Page 4 of Possess Me! (I Want You To)

I should be happy.

But I was missing the pieces necessary to make that happen.

Even before I’d recognized that I was different, people had told me I was. As if we needed anything extra to alienate us from the rest of the misfits and freaks that inhabited Elmwood.

Helpful assholes.

Our money had always set us apart from the so-called peasants that made up the rest of the population. Our family tree consisted of a long line of too-rich, too-holy assholes with standards so high it was impossible for anyone to meet them.

Gleefully, my mother had driven that wedge between us and the throbbing veins of the community that thrived on the other side of town. For years her holier-than-thou attitude had acted as a tourniquet on our social standing. And that was before I’d been framed for murder. Where we’d once been revered, feared, and respected, now we were pariahs, and I had no one to blame but myself.

My regrets, however, had nothing to do with my mother’s reputation.

I’d gladly tarnish it to get my dick wet.

I’d gladly tarnish it in general.

Just like I had every Friday night for the past month, I stared out at the blur of bodies in the crowd and wondered why the hell I couldn’t have been lucky enough to actually fucking die when I’d been killed. The tedium was worse than my execution.

I was a mannequin in a store window watching the world move on without me while my sisters played dress up with my body. Wearing a people-suit as armor, I died a little more inside with every day that passed.

I spotted a familiar pink head and was spurred into action. The steady throb of the bass pulsed through the room, the scent of sweat and too much body spray in the air as I made my way through the crowd, careful not to touch, for fear of sinking through the bodies. I could feel the pull of my talisman like a siren’s call as I hunted the bob of pink through the crowd.

Chastity must’ve found a new mark.

Her picks were usually prettier than Vanity’s, though she tended to choose the utterly vapid. I didn’t mind though. Wasn’t like I wanted to discuss the meaning of life when I had my cock buried inside a tight ass. Everyone was equally annoying the second my dick was no longer inside them.

Pretty was good.

Boring.

But predictable.

Easy to manipulate.

For those brief few seconds as I pressed inside someone else’s heat their heartbeat became my own, the throb of their pulse almost as heady as the warmth sucking at my cock. Sometimes it almost felt like being alive again.

Almost.

Found her.

I dipped between a couple whose tongues and hips were welded together, pushing past a throng of giggling bimbos until a break in the crowd revealed the pink head I’d been following. Annoyingly, I’d made a mistake—which was unlike me—because now that I could see more clearly I realized the pink haired figure wasn’t my sister at all. It was someone else entirely.

Whoever he was, stood chatting with another man, his gray eyes lit up like fireworks in the flickering of the club lights. His face twisted as he deliberated, scrunching up expressively before he handed a canvas over to the stranger.

Pinkie was interesting looking. Like an old painting, or a Fae creature.

Unlike the man he was talking to, he wasn’t what most would consider conventionally attractive. His upper lip was too thin, his eyes too round, his ears too large, his cheekbones too sharp. Pretty—like the kind of thing that would’ve stopped Van Gogh or Monet in their tracks. There was sadness etched in the creases of his expression, though his face remained charismatically friendly. The beacon of his pink hair had caught my attention, but the depth in his stormy eyes was what trapped me.

Drawn to him, like a shark to blood. Mona Lisa. Something you could stare at for hours unable to figure out why you couldn’t look away. Secrets hidden in the corners of that smile.

My fists clenched.

The talisman pulled at me like it always did when I got too far away from it, so I took another step closer, blinking away the disconnection that followed the necklace being passed to someone new. My equilibrium was shot as I stared at the glimmer of silver that now hung from Pinkie’s fingers, the off-white of the cross taunting me.

Apparently the blond had been Chastity’s target. Not unsurprising. He was exactly the kind of idiot she usually picked. I couldn’t help but be glad, however, that I wouldn’t be going home with him tonight, a new plan falling into place as I watched the pink-haired man slip my necklace over his neck and tuck it beneath his t-shirt. Safely hidden.

His long legs ate up the space between him and the bar, and I couldn’t help the way I grinned after him.

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