Page 36 of Insatiable

It was only days later that Bernadette approached me outside of the dance studio as I contemplated going in, and I wish so fucking much I’d walked away from her false offer.

Gritting my teeth, raging at myself for reading the messages again – something I’ve done a billion times while off my head on drugs or drowning myself in booze – I do the unthinkable.

I unblock her number.

My blood is roaring in my ears, fingers trembling as I change her contact name and type a message to her.

Me: I’m outside.

There. Simple and straight to the point. No need to overcomplicate it. After two years of keeping my distance, I broke my rules by following her to the front gate, by watching her dance, by approaching her and letting her touch me, by letting myself remember every sound she’d ever made for me.

When her hand wrapped around my cock – the lie that wasn’t a lie – I forgot what she’d done. But I remember now. And I refuse to let her fuck with my head again.

My heart races as soon as my phone vibrates in my hand, nerves shattering into fragments at her three-word response. I’m a pathetic piece of shit.

Stacey: Well hello, stranger.

I stop my lips from tugging up into a smirk, my chest tightening as I swallow. “Waste Love” begins playing, and I turn it up slightly, but not loud enough to wake her family. I remember her saying her stepmother hated visitors, hated anyone in the house, which is why I was always climbing through her window.

Me: Move or I’ll drive away.

She types, deletes, types, deletes. I nearly send another message when she responds.

Stacey: I’m rolling my eyes at you. Be 5mins.

Her bedroom light turns on, the curtains opening to reveal her glancing down at me in only her bra. My skin prickles with goosebumps at the fresh memory of my mouth on her tit, heat rushing up my spine and making my dick twitch.

After a longer second of our eyes clashing without looking away, she gives me the middle finger and vanishes from my view.

Little shit.

I don’t block her again, but I do swipe up on the chat box and instantly despise myself as I read all our older messages. Mostly flirty and teasing, telling the other that they’re fuckably hot while in the same room as my family. Pictures from trips that we’d secretly taken. I want to scrap them all, but when my finger hovers over the delete-all button, I decide not to.

After I was dared to kiss her years ago, I lasted all but a few days before cornering her in my kitchen and daring her to kiss me again while no one was around. I pulled her onto the countertop and let my hands roam her body, close to having a panic attack from thinking I would do something wrong.

That version of myself doesn’t exist now. I don’t get anxiety around her because she’s pretty and I have no idea what to do with her. No, I reckon if I fucked her now, I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from strangling her to death.

The anchor who broke me.

Fucking ridiculous.

She appears nearly fifteen minutes later, rushing out with a suitcase rolling behind her and a bag over her shoulder. I should get out and help her, but I pop the boot and relax into my seat instead.

I shouldn’t be nervous. I shouldn’t be wondering what to say to her. I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about her words to me last night.

Relax. It means nothing.

I guess it never had. Not to her.

I gulp down air as she drops into the passenger seat in a band top and jeans. Her perfume and shampoo take over all my senses, and I have to roll down my window more and light up a cigarette to block them out.

Stacey leans forward, looking up at her window. When I follow her eyes, I see a shadow standing there, but whoever it is quickly shuts her curtains.

Must be her stepbrother Kyle. I never met him because he was always away studying, but she spoke highly about him often.

She doesn’t say anything as she clips in her belt, or when she pulls out her phone and starts scrolling social media, ignoring whatever messages keep popping up on her screen.

Not ahello. Not ahey,what happened last night was a mistake,not a fucking word about it. Fine. I won’t bring it up either.

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