Page 42 of Eden's Deliverance

“Fuck, Scarlett. That’s some crazy hot shit you’re dealing with. Seriously, I will take them off your hands if you need me to.”

Penelope and I are smoking on my balcony, recounting Saturday’s slew of horrific events. I admitted that the fiasco with the fire alarm was just a ploy to get me away from The Prince, but I couldn’t bring myself to confess what happened when I made it home. I had to make up some story about them cornering me in the club to demand I go to the New Year’s party.

I scoff, taking another drag of my cigarette. “Of course it’s fucking hot, but that’s beside the point. Are you listening to yourself? You’re as crazy as they are. They have no boundaries, no limits.”

“Thatismy point, I’ve never been more jealous than I am right now. You have men committing crimes in your honor, just to sabotage their competition. It’s hot. So…” She taps her thigh awkwardly. “Do you wanna go? ‘Cause I was thinking about it myself, but I don’t have as much fun going when you’re not with me.”

I’d be stupid not to see their visit for the threat it was meant to be. They know where I live, where I sleep, and they have access to me no matter where I am.

I could toy with them; I could make them come to me and teach them I don’t play by their rules—especially if they’re going to break all the ones we supposedly agree to at Eden. But I’d be naive to think it would end in anything considered a win on my part.

I only have two choices: go to this party and let them finally have me, or lose them forever to somebody else.

What’s not really making sense to me is where Broody fits into this dynamic. Sure, he tried to hit on me that first night, but after Penelope scared him off, I thought that would be the end of it until I saw him sitting with Casanova at the bar.

Are they partners themselves? There’s no way that kiss in the woods was their first. Not with the chemistry they had.

I find myself imagining what it might be like to pull on Broody’s long hair. Would I be in control then? I already saw how Casanova lost it when I sucked his dick with enthusiasm rather than letting him force it into me.

I bet they each have their own little weaknesses—something that would have them bending at the knee for me instead.

“So, what do you think? Should we go?” Penelope repeats.

None of this makes my decision any clearer. If anything, I’m more confused. “I don’t know, Pen, but I promise I’ll let you know when I do. Okay?” I don’t mean to snap at her, but I need time to think on it.

She’s pouty about my answer, to say the least, but lets it go for now.

It is my birthday, after all.

I only have two classes on Tuesdays—painting and sculpture—but that doesn’t stop the day from dragging. Three years of pottery has done nothing forme. Aside from throwing on the wheel, I’m atrocious at building anything of significance when it comes to ceramic work.

My degree’s concentration is in illustration since it’ll help me the most with tattooing, but sculpture is the only medium I can’t seem to find inspiration in.

By the time I get home, I’m exhausted. I’m tired of this day. I’m tired of my thoughts. I’m tired of impossible choices. I’m tired of everything.

Normally, I would be excited to walk into the apartment and find that Penelope surprised me with a visit from my dad. But today, I’m just not here for it.

I guess it’s a good thing that I’m fantastic at masking.

We spend a few hours together catching up on recent news, ordering takeout for dinner, watching a horror movie, and finishing the night with a cake Dad brought. It’s a sweet gesture, but whenit’s time for him to leave, I’m more relieved than anything else.

The day has come full circle; I’m sitting on the balcony with a pack of Marlboros, chain-smoking until my nerves dissipate. The longer I look, the more blurred the colors become when I trace my finger along the green line separating the black top from the white bottom.

Ding.

Thoughtlessly, I reach for my phone, instantly dropping it when I read the notification. It bounces off the stone floor and lands a few inches away but I scramble to get it, not even bothering to check for cracks.

Well, what in the actual fuck am I supposed to do now? Block them? I probably should, but it doesn’t really fit our habit of dramatic antagonization.

Probably, yeah. I just figured they followed me home from Eden.

I don’t know why I feel possessed to instigate when he doesn’t answer right away, but I do.

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

If they broke into my house and read my journal, I can easily assume they’ve snooped through my other personal belongings. If they had access to my phone, they would know my real name, they’d have seen pictures of my dad and Penelope, and they probably know all about school and my apprenticeship.

Unless they’re stupid enough to threaten the people I love, I doubt they know anything that would actually bother me.

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