Page 3 of Bitten By Desire
Zoey squealed and we made our way up the front steps.
It’s not like I’d ever see any of these guys again. Or like I’d ever go to another party in this haunted mansion. I’d wasted enough time on Jackson. My whole college experience. I’d be graduating at the end of next semester and he was the only boy I’d kissed. I needed someone else’s lips on mine to erase his existence.
The inside of the house was just as sinister as the outside. There were old portraits lining the walls of the foyer. And it was indeed candles in the windows. Butthere were students everywhere, loud music, and the smell of stale beer lingering in the air.
“Is this a frat house?” I yelled over the music.
“I don’t know. It doesn’t really seem like it, does it?”
No, it definitely didn’t. So…who was throwing this party? I grabbed a red cup from the bar in the corner of the living room. And it wasn’t a makeshift bar like at Jackson’s frat house. It was an actual bar with liquor lining the shelves behind it. All old, dark wood. This looked more like the dean’s house than a frat house. But there was no way the dean would be throwing the soccer team a party just because they’d crushed us earlier today. I smiled, remembering Jackson’s shot being saved by their goalie.
“You made it!” a guy yelled and picked Zoey up in his arms, twirling her around.
That must be the goalie she was so excited about. I sipped my drink as I stared at the two of them being adorable.
“Nice game!” I yelled.
“Thanks.” He winked at me and then turned to Zoey. “Do you want to dance?!” he shouted over the music.
“Oh…um…” Zoey turned to me.
“Go! I’ll be fine.” I shooed her away.
“I’ll be back in a few minutes. Go find your striker!” She blew me a kiss as the guy pulled her to the dance floor.
I took a picture of the two of them dancing. I didn’t have a doubt in my mind that Zoey would hook up with her goalie. But I was definitely not going to have a one night stand with some random soccer player just tomake Jackson jealous. Because he wouldn’t be. And I doubted it would make me feel better.
I walked past the bar and stared at one of the old portraits. We were in the living room now, but the pictures were a constant throughout the house. And maybe it was the drink in my hand…or the spooky walk up…but I swear the eyes in the portraits shifted as I stared at them.
A chill ran down my spine and I turned around. But no one was watching me or anything. Everyone else was dancing and flirting. I turned back to the portrait, lifted my camera, and snapped a photo, silently wishing that when I uploaded it to my computer, the portrait would be blinking from the flash.
I tried to shake away the thought as I took another sip of my beer. I stopped in front of another portrait. It was so well done that it almost looked like a picture. I loved photography, but I wished I could paint too. There was something especially captivating about these old portraits. It wasn’t just capturing one moment. The subject had to sit there for hours on end. A show of patience I definitely didn’t have.
This portrait was more captivating than the rest. Probably because the subject was devastatingly handsome, minus the scowl on his face. He had dark hair and almost golden eyes. I’d never seen anyone’s irises such an enchanting hue. That was the other thing that was cool about painting. You could use your imagination. Alter things for fun. I couldn’t do that with my camera unless I sat down for hours with editing software. I also lacked the patience for that.
And this subject lacked patience as well. Or else he’d be smiling instead of scowling. I snapped a pictureof this portrait too. It was hard not to take photos of beautiful things. I looked down at the gold placard beneath the portrait. Sir William Evans, 1779. I swore this University was established in the 1900s. I shook my head. I must have had that date wrong.
I grabbed another drink and then kept walking, following the rest of the portraits back out into the hall. And down another hall. The farther I walked, the quieter the music grew. And the dimmer the lighting.
But I couldn’t stop taking in all the portraits. Who were all these people? The idea that we were in the dean’s residence was starting to seem more plausible. But this school was only old enough to have a few drawn portraits of past deans. A few dozen though? Why wouldn’t they have just started taking photos?
I wandered into another room. It was similar to the living room, but instead of a bunch of people dancing in the middle, there were a few loveseats facing each other. Maybe it was an old-fashioned sitting room. Or maybe a fancy office. I stared at the desk along one wall. Everything looked so delicate, I was almost afraid to touch anything. I finished my drink so I wouldn’t spill it. And then I sat down on one of the cushions.
I pulled out my phone. I had a signal now. Zoey said she’d ask some guys to fix my car. So I wasn’t worried about that. I clicked on the Instagram icon and went to Jackson’s profile.
The last photo he’d posted was still of us, smiling at the camera.
Why was it still of us?
Every time I looked, which was more frequent than I liked to admit, it was the same photo. Why wasn’t there one with that blonde?
I bit the inside of my lip. He’d said it was a mistake. A one-time thing. I hadn’t believed a word of it.
But what if he was telling the truth? I stared at our smiling faces. What if he was sorry? Was one slip up really worth throwing three years of my life down the drain?
I knew what Zoey thought. But Zoey didn’t get it. She hooked up with a different guy every weekend. That wasn’t me. I didn’t want to hook up with a random striker. I wanted someone to love me back.
I refreshed my screen. Again. And again. A bad habit I needed to stop. But I refreshed it once more anyway and there it was. Jackson with his arm wrapped around the blonde. Her boobs were practically pouring out of her dress.Just this once my ass.I felt tears welling in my eyes. It was almost like I had accidentally wished his new relationship into existence.
