I search for her everywhere.
Which isn’t a lot of places. She’s usually either in her house, or in the forest.
With me.
I was so sure she’d be at that rock. No idea if it’s my ego trying to play it down or if I really thought I’d find her in our place, waiting for me.
At any rate, that’s not the case.
So I went to her house right after, but her mother told me she wasn’t there.
I tried calling her a thousand times. Then I sent a series of texts.
Where are you? Call me back.
If you haven’t read my earlier text, this is a reminder to call me.
I know you’re hurt and I don’t want you hurt. So let me explain. The situation isn’t what you think.
Ignoring me is not going to solve the issue, Naomi.
If you think giving me the cold shoulder will make me back down, then you’re terribly mistaken. I’m coming for you whether you like it or not.
Where the fuck are you? At least tell me you’re okay.
This is starting to piss me off and you know how crazy I turn when I’m angry. Stop testing me and answer the fucking phone.
If I find you hurt in any way…
Baby. Come on, just let me know you’re all right and I’ll stop bugging you. For now.
This will just keep escalating and you better be ready for the consequences, Tsundere.
She didn’t answer any of my texts, but she did read them at some point, which should mean she’s all right.
Or maybe she’s been kidnapped and whoever took her is reading her messages.
I shove that thought out of my head as I hit the gas until I reach the highest speed possible. I’ve been driving so recklessly all day that I’m surprised I haven’t gotten into an accident.
The day has turned into night, and I’ve already done the tour of the fucking town. Twice.
Maybe she went to another town. Or another state.
Maybe even another country.
She’s crazy enough to do it, but I’m betting on the fact that she wouldn’t just leave her mother behind.
No matter how much she says she’s mad at her, she still cares for her.
But maybe her mom knows and she asked her to hide her whereabouts from me.
The ringing of my phone drags me from my chaotic thoughts. Mrs. Weaver flashes on the dashboard.
I inhale deeply as I answer in the cheerful tone she expects, “Grandma.”
“Sebastian!” she coos, her tone honeyed, which means she has company.
Sure enough, chatter reaches me from her end.
“I’ll be right back, darling,” she tells someone. “My grandson is on the phone…yes…the star.”
There are some gleeful remarks that I want to shut the fucking door on, but I can’t, because no one hangs up on Debra Weaver. It’s the other way around.
Soon after, the sounds disappear and she hisses, “Where the hell are you?”
“Huh?”
“We have a gathering this evening. You and your uncle were supposed to show up.”
Fuck. We do.
I completely forgot about it in my attempts to find Naomi.
My mind speeds in different directions, searching for a plausible solution. “I have a late class. I can’t make it.”
“Late class with the seamstress’s daughter?” Her tone is deadly, and if we were face-to-face, I’d see the twin flames in her eyes.
“How do you know about that?” There’s no use denying it, and if I do, she’ll just use it as an invitation to strike harder.
“You really thought we would let our only heir on the loose after you kissed the girl on TV?”
A miscalculation on my part. I should’ve known that Grandma would grab hold of that behavior like a magnet. She doesn’t focus on what’s normal, but more on what tries to be normal when it, in fact, isn’t.
“She has nothing to do with this,” I say in my most neutral tone.
“You just proved that she does by defending her to me.”
I tighten my hold on the steering wheel. My grandparents are like sharks to blood, the moment they smell weakness, they latch on to it until they bring you down by using it.
That’s what they did to Dad and have been trying to do to me and Nate.
We held on for so long.
Or at least, my uncle did. Looks like I allowed them to smell my blood after all.
“You have two options, Sebastian. Drop the seamstress’s daughter as gently or as cruelly as you prefer, or watch as she breaks her neck. Be here in fifteen.”
Beep.
I slam the breaks so hard, the car nearly topples over. My fist drives into the steering wheel and I’m surprised it doesn’t come off.
Pain reverberates in my knuckles, but it doesn’t compare to the warring state in my chest.
When my parents died in that car accident and my grandparents adopted me, I learned something.
In order to survive, I needed to play their sadistic games. I needed to act a certain way, speak a certain way, and even smile a certain way.
It’s all part of the social play the Weavers have excelled at for generations. To be able to carry on with the legacy, I had to be strong-minded enough to lead the family, but I wasn’t allowed to step out of the norm.
Up to this point, I’ve been the perfect Weaver neither Dad nor Nate could be.
But the image I’ve spent years perfecting is slowly crumbling in front of me. And that brings on one urge.
The only urge I have.
The need for violence.
I kick the car in gear, driving at a crazy speed until I’m back at Naomi’s house. Fuck Grandma’s gathering. If she’s holding a guillotine over my head, I might as well indulge.
I fully expect Naomi’s mom to tell me she still hasn’t come home, but I pause when I find her car in the driveway.
A small space in my heart lights up as I step out of the vehicle the fastest I ever have.
My feet come to a halt as soon as I cross the distance to the porch. A lone yellow light shines on a small figure sitting on the outside steps.
Naomi.
Her head is in her hands as she stares out at the distance. A quick sweep of the driveway shows only her car, so her mom must be at work late, as usual.
There’s always some shipment going wrong or a design that didn’t meet her standards. Naomi often grumbles about how much of an unhealthy workaholic her mom is.
She doesn’t notice me as I slowly approach her. It’s not until I’m a small distance away that I notice the shaking in her shoulders and the defeat bowing her usually upright posture. Goosebumps cover her bare arms from the slight chill and I want to hurt an invisible being for causing her discomfort.
My Naomi looks so breakable, so fragile, almost like she could be ruined with a mere touch.
I came here charged with anger and the need for violence, but as I observe her state, all those thoughts vanish from my system.
“Baby.”
She stiffens as she slowly lifts her head. I expect to find tears in her gaze, but there are none.
I wish she was crying, kicking, or screaming. I wish she’d jump up and strangle me and knee me in the balls.
Any of those options are better than the blank stare in her eyes. They’re dark under the lack of light, but it’s as if no soul resides behind them.
Washed away.
Just like the rest of her expression.
“You didn’t answer my calls,” I say quietly because any other volume would probably have the exact opposite effect.
She jerks up suddenly. The motion happens in one go, I expect her to come at me, but she simply turns and stomps to her front door.
Not so fast.
I grab her by the arm and swing her around. She slaps me across the face, and a muscle works in my jaw at the force of it.
She sure as fuck knows how to put all her weight behind her hits.
“Leave me alone.” Her voice is guttural, raw, almost like she’s used up all her other emotions and all she has left is anger.
I know that feeling all too well. I’ve lived it since I lost my parents, and I don’t want her to experience the same emptiness.
Not on my fucking watch.
“You should know by now that I won’t. We’re bound together, Naomi.”
“Bound together?” She scoffs. “By what? Your lies? Your fucking games? Reina’s bets? You already won. You fucked me, depraved me, and humiliated me to your heart’s content, so go gloat about it to your stupid friends and leave me be.”
The apathy behind her words pisses me off. People think hate is the worst emotion, but it’s not.
Indifference is.
The fact that Naomi could write me off so easily provokes my ugly monster to rear its head.
“That’s where you’re wrong, baby. I can’t leave you when I’m not done with you.”
“Well, I fucking am, Sebastian! I played your game, however unwillingly, and it’s time to end it.”
“Unwillingly? Fuck that. You enjoyed every chase as much as I did. Your cunt strangled my dick with the intensity of your excitement and fear, and you came more than either of us could count. So don’t stand there and utter the word unwillingly.”
“That was only physical. I never signed up to be emotionally abused! So, yes, Sebastian, it’s over. The next time you come near me or attempt to touch me, I’m going to file for a restraining order.”
“And you think a restraining order would stop me?”
She swallows, her pretty little throat working with the motion and I wrap my hand around it hard enough so she knows who’s in fucking charge here.
“I told you not to play with my beast if you can’t handle it. I told you to use your safe word, but you didn’t. You squealed and ran for it. You gasped and moaned and begged me to use you. That’s our reality, Naomi. It’s what we are, you and I. Beast and toy. Monster and prey, so don’t you fucking dare threaten me with staying away from you, because that’s not going to happen.”
For the first time tonight, moisture glistens in her eyes even as she glares at me, her dark eyes drawing holes into my soul. Her voice comes out as a strained whisper, “You ruined all that when you lied to me from the beginning.”
“I never lied to you.”
“You hid the truth, which is worse than lying. You only made a game out of my feelings and turned me into the laughingstock of campus.”
“No one will bother you.”
“You really think that’s the problem here?”
“You’re worried about people bullying you, which won’t be happening if they want to see another day.”
“You don’t even see it, do you?”
“See what?”
She punches me on the chest so hard, I falter, and she uses the chance to free herself from my hold.
“What you did to me! The way you played me! Do you not realize how wrong it was?”
“No, because I got to have you. The method doesn’t matter, the result does.”
She slowly shakes her head, her lips parting in a small whisper, “You’re crazy.”
“Oh, baby, you’ve only ever seen a portion of my crazy. Don’t provoke me or I’ll show you the rest.”
Her chin trembles, but she doesn’t break eye contact as she reaches behind her and fumbles with the handle of her front door until it opens.
“We’re over,” she emphasizes, and then she’s dashing inside and locking the door.
Usually, she doesn’t do that when her mom isn’t around. It’s some form of an invitation so I can startle her and take her by surprise.
This is a clear sign of her rejection, but it’s not going to work.
I don’t care what I have to do, but I’ll get my Naomi back.
Even if I have to drag her out kicking and screaming.
