Page 229 of Ominous: Part 1
“Well, Eden Rain, I didn’t think you were the kinda girl to lie to your boyfriend’s parents.” He uses the teacher voice, but this time… I don’t smile.
I mentally trip over the word “boyfriend.” It feels juvenile, but I don’t say anything about that either. If we’re talking about this, then we’re talking about it.
I turn to face him again, dropping my fingers from my mouth to my lap. “Is there more to the story?” I ask him cautiously as he gets high, pressed against the door to the pool house, like he’s blocking my exit, even though I haven’t got up from the daybed, soft beneath me as I bounce my leg. “About Winslet?”
He says nothing, his eyes glittering in the dimness, the burning end of the joint glowing in his irises.
“Tell me the truth. You know I’m not going to judge you for it.”
He gives me a rude, half smile, and I already know he isn’t going to answer me. “Tell me how you learned to talk like us.” He brings the joint to his lips again, and he’s holding it like a cigarette. It throws me off and I can only stare as he pulls from it, then exhales through his teeth, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’ve been to a different type of school.” He doesn’t say “public.” My stomach twists into knots and I’m grateful I didn’t eat much at dinner. “There’s a certain way we speak, private schools. In Idaho,” my breath catches with his words, the confirmation he was there, “their slang is different, but so are their voices, in general.”
The way he uses the present tense pricks at my skin. Like he expects to go back. Just like I expect to leave him when I graduate. I think we’re smart enough to have expectations which ring true.
“I don’t talk like you.” He speaks like music. I speak like I’m from the South.
He smiles, smoke unfurling from his nostrils. It’s hot, and I sit up straighter, watching him. “No,” he agrees. “Your voice is sexy. But your mannerisms, it’s like you… copy things. You become what people expect you to be.”
Expectations.Such weighty things between us.
“Do you think I’m whatyouexpected?”
He looks down at his joint, still between his index and middle finger, like a cigarette. “Yes.” He glances up at me through his thick lashes. “And more.”
I let the compliment pass through me. Meeting Eli’s expectations is an achievement enough in itself.
I think of studying his hands in class. My silent crush, my heavy gaze. He felt it all, didn’t he? “Do you think it’s an act?” I ask.
He strides across the open room, stubbing the joint in an ashtray on the coffee table, then he turns to me, closer now. “I think you tell me what I want to hear.”
I can’t hide my flinch because it’s true. I do.
“About never leaving. About trusting me.” He comes even closer, and I have to tilt my head to look up at him. The tension between us, as always, is stretched almost beyond the breaking point. “You’re going to, aren’t you?” His eyes pierce mine, his lashes black in the dying sun, shadows under his cheekbones, in the hollows. “You’ll never trust me.” He says it all like facts.
Indisputable.
He’s right.
I don’t want him to be.
“What happened with your mom, Eli?”
He doesn’t react. I can never surprise him, can I? “So many questions tonight.” And before I can respond, he moves, and he’s on me. I’m pushed back against the bed, his hips between my thighs, his cock hard on my stomach. He grabs my wrists, jerking them over my head, pressed hard against the mattress, his other hand clamping over my mouth. He gets up to his knees, so he has more leverage over me as he stares down at me.
I think of his dad watching, but know he probably isn’t.
He doesn’t want to know all of the things his son does in the dark, does he?
“I know what you’re thinking,” Eli whispers, his temple to mine. His breath is cotton candy again, laced with marijuana. Sweet and soft and everything he rarely is.
I take a deep breath, unafraid. I don’t speak.
“About Winslet. Tell me,” he says, turning his head, his lips over mine. “Tell me I should’ve done something.” He runs his nose over my jawline, up to my ear. His next words are just little breaths along my skin, his hand still pressing tight against my mouth. “Tell me how much you hate me. Tell me how sick I am. Tell me I should’ve fuckingdone something.Get it over with, Eden.” He says my name like it’s a curse.
“You should’ve stopped her.” My voice is muffled, an animal caught in a trap. I’m straining against his hold on my wrists, but I don’t want him off. It’s just what I’m supposed to do in this game we play. “You should have done—”
He peels his hand away and slaps me lightly. I wince, and this time, as I struggle beneath him, it’s real.
His eyes swallow mine, and he grinds his cock against me. “Tell me again.” His thumb runs over my bottom lip.
