Page 10 of Lessons in Sin

‘I refuse to listen to this.’

‘Fine.’ I can hear the grin in his words. ‘If I have to choose, then I’d say dog person.’

‘Okay that’s better but let’s move on. I need to forget about this if there’s any hope for us.’

He pauses and I look at the time. I need to leave soon to get ready for my first day of classes, but I can’t resist him.

After a moment he speaks. ‘What do you wish for most in life.’

I don’t hesitate, not even for a second. ‘To be a professional ballet dancer. It’s the only thing I wish for really.’ And I want you. In my life. Permanently. The thought makes me smile.

He’s quiet for a moment as if he’s absorbing my words. ‘You sound sad.’ He whispers, a question lingering in his words.

A sigh escapes me. ‘It’s just a complicated dream is all.’

‘Wh—‘ Before he can finish, I hear someone knocking on a door. He whispers something under his breath. ’Shit, Scarlett I need to go but we’ll finish this conversation later, okay?’

Disappointed, I pout like a five-year-old who’s had her favourite toy taken from her. ‘Okay. I need to leave soon anyway.’

’And we’re sorting that date out later.’ He murmurs, papers rustling in the background.

‘Yes sir!’

‘Good girl.’ He growls, the word dripping with suggestive intent. ‘Oh, and Scarlett?’

‘Hmm?’

‘For our date? Don’t wear panties.’

He hangs up before I can say anything, leaving me desperate for more. Falling back on the couch, I fling my arm over my head. This man is going to kill me - and he’s going to make me enjoy it.

Chapter 7

I sink into one of the grey-cushioned chairs of the lecture halls and sigh.

It’s been a long, long, long day.

A long day filled with dull introduction lectures where bored professors who say a whole lot of nothing. But finally, finally, I have a free hour … and how do I choose to spend it? By sitting in my next class, waiting for it to start.

I’ve never been the kind of student that turns up early, their coloured pens lined neatly at their desk and a notebook ready. No, instead I’ve always been the one who arrives late, running in with the glare of the teacher glued to my back as I scuttle into my seat. But here I am, forty minutes early with my laptop out and ready to go. My parents would be proud … then again, probably not.

Shaking away any thoughts of my parents, not wanting my mood to sour, I open the messaging app on my phone. Tristan and I have been swapping questions throughout the day, randomly, whenever either of us has time. He sent another twenty minutes ago.

Tristan: Do you have a close relationship with your parents?

At one point the question would have made me feel backed up like an animal trapped in a cage - but not anymore. I accepted long ago that though I love my parents, I’ll never love the people that they are and choose to be.

I type out a reply.

Scarlett: Depends what you mean by close. Like sure we talk, but we never speak of anything of any importance. And I see them as regularly as any daughter, but it’s always pleasantries and fake chit-chat.

Scarlett: So, no I wouldn’t say we’re that close.

Scarlett: Now it’s my turn to do the asking. What do you do for a living?

Each question he asks peels back another layer of who I am, exposing more and more of my flesh to his eyes. It’s something I wouldn’t normally allow but with him … it feels okay.

Sometimes when you peel back those precious layers for someone, they’ll steal them, using them for their own gain, before discarding them entirely, leaving you bare of that part of yourself.

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