Page 10 of Vengeful Sins

The whole way, with the sun blazing down on me and heat practically sucking the air out of my lungs, there’s only one thing I can think about. Only one person whose image sits in thefront of my mind. I might be looking at a beautifully landscaped campus, but I see Maya’s blazing, hate-filled eyes. Maya’s sneer.Leave me alone.God dammit, why do I let her do this to me?

So, of course, I’m in a bitter sort of mood by the time I drop into the first empty chair in the lecture hall. She hasn’t come in yet. Maybe she was too busy talking to Wren and being a shitty friend to notice the time. The girl tries so damn hard.

And to think, Maya has the nerve to talk shit at me for having a change of heart. Coming around, accepting my friend’s girlfriend. Meanwhile, she has to know she’s Wren’s only friend and that it makes her unhappy to basically be ignored. Does she care? No.

Here she is. Just like in the cafeteria, she’s the only person wearing pants. Her face is red, shiny with sweat, and the hair at the nape of her neck is darker than the rest. What is she trying to prove with the fucking jeans? Everybody’s already sweaty as hell as it is.

By the time class starts, it’s pretty obvious to me what’s going on—she’s hiding. It’s the same reason she slapped me and shoved me away last night when I got too close to what she’s trying to hide. The same reason she didn’t want to put on a bathing suit. Why did it take me so long to figure it out?

Oh, right. Because I was too busy being pissed that she pushed me away. Again.

Not this time. This time, I want answers. I want to know what she’s doing to herself. I didn’t imagine what I felt under my fingertips. The jeans only convince me I’m right. I knew she was fucked in the head, but I didn’t think it went this far.

Especially since the last time I had my hands on her, there were only a couple of scars that could easily have been explained away if I had asked about them, I’m sure.

That was a long time ago. Obviously, she’s been busy. I want to know how busy. I don’t know why and don’t feel like tryingto figure it out. I only know by the time class is over—a class I paid no attention to—that I will not leave campus today without seeing for myself what she’s trying to hide. Let her hide it from the rest of the world if she wants to. Not from me. If anything, she owes me. This doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface.

I’m out of my seat before the professor has fully dismissed us, the first one out the door so I can wait in the hall for Maya to leave the room. She can only come out this way, so there’s no avoiding me. It doesn’t take long for her to bolt through the door like there’s a fire behind her, almost running with her head down and her shoulders up around her ears. Like that is going to do anything to spare her from me.

“Hey. I have to talk to you.” It takes no time or effort to catch her and clamp an arm around her waist. Her body goes stiff in response before she tries to pull away, but she’s no match for me. She never has been.

“Why can’t you leave it alone already? What is wrong with you?” Her mouth is moving, but I don’t give a shit about what’s coming out of it as I pull her into an empty room and close the door, standing with my back against it so there’s no hope of her getting out until I say she can.

“I want to see.” With my arms folded, I stare her down, prepared to wait all day if I have to. “Your leg. I want to see your leg. Both of them, since you probably don’t stop at just one.”

“What are you talking about?” There she goes again, folding her arms over herself.

“Can you stop with this pointless bullshit?” Truly, it’s exhausting. “I know what I felt last night.”

“My hand against your face?” She has the nerve to look smug when she smiles. “Otherwise, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit.” And I am sick to death of it. “There were scars all over your thigh. That’s what I touched. That’s why you stopped everything. You’re going to show them to me.”

It’s obvious at first she doesn’t believe me, eyelids fluttering, her head snapping back before a laugh bursts out of her. “What? This is stupid.”

“You’re a terrible liar, and you’re wasting your time. I know what I felt. Just like I know that’s why you’re wearing pants when everybody in their right mind is wearing as little as they can on a day like this. So, either you show me what you’re trying to hide, or I will show myself. And trust me,” I add when she scoffs, “it’ll be much easier if you do it yourself. You won’t like it if I’m the one who does it.”

“What gives you the right?”

That’s a good question. All it does is set my teeth on edge. “Who said anything about rights? But now that you mention it, it’s an interesting question. What gives anybody the right to do anything?”

I watch it happen in real time. The way she shuts down once she realizes she set her own trap, then stepped into it with her eyes wide open. I watch as the color drains from her face and the light from her eyes. She goes away, plain and simple, leaving a silent shell behind.

“You see,” I murmur while she shuts down, “some people would ask what gives a person the right to do something of their own free will and enjoy the hell out of it in the moment, then threaten to lie and say they didn’t. That it wasn’t their idea. I would have to ask what gives that person the right. Do you wanna talk about it some more?” I tip my head to the side. “Or are you going to drop your fucking pants and show me what I know is there?”

When she speaks, her voice is flat. Like all of the life has drained from it. I might as well be listening to a robot when she asks, “If you know it’s there, why do you need to see?”

“I know, right? It’s a real bitch, curiosity. Now do it before I do it myself.”

She has no choice. She knows I’m not fucking around. By the time she unbuttons her waistband, she’s silently resigned. She doesn’t say a word—I’m not sure she blinks once before bending at the waist to lower her jeans to her knees.

I didn’t know what to expect. I only know what I feel, and what I feel is nowhere near the extent of what exists on her legs. A spiderweb of crisscrossing scars marring her otherwise perfect skin. “Holy shit,” I mutter, staring with my mouth hanging open. I can’t look away. It’s ugly. I can’t understand why she would do it, but I can’t take my eyes off it.

Finally, I pry my gaze from the wreckage to look into her eyes. “Are you trying to make yourself as ugly on the outside as you are on the inside? Because you’re doing a pretty good job so far. What, you want the whole world to know what a freak you are?” I ask with a laugh before moving closer, bending a little to get a better look. “Fucking insane. I’m sure if you wanted somebody to hurt you, you wouldn’t have to look far. I can’t be the only person whose life you tried to fuck with.”

Goddamnit. Why won’t she say something? Anything, so long as I’m not talking to myself. “What happens when you run out of clean skin on your legs? Are you going to move onto your arms? Pretty soon, you’ll have to walk around in a snowsuit twelve months out of the year.”

All she does is take a deep breath, which she releases slowly before murmuring, “Are you finished? Or are there a few more childish insults you feel like throwing my way?”

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