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"Ugh," I grunt, shaking the thought from my head.
Why the hell would I even think about him? He's a piece of shit, for one. He has no sense of respect or boundaries. He doesn't care about anyone, except maybe for his friends.
But the way his hands lingered on my body last night in the shower. The way his eyes implored mine, searching for the answers to all his questions. Like I could be the one to fill his needs. The way he watched my body, like he wanted me and wanted to end me at the same time. I was drenched and suddenly so needy for so many things. So many impure, forbidden things.
I hate him, and he's my stepbrother.
Double no. Double gross.
I walk to my dresser, pulling the small box of makeup in front of me as I lean toward the mirror. I line my eyes with eyeliner, creating small wings at the ends. I brush dark eyeshadow along my lids and flick some mascara along my eyelashes. To top it off, I grab my shade of deep, dark purple and line my lips. Rubbing them together, I make a kissy face in the mirror.
Perfect.
Lifting my backpack from the floor, I dig my hands inside and shift them around until they touch the smooth orange bottles. Popping open the tops, I take too many pills out and drop them into my mouth dry. A wince hits me as they get stuck in my throat, but I swallow through it as I sling my bag over my shoulder and head downstairs. I don’t know if Samuel knows about me, if my mom told him. But on the off chance he doesn’t, I don’t want to deal with the questions. I don’t like talking about myself in general, and talking about that part of me sounds excruciating, mostly if it’s with my new stepdaddy.
The feel of the air brushing across my folds as I hop down the stairs is slightly exhilarating. The thought that I could just slip my fingers beneath my skirt and press a finger between them.
Fucking hell.
Just that thought alone makes me damp between the legs.
I walk into the kitchen, seeing my mom and Samuel already standing behind the island, coffee cups in hand as they whisper to each other.
I say nothing, slipping onto the bar stool and grabbing a banana from the bowl on the counter.
"Vera," my mom says, turning away from Samuel to look at me.
"Mom. Samuel." I peel my banana, not sparing them a glance as I eat. I'm not hungry, not in the slightest. I'd rather have a cup of coffee and smoke a cigarette, but I know I need to cut down. I’ll be in serious trouble if I don’t quit, but the stress of being here makes it unbearable to not take a hit.
That, and I need to eat or my pills are going to give me some serious cramps in about thirty minutes.
"Ready for your second day of school?" Samuel asks.
I barely raise my eyes, only passing him a glance before looking back down at the counter. "Nope. Not really."
"I know it's hard, but once you get past the old-school teachings, you'll find it's actually a great school to have on a transcript. It'll look good on your applications for college." He tries to be upbeat. Tries so hard.
I don't respond, chewing my mouthful of banana.
"Vera, do you think you can be a little more respectful today?" my mom whispers.
I lift my head, leveling her a look. "Sure." Sarcasm drips heavily from my voice.
She stands back, picking her coffee cup up and lifting it to her lips. "Good. I don't want any calls from the school today."
I nod, hating the eyes of her and Samuel on me. They judge me. They talk negatively about me in their thoughts. I hate it.
I hate them.
I pull my earbuds from my bag and slide them into my ears. I turn The Usedon full blast, drowning out their voices. Breaking off the banana, I pop it piece by piece into my mouth, ignoring their condescending looks. I can feel them heating the crown of my head. I don't know if my mom is still trying to talk to me. I don't know if they're waiting for me to look at them.
Maybe they’re just outright talking shit about me.
Nothing I have to say will make them happy. There's nothing that I can do that will change my mom's mind or convince her that the place she's sending me to is as corrupt as the son that lives in this house.
This entire place is swimming in evil and corruption, and I'm worried if I stay too long here, I'll no longer be the person I am, but the person this place will make me become.
My earbuds fly from my ears, and my head snaps up, my eyes widening when I come face to face with the dark eyes of Malik. A light dusting of facial hair lines his sharp jaw this morning. His hair is damp, like he just stepped out of the shower and couldn't find the time to run a comb through it. It's messy, the long, slightly wavy locks curling over his ears. His lashes even look damp, brushing against his cheekbones that look like they could cut glass.
