Page 43 of Deviant Obsession

Dean: That’s my good girl. One hour.

Sliding off the bed, I move to my closet, pushing past the growing collection of long skirts and pants I've had to add to over the past few weeks. What I wear doesn't really matter—Dean will have me stripped and blindfolded within minutes anyway—but the ritual of choosing something always gives me a little thrill. Like I’m presenting him with a pretty gift to unwrap.

My fingers brush against the lace teddy he bought me last week. The memory of his reaction when I first wore it makes me bite my lip. I grab it, along with a simple black maxi dress that's easy enough to remove quickly.

As I change, I catch sight of myself in the mirror. The marks on my legs, my bottom, my back tell a story of the weeks that have passed since that night the twins inexplicably showed up here. Some are fresh and dark, others fading to yellowed memories. Each beautiful blemish represents a moment Ioffered myself up, a time I pleased them, a boundary I let them push.

My phone buzzes again. I expect another command from Dean, but instead it's a reminder about a study group I’m supposed to be joining tomorrow.

Reality crashes back in like an annoying ex that just won’t leave me alone. But I can’t ignore it completely, as my entire life in Ramona depends on performing well in my studies. I'm a psychology senior on an academic scholarship with a 4.0 GPA, preparing for grad school applications. By day, I analyze generational trauma patterns and debate cognitive development theories. By night...

Well, by night, I'm something else entirely. At least, on the nights I don’t have to work at the restaurant, or those that I spend with Nat because she still has no idea what I’m doing. A sudden pang of guilt stabs my gut at the thought. I don’t know why I still haven’t told her. I just can’t seem to bring myself to say the words out loud.

I’ll tell her soon.

When soon is, I still don’t know. Banishing the thought, I smooth down the dress one last time, checking that it covers all the telling marks. Forty-five minutes until I need to be at the club. Plenty of time to get there, yet my hands shake slightly with restless energy as I pull on my shoes.

The textbooks still lie open on my bed, glaring at me with a silent accusation. I close them firmly, stacking them on my desk. Tomorrow, I'll be the perfect student again.

Tonight, I belong to Dean.

And Ethan.

I'm halfway to the door, purse clutched tight, when I hear keys jangling in the lock. My stomach drops as Nat bursts in, still wearing her work uniform and looking thoroughly exhausted.

"You would not believe the night I just—" She stops mid-sentence, taking in my outfit. "Where are you going?"

"Oh! I, uh..." I shift my weight, desperately searching for a believable lie. "Study group?"

Nat's eyebrows shoot up as she glances at the clock. "At nine? Inthat?"

"It's not that late," I mumble, but I can already feel heat creeping up my neck.

"Rhea Foster." Nat crosses her arms, using her 'don't even try it' voice. "You're wearing heels. For a study group?"

I edge toward the door, certain that I’m far more likely to get away with this if I say as little as possible. "I just felt like dressing up?"

"Uh-huh." She plants herself between me and freedom. "And that wouldn't have anything to do with why you've been acting shady for weeks?"

My face burns hotter. "I don't?—"

"Or why you've suddenly developed an obsession with turtlenecks? InCalifornia."

"That's not?—"

"Or maybe," she continues, eyes narrowing, "it has something to do with how you’ve been wincing every time you sit down since Friday?"

I stare at the ground, pulse racing as I avoid her penetrating stare. "Nat..."

"Spill it, sister. Right now."

The words tumble out before I can stop them. "Okay, okay. I've been seeing someone. Two someones, actually."

When I finally find the courage to look up, her jaw is practically on the floor. "Two?—"

"Twins," I whisper.

Nat gapes at me like I've grown a second head. "Twins," she repeats slowly. “Do I…uh, do I know them?”

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