Page 55 of Dare To Take

I keep a hand pressed to the dull, cramping pain low in my abdomen. My period finally started this morning, which is a blessing. The discovery brought a torrent of tears with it. And I don’t know whether I’m crying with relief or anger.

I’m still furious over what Eli did yesterday, and the text he sent me in the car only stoked the flames further. I’m sure my mother must have given him my number. I’ve saved him in my contacts as Nasty Little Monster.

I am not addicted to his dick. Hell will freeze over first before I let him fuck me again.

I grope for my phone on the bedside table, and finally send him a response to his message.

ME: Just because you get me wet doesn’t mean your dick is the only one in the world.

A second later, it pings.

NLM: But they won’t fuck you the way I do.

I grit my teeth, my fingers flying over the keys.

Me: Guess I won’t know until I try.

NLM: Sin and his friend? Are you going to ask them to spit roast you? A dick in your mouth and pussy? Maybe that little virgin ass.

Me: A first you’re never going to get, asshole.

I discard my phone on my pillow, shove the blanket aside and crawl out of bed. The sharp, stabbing pain my movements cause makes me grimace. It’s Christmas Day, and I should be excited, but I’m not. I’m miserable and grumpy, and all I want to do is remain under the blankets.

I find a pair of comfortable black sweats, a t-shirt, and a baggy hoodie. I add fresh underwear to my pile but don’t bother with a bra. I leave everything on my bed and go to take a shower.

The hot water cascading over me brings some relief, and I take my time washing my hair, lingering as long as I can before stepping out and drying off. Wrapped in a towel, I return to my room and get dressed. A chunky pair of fluffy socks with sparkly unicorns are enough to keep my feet warm, so I don’t bother with my sneakers.

I leave my room to go and join the others, flipping my hood up over my head as I descend the stairs.

Eli is already in the kitchen when I enter, sipping coffee at the table. Elliot is at the stove, cooking, while my mother is busy setting out plates.

I flip Eli a middle finger when our parents aren’t looking. His eyes gleam, but he gives me no response at all.

Elena turns and catches me standing in the doorway. “There you are, Bella.”

“This looks very domestic.” I shuffle into the room, take a seat at the table, and help myself to coffee and a piece of toast from the rack.

“With the staff away, we need to fend for ourselves.” Elliot smiles at me over his shoulder. “And believe it or not. I do know how to cook more than a boiled egg.”

“We thought we could open the presents this morning.” My mother carries two plates over to where Eli and I are sat and places them in front of us. “Instead of after dinner.”

I take a slice of the crispy bacon, bite, chew, and swallow it before I answer. “If that’s what you want to do.”

Her smile dims. “I thought you two would be a little more enthusiastic. Especially you, sweetheart, after the song and dance about having a tree. You always loved Christmas.”

A snide remark burns on my tongue, but I keep silent. For all the Christmases she was actually home, I’m surprised she remembers anything about how I feel about it.

Elliot joins us, bringing the last two plates over for himself and my mother. I eat in silence, but I can sense Eli boring a hole into the side of my head. I’m more than happy to ignore him.

When we’re finished eating, I help my stepdad load up the dishwasher and wipe down the kitchen counters, to leave them ready for lunchtime. Eli remains at the table, fiddling with his phone. I’m half tempted to see if he’s sent me another message, but my cell is in my room.

Elliot and my mother make a big fuss about herding us into the hallway, where all the presents are tucked beneath the tree. We fill our arms with the brightly wrapped packages and carry them into the living room.

Elliot acts as gift-giver, reading out the names on the tags while Christmas music plays quietly in the background. His happy smile brightens my mood even though I’m still in pain. Wrapping paper gets strewn in a mess across the floor as we all rip open present after present. For once, my mother actually seems happy with what I bought her, stroking the colorful, expensive oriental scarf with her fingers.

“Arabella, you’re very quiet,” she says from her place on the couch to my right. “Didn’t you like your presents?”

I glance at all the open boxes around me. Clothes, jewelry, perfume, and boots to match my new style. A shoulder bag in the shape of a coffin with a black cat purse and a mix of different chokers.

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