being honest. Being in the same city as her fills me with a weird energy. I’m breathing the same air as Camille. I’m driving on the same streets. I’m walking under the same cloudy blue skies. This nearness is an itch just underneath my skin, a distraction and a hunger. I’ll have to act on it soon.
I run every day. I could use the hotel’s gym, but I’ve always preferred to be out in the world. I vary the times and routes—security consultants are nothing if not paranoid—but apparently, I don’t vary them enough because someone tried to kill me on my run this morning.
I’m only alive because I have a weird sixth sense for danger. I was jogging by a narrow strip of urban park when the hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I suddenly turned and changed direction. Seconds later, bullets whizzed through the spot where I’d just been standing. I dove into the underbrush and crawled, scanning the tops of the buildings facing the park, and saw a dark figure on the roof of an apartment building just before he vanished.
I’m done with this crap. I thought that when Robert sicced that dumbass on me, he was just playing stupid games, but this was a genuine assassination attempt. It’s a shame. I was looking forward to getting to know my family better. But if Robert wants to pull this half-assed bullshit, I’m more than willing to play. It’ll be fun.
So now I’m crouched in a wooded area near his house, peering through night vision binoculars. I’m dressed in black head to toe, with my face obscured by a ski mask. My M24 sniper rifle, that’s one of many guns that Simone has been holding on to for me, is set up on its stand, in case Robert somehow detects my presence here.
I haven’t been able to find out his identity yet, but I will. I’ve got all the time in the world and plenty of patience.
After all, I’ve been tormenting Camille in little ways for years, and so far, I’ve resisted the urge to murder her. Even when I saw she was doing volunteer work with sexual deviants, which seemed like a slap in the face to me. Like she picked that career with me in mind. Even when she announced she was getting married, which felt like someone driving a spear through my chest, I stayed away.
I force myself to stay focused on the house in front of me.
When I went to remotely disable Robert’s alarm systems, I found somebody had beaten me to the punch. I don’t know if it’s Robert’s way of trying to trick me into lowering my guard, but for now, I’ll sit and wait.
Speaking of guards, I haven’t seen any of his men on patrol. Do they stay inside at night? It’s been half an hour.
The minutes drag by, and I enjoy the cool night air and the feeling of calm inside me.
Killing Robert’s men today will be a balm to my turbulent soul. I realize I won’t be able to stop. This is something I need to do. I have to kill. I’ve needed it my whole life, and denying it was slow poison, eating away at me like acid. I’ll feel beautiful relief after I kill them. I’m going to do it again when I find my next target, and free myself from the torment of my unslaked urges.
Camille is still a sharp shard digging into my heart, though. She’s what stands between me and true happiness.
