If I had a doubt about positively losing my mind, it’s gone.
I am insane.
It’s been two weeks of pure madness. Of running in the woods and being chased around my dark house when Mom isn’t home.
Two weeks of pretending my monster isn’t the same football star everyone drools over on campus.
Two weeks of drifting.
And in these weeks, I’ve felt more alive than in my whole life.
Or more accurately, since it was snuffed out of me during that red night.
But even the feeling of being alive is shadowed by something else. Something eerily gloomy and haunting.
Something…bad.
I recognize it even though I try to hang on to the fantasy, to the addiction. To the fact that I’m not just a floating existence in the middle of a thousand others.
I’m special. I’m different. At least, to him.
Not Sebastian, but the beastly side of him.
The one who doesn’t take no for an answer and gets off on having me cry and writhe as he chokes me with his dick, then breaks me with it.
The one who wants me so badly, he’s blinded to everything but me.
The beast and I have a common ground. He gets off on the hunt and violence, and I can finally admit that I get off on being chased and degraded. On being used, roughed up, sensually ravished.
The beast and I meet in the dark, in the forest, and do our taboo ritual on that rock or against the filthy dirt.
The beast and I have an arrangement. I take his darkness and he swallows mine. I get off on his unapologetic dominance and he gets off on my unconditional submission.
The beast abandons me battered against the rock and doesn’t look twice in my direction.
But soon after, the man appears.
Sebastian.
He carries me to his car, cleans me, and drives me home. He sometimes even buys me ointments from the pharmacy. But he never once looks at me with pity or guilt.
I don’t think he’s capable of those emotions and I’m thankful that I don’t have to deal with that side of it all.
In that moment, after the beast in him and the fantasies in me are satiated, I swear there’s some sort of a glow that surrounds us.
A high.
A warped sense of satisfaction.
We get to pretend whatever depravities that happened between us didn’t actually happen. We get to pick back up as normal, functioning college kids.
But maybe I do need help, as Akira so bluntly put it.
Ever since I received his letter a week ago, I’ve been fuming. Not only because of his hurtful honesty and all the things he’s bottled up for years but also because he waited all this time to say anything.
I’ve always wanted someone I could bare my soul to. Someone I could tell anything without them judging me. Lucy can’t be that person, because deep down, she’s pure. Normal. She wouldn’t understand.
Besides, I see her every day and that could turn too awkward too quickly if we talk face-to-face.
Akira was the one person I could slowly open up to and even talk to about porn and stuff. He didn’t see me and couldn’t judge me.
Or so I thought.
Obviously, he could judge me well enough through a letter and be a major asshole, unlike what he said he wasn’t in the first letter I got from him.
But for some reason, it didn’t make me only mad, I was also…relieved. For a while now, it really felt as if I was the only one who was talking in our interactions. They felt stilled, almost…as if I was trying so hard to keep it alive.
Maybe that’s why I pulled that move and told him about my screwed-up fantasy. I wanted to provoke a reaction out of him.
Well, I got it.
A very rude one at that. But it still counts.
I want to tell him to go fuck himself for kink-shaming others, but I haven’t cooled down enough to articulate it in words.
Lucy and I head into class after lunch as she gushes about a party Owen is having soon and tries to convince me to go. If Sebastian will be there, maybe I will.
I don’t know if it’s only because of him, but I don’t feel so asocial lately. Even if I do still need my small bubble.
The football team is having a meeting with their coach now, and that sucks because I didn’t get a chance to see Sebastian today.
That could be part of my sour mood.
We usually sit together, whether with the football team and the cheer squad or alone—or more like, he sits me on his lap, oblivious to everyone whispering and throwing jabs at us. And I love that about him, the fact that he lets no one penetrate his armor.
Having meals and talking about politics, law, manga, and anime has become normal. Our time together is something I look forward to every day.
Sometimes, he suddenly appears in my house whenever Mom isn’t there and either ravishes me or just sits down and watches serial killers with me.
He says it’s entertaining, watching me engrossed in those shows.
Lucy changes the subject to a Spanish series she’s bingeing on Netflix, but she lacks her usual energy. If I wasn’t paranoid about the whole thing with Akira, I’d be sure she’s also drifting away.
When we’re just outside of our next class, Josh, a guy on the football team, slides in front of us, blocking our path.
He has a tall build, but it isn’t buff. His features have this foxy look and when he grins, they become even foxier.
“What?” I go straight to the defensive. We may sit together at lunch, but we’re not close by any means. In fact, he joins in on the snickering and snide remarks by Brianna and the others.
“Come on, Naomi. We’re friends.”
“What’s my favorite color?”
“Black.”
“It’s navy blue. How can you be my friend if you don’t even know my favorite color?”
“You act as if Captain knows, too.” He scoffs, laughing at his own joke.
That might be true, but it’s not like Sebastian and I have any sort of relationship or anything.
All I ever connect to is the beast inside him, really.
So no, I’m not actually hurt that Josh is right and Sebastian doesn’t even know my favorite color.
I place a hand to my hip. “Do you have a point?”
“Save me a piece when he’s done with you.”
“Josh…” Lucy trails off on a reprimand, her gaze flitting between the two of us.
“Come on, we all know it’s all a lie.” He sizes me up in a sleazy kind of way that makes my skin crawl.
My best friend’s face contorts and she looks like when she used to have her intense periods that left her feeling crippled.
Or when she saw Prescott making out with a sophomore the other day.
I place a hand on my hips. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“You’re so stupid, you don’t even realize it.” Josh shakes his head slowly. “Or maybe you’re blinded.”
“Off you go, Josh.”
Our attention turns to Reina, who waltzes to the middle of our small group with her imaginary queen bee crown on top of her head.
She’s wearing a stunning pink leather skirt and a peachy-colored top with lace sleeves. Her knee-high boots give her a sophisticated edge only she can pull off.
Josh throws his hands in the air with a surrendering gesture. “I’m just counting the hours.”
“Go,” she repeats, adding a subtle motion with her chin.
He shrugs and wets his lips. “I want to be next.”
And with that, he heads down the hall.
Lucy releases an audible breath while she stares at Reina as if searching for her holy approval.
Our captain’s attention is on me as she says, “Go first, Lucy. I need a word with Naomi.”
“No, thanks.” I flip my hair back. “We’re not exactly besties and last time I checked, we don’t have alone time.”
My friend, however, smiles. “Just cool down, Nao. I’ll be inside.”
She’s my bestie and I love her, but she needs to drop the pacifying manner where everyone needs to come out as the winner.
Once it’s only Reina and me, it’s like the walls are slowly closing in on me. Still, I summon my bravado. “What now? Are you going to threaten to kick me off the team?”
“Why Sebastian?”
Her question takes me completely by surprise. The way she speaks is detached, cool-headed, which is what I’ve always loathed about her. Or maybe admired, as Akira eloquently put it.
I’m so surprised that it takes me some time to answer. “What type of question is that?”
“One that’s simple enough. You always put yourself one step ahead of everyone, so how come you’re falling for Sebastian?”
“I’m not falling for him!”
“I might believe that if I hadn’t seen the way you look at him. It’s like you’ve waited your entire life for him.”
Shit. Shit. “That’s not true.”
“And now, you’re just denying it and it’s pissing me off.”
“Oh, I’m pissing you off? Good. So how about you take the hint and leave me alone?”
“You can easily get rid of me if you tell me, why him?”
“I didn’t really have a choice. He pestered me.”
“So you wouldn’t have agreed under different circumstances?”
“Of course not. He’s a shallow quarterback with nothing behind his physical appearance. He’s not my type.”
She smiles as her gaze breaks from mine and flits behind me. “Hear that, Bastian? You’re not the lady’s type.”
I swallow as his scent invades my nostrils. Reina gives me a condescending stare before she steps past me into class.
Wincing, I turn around to face him. His features are a makeshift mix of emotions I’m unable to peer through.
In my attempt to shove Reina off my back, I spoke against the thoughts I hold in my very core.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper. He doesn’t usually come to our department.
He reaches into his pocket and gets out a bottle of apple juice, my favorite, and throws it in my direction. I catch it between clammy fingers as his detached voice wraps a noose around my throat. “I thought I’d come see you since we didn’t have lunch together. I was in for a surprise, apparently.”
“About what you heard…”
“Oh, you mean the fact that I’m a shallow quarterback, who’s not your type?”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Do you always say what you don’t mean?”
Yes, and that’s why he calls me Tsundere. But there’s nothing playful about him right now. If anything, he seems to have taken it personally.
And I hate that, somehow.
I especially hate the monotone way he’s speaking to me. As the beast, he’s all growly, rough, and demanding. As the man, he’s witty and playful. An asshole sometimes, but never this closed off.
When I don’t say anything, he turns around and leaves.
“Wait…” I stumble over my words but can’t find the right ones.
His broad frame slowly disappears down the hall and my jittery insides catch fire. It’s like a part of me is disappearing with him.
Or maybe it’s a part of us.
I barely chance a glance at the classroom and the decision to ditch it comes so easily. I’m half-jogging in my attempts to catch up to Sebastian.
Thankfully, I know where he parks his car and I catch up to him right as he starts the engine. I don’t think twice as I hop in the passenger seat, panting.
He stares at me. “What are you doing?”
“Going with you.”
“Where do you think I’m going?”
“I don’t care.”
“It could be a dangerous place.”
I scoff. “I think I’m used to that already.”
“You have no idea how dangerous some addictions can become, Naomi.”
“Is that what we have? An addiction?”
“An addiction. An obsession. A madness. Take your pick. Oh, or maybe it’s shallow, too.”
I release a shaky breath. “I was agitated by Reina and I just didn’t want her to know…”
“Know what?”
How deep it really goes for us. Or at least, for me.
But I don’t say that or it’ll become a reality I’ll have to face.
“What we have,” I say quietly.
“So we have something. And here I thought I wasn’t your type.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”
“Because that’s your thing?”
“Stop it.”
His eyes darken. “You know I love that word.”
The base of my stomach shrivels as blood pumps to my face and neck. Ever since the night he asked me to open up about what happened to me in return for him opening up about himself, Sebastian keeps his monster-self separated from who he is.
This is the first time he’s actually alluded to what we do in the dark while being the star quarterback.
Is this progress or just…dangerous?
Clearing my throat, I ask, “Have you ever thought about hurting others?”
“Of course, I have. All the time.”
“Why don’t you act on it?”
“Because it’ll give me a label and a bad reputation.”
“And that’s so bad?”
“When you come attached with my family name, it is. I need to have a good reputation so no one suspects me.”
“Wow.” I relax into my seat, fingering the bottle of apple juice as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Since when did you come to that conclusion?”
“Since a boy in elementary school was called a bully for giving me a bloody nose. When the fact was, I broke his toy. No one believed him after he beat me up because in the world’s eyes, he had a bad reputation and I was the victim.”
“You weren’t.”
He lifts a shoulder. “They believed it. That’s what matters.”
“Does that mean everything you do is make-believe?”
“To an extent.”
“So…your true self is the beast?”
He smiles, a predatory one. “Is that what you call me in your head?”
“Just answer the question,” I blurt, embarrassed to my bones.
“I wouldn’t say I’m him entirely. Just like not every part of you is the prey.”
“That’s what you call me?”
“That or toy.”
For some reason, that doesn’t feel odd or degrading. I get off on the name-calling during sex, but this feels different. Almost like our secret language.
I stare at Sebastian. Like really stare at him and his sculpted beauty that’s fit for models. Why would a person like him get off on that depravity? What turned the boy who was beaten up at school into the beast?
“Do you keep those two facets of you entirely separated?” I ask.
“Maybe.”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
“The answer depends on your answer.”
“My answer to what?”
“What happened to you?”
My fingers tremble and I jam the straw into the bottle of juice, then take a long swig. “I was born without a father and…it fucked me up. When I was younger, I looked at other kids and hated my mom for not letting me have a father. Then I thought maybe she had me from one of those fertilization clinics and I was supposed to be fatherless. You might say that’s not a big deal. I thought so as well until I realized I wouldn’t be the same if I’d had a father. Or maybe I’m just trying to make an excuse and be…normal. Because normal families don’t have bad shit happen to them.”
“They do.” His voice is quiet. “My parents were normal people without much ambition. They were so normal and righteous, they left my grandparents’ sides to live a bland life, but they died in an accident, anyway. Striving for normal didn’t save them. It may have made their deaths more imminent.”
“I’m…sorry.”
“Why?”
“Huh?”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Isn’t that what people say in these circumstances?”
“I don’t get the sentiment behind it. They were my parents and I don’t even think of them anymore. Why would you be sorry for their deaths when you didn’t know them and didn’t have anything to do with it?”
Oh, God. I suspected it before, but I’m almost sure now. “Do you maybe…lack empathy?”
“The ability to understand and share the feelings of someone else.”
“I don’t want the definition. Do you feel it?”
“I suppose not.”
“That’s…a form of antisocial characteristics.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“By whom?”
“My gazillion therapists and my uncle. They don’t want me to be that way, so I managed to make them think I do feel empathy.”
“But you don’t.”
“Your point is? Do you want me to pretend in front of you as well?”
“No. Don’t do that.”
“Good. I wasn’t planning to, baby.” He smiles, but I don’t return it.
My mind is filled with a thousand theories about him. He’s completely different from the Sebastian Weaver I’d painted in my head, and for some reason, I prefer this version a lot more than the fantasy.
Even the imperfections add more to his alluring personality.
He’s different, but he’s unapologetic about it.
He’s different, but he’s not fake.
Not like me.
