Page 27 of The Secrets of a Sin

His face is unreadable but his movements on my stomach continue. “You’re right,” And just like that, he removes his warm fingers from my belly and leaves me breathless. “I don’t.” A cocky grin replaces the lust-filled trance that consumed his eyes, and like a bucket of ice-cold water was dumped over my head, I scowl.

“Well, I don’t screw assholes.” I flatten my palms down the sides of my mesh shorts. “So, at least we're on the same page.”

“Good thing.” He regards me closely before shifting his eyes away from mine and towards the vacant entryway. The halls of St. Catherine’s are cloaked in darkness, with a single hanging lamp hanging off each corridor wall. I usually avoided walking around the school at night due to the eeriness of the atmosphere. Even now, with Arsen, I still managed to explode in goosebumps that trailed over both arms and legs.

But unfortunately, I had a feeling the creepiness of the school wasn’t the cause of it.

“Well, you got what you wanted. I’m here.” I plant both hands on my hips. “Now what?”

In a matter of seconds, he shifts into vengeful brother mode, and with fire brewing in his eyes, he responds.

“Now we find out who murdered my fucking sister.”

* * *

We were both silent the whole walk to Phoebe’s room. In all honesty, I didn't even know how to speak to Arsen unless he had some rude or vile remark that I could counter. And small talk didn’t really seem like his cup of tea anyway, so instead, I remained at a safe shoulder-to-shoulder distance from him as we came to a stop at her door.

I waited for him to grab the handle, but his cold eyes appeared lost as he stared intensely at the door. He was stuck frozen or in a trance, completely withdrawn from this moment.

Was this his first time going into her room after her death?

Or was he going to suffer through another one?

My heart sank watching him, but as quickly as he had become paralyzed, he reached for the handle.

As soon as he opens the door to her room, his whole demeanor shifts. His body stiffens in front of me, halting his movements as if his feet are nailed to the floor beneath us.

“Arsen?” I apply the slightest pressure of my hand on his back, hoping to soothe whatever pain he feels right now, and, surprisingly, he doesn’t shrug me off. From the little time I’ve spent with him, I’ve never actually seen him grieve Phoebe. Not in the way most people do. Tears were non-existent, but the anger was there, coursing underneath that thick skin of his. He masked his emotions well with sexual innuendos and sinister smiles, but, deep down, I knew Phoebe’s death wreaked havoc on his soul. “Are you okay?” I foolishly ask, and he quickly shakes out of his stiffness and marches into her room. As I close the door behind me, he flicks on the light, illuminating the whole room, and it’s as if nothing has changed. Her clothes are still hanging neatly in the closet while a black cardigan lies over her made-up bed. Instead of taking in more of her room, my eyes follow Arsen. His movements are slow as he reaches for one of her shirts hanging in her closet and gently grips it between his fingers. He’s delicate with his hands, at first, like he’s trying to soak it all in and then, suddenly, he rips his hand away. His body burns with rage, trembling like a volcano that’s about to erupt, seconds away from throwing the whole damn room upside down in hopes of finding something.

It is heartbreaking to watch, no matter how much of an asshole he is. He didn’t deserve to lose his sister like this. I wish I knew how to connect with him psychically and emotionally. I wanted to feel what he felt. I wanted to take some of his pain away, even if it meant I had to carry some of the weight, but I knew that wasn’t possible. And even if it was, I had a feeling he wouldn’t burden me with his torment. He seemed like the kind of man who thrived in it, and that had made him who he is today.

A beyond broken man and a lost soul, like me.

“Arsen?” I speak up in a whisper, causing his shoulders to relax and his head to turn the side slightly, revealing his side profile. His dark hair hangs loosely past his forehead.

“I’m fine.” He swallows before shrugging off the sorrow that captured him. “How about instead of standing there staring at me, you make yourself useful and try and find something in this room?”

Grunting, I immediately avert my eyes with the word ‘dick’ on the tip of my tongue, but I know that would only entice him. He seems to enjoy my foul mouth and finding ways to get his hands on me. Brushing past him, I focus on the small end table beside her bed. An old-fashioned lamp rests on the top while a drawer beneath the surface top catches my attention. A corner of a piece of paper sticks out from the side, and I slowly tug on the knob, revealing a stack of letters.

“Didn’t the cops come in here and go through her things?” I question, reaching for the papers wondering how in the hell they could miss something like this. Pulling it out, I notice each sheet is folded neatly in half before opening the top letter.

Mea luna,

Last night, I sat outside, underneath the dark sky, in hopes that you would be gazing at the same stars I was. By now, you should know that where your eyes go, mine follow. In our time apart, the starry sky is the only thing keeping my faith alive that we'll soon be together. Every day I can’t touch you is torture for my soul and makes it harder to stay away from you. Tell me when we can meet again because I don’t know how much more time I can bear not being around you.

Yours,

Tuum solem

Each word I read sends spasms to my heart, and I don't even notice Arsen hovering over my shoulder, reading every intimate sentence on this love letter from Phoebe. I can already feel the heat radiating off his body, but it was the flaring of his nostrils that sent a chill down my spine. His eyes were practically burning holes through the flimsy paper that I was almost positive would catch on fire in my grip.

“Arsen, don’t.” I begin to tremble severely, which almost makes me drop the stack of papers, but Arsen’s pressing tone has me turning rigid.

“Give me the papers.” He demands from behind me in an eerily manner that bleeds rage. Shaking my head, I knew that these letters would potentially be explosive in Arsen’s hands. He was already unhinged, so there was no doubt in my mind that if he read more, he'd detonate.

I swiftly spin around and put a safe distance between us, holding the letters close to my chest. “You know that’s not a good idea right now.” I frown, realizing I was playing with fire. With his hand stuffed in his pocket and a haze of blackness coating his eyes, he appears seconds from jumping me and stealing them from my hands.

“I don’t give a damn if you think it’s a bad idea. Those letters could have the fucking answers to Phoebe’s death.” He snarls through his gritted teeth, but instead of feeling fear, it sends a different sensation throughout my hazardous body. Wanting to pinch myself for finding his anger and darkened glare arousing, I focus on his chin in hopes of dulling my need.

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