Page 34 of The Truths We Burn

“Easy. Booze doesn’t make people the most coordinated creatures in the world, ya know.”

The softness of her body feels odd beneath my firm hands.It’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt. Sure, I’ve touched women, but they were all passing cars looking to get their ticket punched, there for the sake of saying, “I fucked a Hollow Boy.”

I can really feel Sage beneath my palms, breathing in her strawberry-scented breath, counting the freckles on her cheeks. For a girl the world thought was made of plastic, God, she feels so fucking real.

“I don’t think I’ve talked this much about myself or my past in, well, ever really.” She laughs. “This feels like a confessional. I think you missed your calling, Van Doren. You should’ve become a priest.”

“Well, I’ve got bad news for you, Theatre Geek.” My hands feel twitchy for a different reason all of a sudden, my grip tightening on her. “You’re confessing your truths to Lucifer. Who knows what I’ll do with them.”

Her eyes are so fucking blue I swear to God they glow, the tilt of her head exposing her neck as the wind catches her hair. I chew my bottom lip, silent, dirty thoughts creeping up the back of my spine.

I’d like to leave that neck purple with marks. That skin blistering with the imprint of my hand. The inside of her quaking, filled, spent with me and only me. I’d make her come all the while she screamed for mercy, begging for the pleasure to stop because it was too much.

“You believe them, don’t you? All the people who call you the devil?”

Clever girl, trying to turn the tables onto me.

“When you are told things so often, even if they aren’t true, you start to believe them.” I raise my hand, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “Make no mistake, Sage. I’m not a good person. It’ll be good for you to remember that.”

I’m no knight in shining armor or sweet shoulder to cry on.

I could be her reckoning, help her seek revenge, even show her how pain mixed with pleasure feels, but I’m not the guy at the end of her happily ever after.

Sage

I can’t stop thinking about him.

As I made breakfast, I burnt my finger on the toaster, thinking of his touch.

In the shower, when I close my eyes, I see his face. Square jaw, half-mast, glassy eyes that looked lifeless to others, but to me, they hold so much more.

When Easton slipped that diamond ring over my finger today, I thought of him ripping it off with a look of disgust.

All I can think about is how terribly fucked I am because all I can think about is Rook Van Doren.

I should be thinking of a plan of escape, a way to get myself out of this arranged marriage, one I hadn’t been privy to. One I didn’t get a say in, because I can’t let them do this to Rose.

The only favor Easton or his family are willing to do for me is keeping it quiet until after graduation. The agreement is in place, but we’ll wait to announce it, buying me a bit more time.

My fingers had itched to touch Rook’s hair two nights ago, curling my nails into the luscious brown locks and tugging a little, just to see if he liked it.

I shouldn’t be thinking of him, not like this, not when I know I can’t give him a future. Hell, I won’t be able to give him anything with this rock on my finger.

Thinking of him will only lead to bad things, I know that, but thinking is all I have.

Imagining is all I can get.

In real life, I have to continue ignoring him. Which is easy considering he doesn’t have my phone number, but at school, God, it’s hard to avoid him. When I feel their presence in the hall, I shove myself into the nearest classroom, sprint in the opposite direction, hide behind doors.

I don’t want him to see me because I don’t want to tell him the truth.

Shouts of joy ricochet outside the closed door of our home theatre room, and my head falls into the black leather reclining seats, hoping if I press hard enough, I will disappear inside of it.

The last thing I want to be doing tonight is host a Halloween party. Luckily for me, Lizzie and Mary are making up for my absence. I hadn’t even wanted to throw this thing, but when my friends heard my parents would be out of town with Easton and his father, they begged to use my house.

I stayed long enough to pose for pictures so they could be plastered all over Facebook and Instagram, but I quickly disappeared into this room in the back of the house. It’s mostly quiet, and I know no one will come looking for me in here.

My tattered script ofA Midsummer’s Night Dreamis in serious need of some TLC, but I’ve flipped through these pages so much, there isn’t much I could do for them at this point.

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