Page 82 of Eden's Deliverance

“I’m sorry, Dario. I mean it, I just have too much to focus on right now. I have a little over a month left until finals, and I’m already falling behind this semester. I have a plan…I had a plan.”

I did.

I always have a plan, but they never quite work out.

Dario sits across from me in the booth, staring at me with disbelief spread across his face. I don’t know how he didn’t see it coming, honestly. I tried—I really did—to make it work.

It’s been three weeks since Penelope told me about her rollaround with the boys, and I tried to keep going. But I know I haven’t been myself. I haven’t been a good partner to him, and I haven’t been a good friend. I still haven’t spoken to Penelope, but she’s giving me space.

I tried to continue my relationship with Dario as if nothing happened, but in the end, I’m finding it impossible. Every time he makes love to me, I wish they were fucking me. Every time he whispers sweet nothings in my ear, I wish it was Casanova’s tongue doing that thing he knows I love. Every time I suck his dick, I wish it was Broody’s cum sliding down my throat.

Every time I look at Dario…I see the absence of them.

But make no mistake, I’m not breaking up with Dario for their sakes. I’m a decent fucking person usually, and I don’t want to put someone through hell because I can’t be in it as much as he is. I’m not crawling back to them. I’m not going to fuck them. They’ll never touch me again, unless they beg me on their hands and knees—and even then, I might not let them.

No. I want to hurt them.

“It’s them, isn’t it?” he asks, and the question throws me off course. “It’s the same as the last time you left me. You want those degenerate fucks. Admit it,Scarlett!” He slams his fist on the table, which only draws the attention of everyone trying to enjoy their meals in peace.

I thought Andy’s Diner would be a nice, public place to do this. My mistake. I wasn’t expecting his use of my real name to sting so badly. He hasn’t called me anything other thandiavolinaorbellezzasince we got together, so his intended bite has an effect.

I put my palms on the table and slowly rise, sliding out of the booth to head for the exit. “I told you, Dario. I’ve got too much on my plate, and I can’t do this. I’m sorry.” I don’t allow him another word before I’m out the door and getting into my car.

It’s a short drive home, but somehow, I feel ten times lighter than I did on the drive over. I’m finally my own person again—without the weight of a boyfriend, backstabbing bestie, or chaotic duo making me feel like I have to do anything for someone other than myself.

Balcony cigarettes in April feel almost as good as they did when autumn rolled in. The wind whips through my tangled hair, fucking it up more than it already was. I haven’t showered yet today, but I will. I just have a few things to do first. I check my texts one last time before getting ready, but the same two messages have been sitting there for three weeks.

Settingmy phone down, I pick up the package that was lying on the porch when I came home. It’s a little gift to myself for beingsuch a good girl.If I’m going to do this—if I’m going to go back there—I’m not going without protection.

The packaging tape falls away with little effort, thanks to my new ruby-red stiletto nails. Inside is a gorgeous OTF knife with a shiny red handle. I test the spring a few times to get a feel for the blade and how it works. Can never be too prepared, you know?

It’s late by the time I finish eating, showering, and gathering everything I need for the night. Penelope stopped me in the hall and pleaded with me not to go, but if I don’t get to weigh in on what she does…she surely doesn’t get an opinion here.

Even now, she’s banging on my fucking door, begging me not to do this. She says I don’t need it, I don’t need them. But I don’t need her to tell me that. I turn up the volume on my laptop to drown out the sound of her incessant voice.

“Take Me Back To Eden” by Sleep Token seems like the perfect send-off song to start the night with.Thank you, Skylar, for your impeccable taste in music.

For once, I’m staring at my reflection in the mirror and actually like what I see. It’s just missing one thing.

I opted for a red, floor-length gown with a thigh-high slit up the side of my left leg. Beneath the slit is my knife garter, strapped with my beautiful new blade. The silk fabric of my skirt comes to a high-waisted band and opens into an A-line halter top—the fabric crossing diagonally over my chest to leave a cut-out of skin where my sternum lies.

Taking one final breath of innocence, I throw away any ideas of who I used to be, and welcome the girl I’ll be from this point on. The mask slips on nicely, and at last, the mirror’s reflection is perfect.

Red is my color, after all.

31

Scarlett

Eden welcomes me like an old friend.

“Slayer” by Bryce Savage is blaring over the club speakers when I strut up to the bar, already having spotted my prey. The hunt is on.

I come up on Broody’s side when he’s not looking in my direction, eager to drag out the suspense. Resting my elbows elegantly on the bar counter, I wave down the bartender for a drink.

A vodka and cranberry, just how I like it.

Both of the men are wearing their red masks tonight, which feeds into my theory that they have access to my application information. It could just be that they’ve returned to old habits since scaring me away, but I doubt that.

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