Page 40 of The Secrets of a Sin

Looming beside my window, his enigmatic presence is almost too much to bear as every inch of my flesh throbs callously. Our eyes are in a war with one another, engaging in an all-out battle of emotions that has my heart pummeling against my chest painfully.

“Come here.” He demands softly as if he already knows my body would buckle under his harsh stare and commanding words. Every muscle, every bone, and inch of my sticky skin becomes ensnared in the narcotic effects he seems to have on my treacherous body and mind. I become disoriented by the mystery that clouds Arsen and the uncanny darkness that veils over him. My hatred for him was strong, but my yearning for him to be something more was more compelling. As my anger and resentment gradually vanish into the back of my head, the raw need for his flesh on mine consumes me to the point I find myself moving towards him in slow, deliberate steps.

A rush of air must have escaped his mouth as his chest expands and a look of disbelief struck his features. I had a hard time believing that having women willingly come to him was a rare occurrence, but by the way his eyes watched me with bewilderment and desire, I can understand wanting to drop everything and be at his beck and call. My bare feet dig into the ugly brown carpet until the tops of my toes hit the seam of his black boots. Not exactly chest to chest, but close enough to detect all five senses that swiftly merge into one violent clash of emotions, we stand motionless, waiting to see who will break first.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice movement coming from his right side, and that's when I realize he's lifting his hand. My steady breathing stalls in a silent gasp as I watch with wide eyes as his large hand leisurely makes its way to the curve of my neck and delicately curls his fingers around my nape. Even though this wasn't his first time clutching my neck, the softness of his hold and slight caress of his digit across my throat has my heart fluttering wildly. He has to notice the burning degree of my skin and the dampness that coats it as he slowly rubs down my windpipe with a tenderness I didn't know existed in him.

How can someone so cruel and cold be caressing me with the same hands I am sure have caused harm and possibly even death? Everything about Arsen was unorthodox, yet I constantly and helplessly find myself drawn to him.

“Now, who’s in charge?” His voice lowers an octave, but his eyes latch onto the nape of my neck. With soft, gentle strokes, he continues to bemuse me with his tenderness. I am not sure what I should be more frightened of? The delicate Arsen or the one who essentially tried to strangle me? As his stare remains locked in on his soft motions, I notice something strange flicker in his eyes.

Something is off.

Something that would explain Arsen’s unusual kindness. His typically intense eyes were now invaded with an unequivocal sadness that even I felt sink into the deepest parts of me.

“What’s going on?” I ask, relishing in the warmth of his fingers, hoping I may be the only thing keeping him together right now. His unmoving stare doesn’t lift. Instead, he responds without making eye contact.

“I need you to come with me.” He answers with calmness, but I can sense the bitterness in his tone. He was fighting with his own emotions, and presenting his usual deflective facade was his coping mechanism to deal with his problems. He may be a destructive volcano about to erupt, but on the outside, you couldn’t tell because he chose to hide his true feelings.

“Where?” I stare hard into his gloomy eyes, expecting him to notice my worry. Slowly lifting my hand, I delicately place it over Arsen’s tenacious fingers that are steadily kneading my flesh and stop his rubbing altogether. I anticipated him to pull away, but instead, he gradually lifted his eyes to connect with mine.

“Phoebe’s funeral.”

At first, his words don’t register as he sounds unfazed and placid with his toning. But once I realize what he said, I quickly remove my hand from his skin and drop it to my side.

“Her funeral is today?” I question, wondering why he hasn’t spoken of it until now. I wasn’t exactly expecting an invite from him, but I figured he would have at least told me about it if I did want to go. Dropping his hold on my neck, he takes a large step back as if he’s just now realizing he’s exposing too much of himself to me, but in reality, I was only perceiving what I was seeing. He stalks over to the side of my bed, avoiding me entirely as he starts toying with the lamp beside my bed. “I figured I’d invite you since you’re the only person here that I can somewhat tolerate.”

Running a couple of fingers through my unwashed and snarly locks, I watch Arsen closely as he falls onto my bed and makes himself right at home, fluffing one of my pillows and placing it behind his head. With his legs propped up and his big arms resting behind his head, he appears almost too comfortable and calm for my liking. Give me your resentment. Give me some sort of emotion that tells me your fucking grieving and in pain from what happened to your sister.

Give me anything other than this.

“Does the school know?” I interrogate, standing awkwardly in the center of my room, trying to provoke some sort of reaction out of him. The mention of St. Catherine’s immediately causes a sour response as his eyes turn deadly once again.

“As far as I’m concerned, all of St. Catherine’s can burn to the fucking ground, and I would spit on the ashes.” He snaps, but his harsh words aren’t directed at me as his eyes bore through the crucifix that hangs from my door. “Phoebe was nothing more than a number to them. She was merely a body that filled their school, and I was foolish enough to let her come here.”

I wasn’t surprised by his outburst, but rather than feel frightened by his words, I feel sorrow. He blames himself for Phoebe’s death, and that was a burden that he would most likely carry with him for the rest of his life.

“Don’t blame yourself, Arsen.” My voice trembles as it travels through the air. Despite the constant hostility between us, I couldn’t help but feel some sort of compassion towards him. Underneath his thick, hollow surface was someone who needed to be saved, perhaps more than me.

His eyes glower directly through me, and I feel every bit of his hate penetrate my skin. “I’m responsible for her death. The fucker who committed it didn’t fail, Phoebe. I did.”

I was uneasy standing in the middle of the room, essentially under a microscope, so walking over to my bed, I perch on the side by his feet. He studies me closely as our bodies briefly touch for a moment, but I swiftly shift my ass to where I’m now a safe distance away. “You didn’t fail, Phoebe. You believed in her when no one else did.” I meet his eyes in a powerful clash, realizing this is the first time I’ve spoken something kind to him. “And to Phoebe, I’m sure it meant the world knowing that her brother would do anything in his power to make her happy.” I wait for something to soften in him. A sense of relief or his gaze to tell me he appreciates my effort, but instead, he averts his eyes to the door.

Was it so hard for him to be somewhat nice to me?

“You better get changed into something less revealing.” He orders, peering at my white tank top before turning away again. “And hurry. Last thing I need is to be late to my sister's funeral.”

Narrowing my eyes at him, I hold back an insolent remark that gnaws at the back of my throat. It takes everything in me, but I know that today I will have to try my hardest to not let my anger get the best of me, no matter how irritating Arsen becomes. Today wasn’t about me or him, it was about Phoebe and, in respect to her, I would be on my best behavior.

As I begin to rummage through my dresser drawers for clothes, I feel Arsen’s heavy eyes on my back. I try to act cool and continue to flip through my shirts as if I’m clueless to his staring, but it was nearly an impossible task. “You know, you’re going to have to step out so I can change.” I order, without turning to face him.

“Trust me. You have nothing I haven’t seen before.” He announces non nonchalantly, only causing my skin to heat in anger. “And I’ve seen pretty much every square inch of you, so don’t flatter yourself.”

“Well, I still don’t want you looking regardless of all the ass and boobs you’ve seen, including mine.” I snarl softly, hoping that the gentleness of my voice will cancel out the hiss. “And just so we’re clear, that’ll be the last time you see me exposed like that.” Pulling out a simple black dress that will cover all my assets, I twist to find Arsen still relaxed on my bed.

“I seriously fucking doubt that, but okay, angel. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” His lips curl into a smirk, and my heart flutters.

Why does he have to be so damn good looking?

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