Page 4 of Malicious Desires

“Oh he is,” Malyk affirms, smiling at me. “But he’s not gay my sweet.”

“I know he’s not. And I haven’t seen him in years,” I say. Malyk nods and I continue, “Plus we hate each other by default.”

“Yeah, so back to this drab place,” Malyk says, changing the subject.

“What?” I question, glancing around my new room. It’s not the best space, but it’s mine and for that I’m grateful.

“It needs the Malyk touch,” he jeers.

“Do as you want, Mal,” I tell him, adding with a laugh, “But no pink.”

Malyk again chuckles, and scoffs, huffing his reply, “Never. Blasphemy.” It was a taunt. My best friend is flamboyant and very openly gay in what could be seen as stereotypical to some and he has from time to time partaken in cross dressing. But he doesn’t like overly girly things like the colour pink.

He’s glancing around my room then, his eyes darting around as his mind ticks over with ideas. He can go and think about it. I need some space.

I stand from the chair, pushing it away and stalking towards him. Squaring my hands on his shoulders I hoist him up and he giggles at my touching him. He knows nothing is going to happen between us, but he still reacts to my touch and tries sometimes or teases me like he did earlier. I’m not going to give in to him. Fucking up our fifteen year friendship for sex is not worth it.

I shove him towards the door. “Alright, fuck off then. I’m beat.”

I drop my hands from his shoulders, wrapping my arm around his waist to give him a side hug.

“Message received,” he jeers as I step aside and open the door behind him. “You need a wank, and don’t want me to watch,” he says, smirking with his eyes grazing my body like he’s thinking about watching me whilst I get off. I don’t dignify that statement with an answer, instead, I push Malyk out the door, and he blows me kisses.

I shake my head in response, closing the door so hard it makes a whoosh sound. I flick the lock and bend down to the cat cage on the floor. My cat’s loud meow reverberates around the small dorm room.

Opening the cage to get Raven out, I cradle him close and stroke his silky midnight black fur, shushing him.

“You’ll have to be quiet here Rave,” I tell him, his tiny ears pricking up as he looks up at me, and nudges against my chest. “People can’t hear you meow, or they’ll kick us out.”

I put him down on the bed, and he immediately starts kneading the surface with his paws, claws out to make it soft and his. I know I’ll have to hide him because I’m not supposed to have a cat in the dorms, but there was no way I was leaving him behind. Nothing beats stroking his fur, and listening to his purr when I’m all alone after a killing. It’s the only other thing that calms the chaos in my head. Without Raven by my side–especially at night–I’d get no sleep. He lulls me to sleep with his purr and protects me from the demons that plague my head. He’s my protector.

Chapter 4

Jasper

Slipping my arms into the crisp white dress shirt, I’m buttoning it up–and staring at myself in the mirror–when I’m startled by a knock on my bedroom door. I know who it is without even hearing her voice. My mother, coming to see if I’m dressed yet.

I don’t want to go to this frat party organised by my parents at the university. It’s not so much a frat party but a way for my parents to pretend they give a rats about my education, and to parade me and the next girl they’re trying to set me up with. They’ve been trying to set me up with a wife–from another wealthy family–since the day I turned eighteen. And much to their annoyance–and disgust–I’ve turned down every one of them. All ten of them. And I’ve got no doubts I’ll turn down this latest girl, even if she’s the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever seen.

It’s not that they’re girls. I honestly couldn’t care what gender they were, but it’s the fact my parents are choosing for me. They’re hypocrites. They were in love when they got married, and still are, madly so. It frustrates me that no matter how many times I tell them I want love, that I want to choose who I marry, they don’t hear my plea. It’s all about our wealth, our family name aligning with an equally wealthy family so the Capullo legacy lives on in Vemore.

“Jasper, dear, are you ready? May I come in?” she calls out through the door, opening it slightly even though I haven’t answered her.

“Come in, Mother,” I respond, continuing to button up my shirt and not turning to face her as she enters my bedroom.

“Are you wearing a tie, dear?” she asks, stepping up behind me and glaring at me in the mirror, a scowl on her face.

I shake my head, doing up the final button. “No mother,” I tell her. “And if you request I do, I’m not leaving my room, let alone attending this farce of a party.”

“How you wish, Jasper. Please finish dressing in haste. Your betrothed to be is waiting in the parlour.”

I sigh, pouting, and turn to face her. “Don’t pout, Jasper. It causes wrinkles.”

She’s always full of stupid advice like that. As if pouting causes wrinkles; more like smiling does. Mother is always smiling, and her face is wrinkled way more than it should be for a woman of less than fifty. She grips my waist and tucks my shirt in, yanking on the waistband of my slacks.

“Ouch, mother,” I snap, shoving her hands away.

“You must look presentable. Miss London Devine is awaiting your presence.”

---