She was going to drown in either the pleasure or the pain.
“Do you remember me yet?”
I saw the panic wash over her face, pairing well with the lack of oxygen. Nothing about my confessions or me were sinking in. I kept my focus on the human instincts, like satisfying my hormones, when I realized I couldn’t fuck her into remembering our past.
Maybe she isn’t the one. Maybe I wanted her to be so badly I fabricated every piece of evidence claiming she was.
I felt every part of our truce, all the progress, fall away with every motion of sinking between her legs. I was hate fucking her. Every thrust was more powerful, and the scowl on my face refused to let her see that I liked any of this.
She wasn’t Rosalia reborn; she wasn’t the one who was going to help us get home. Now I hated her even more for it.
Her lips nipped at my neck trying to reach me. “Bolton, slow down.” She was out of breath, and her legs were shaking against my waist. Her whole body shook its way into coming, and I had to force my face to stay angry. She was coming undone, and this provoked a grin I was pushing away.
“Just come already, Arianna,” my voice growled, sounding desperate for her to finish. I didn’t care about coming; I wanted her to remember and that ship sailed. My hand even let go of her throat and resumed its position on the table, knuckles buried into the lacquer and chips of the table.
“What?” she hissed out, like I directly offended her. I stopped my hips from burying my length inside her, defeated, and let my head hang low between us.
“I can’t do this. Not with you.”
I felt her legs fall from being pinned up against my hips, and she scrambled to cover herself up.
Her eyes looked betrayed and polished in wetness that I knew I didn’t want to stick around for.
Girls crying was always uncomfortable, and I never seemed to know what to say to make it stop. I always made sure I was out of sight before the flood gates opened.
Arianna
“Was this some kind of prank? Get the new girl alone, get her talking, and fuck me until you couldn’t even follow through on your own bullshit? You didn’t hate me enough for hallways anymore?”
Bolton didn’t even pull away from me after telling me how much of a mistake cutting my bra off was.
I pushed my palms into his chest to gain back control of my space, and the same feeling I got in Texas crawled up my spine—a charge of energy and rush that I didn’t know what to do with.
As soon as I felt my palms land against his bare chest, I felt the same sparks I did when I touched anyone in his dumb circle of friends.
When I touched my ex before, he had a seizure in trespassing territory that got us caught by security.
These were the only times I felt this kind of power.
Without any warning, Bolton pulled away too quickly, but not before making a face of complete anguish and pain gripping his chest where my palms were. My eyes wanted to roll, and I wanted to let the word “pussy” slip off my tongue.
A little static electricity, and you too can turn the bad boy into a wuss.
“Motherfucker. Is that what happened in Texas?” His head was down, trying to assess any damage to his still bare chest, while his eyes shifted up finding me.
I pulled up my panties and kept adjusting myself until I looked at least a little closer to how I arrived, even with my now useless bra.
“It was some static electricity… get over yourself.”
Not so tough now, huh, pussy?
I started to walk away, and I snatched my phone off the ground where it fell. As soon as I shot up, Bolton’s hand was wrapped around my arm, holding me in place.
“It doesn’t work on me; you can’t hurt anyone else in the circle. Your ex? You probably gave him a heart attack. How many times has this happened?”
I was hearing him, but my head spun out of control and my body shook from all the emotions building up without having anywhere to go. I felt drained from his betrayal, drained from the power I felt to defend myself, and now I was remembering him explaining how much of a god he was.
Everything was out of control and sounded like lies I could believe, which made it so hard to decide what was real.
“I don’t know, Bolton. I don’t keep track of the friction in my life. Didn’t you humiliate me enough back there? Pity fucked me into hating you just as much as you hate me?”
He actually looked confused, like my words hurt him more than how he had just hurt me.
“Pity fuck? Humiliate you? I couldn’t fuck you when you don’t remember me. I couldn’t hurt you like that. Queens don’t let men tell them how to feel. Decide for yourself, Arianna.”
He let go of my arm and brushed past me, down the stairs, to the exit, before I could even get my thoughts together.
Decided for myself? If I’m crazy? If I’m powerful? If Bolton is still messing with me? Crown or not, navigating Arcadia Prep was proving to be more difficult.
I followed behind him, even though he was out of sight already, pondering every exchange we had up until now and his clues about who he was.
He kept asking me if I remembered him, but I had never met him in my life, which ate away at me like cancer for the rest of the night.
By the time I made it to the girls’ dorms, everything was dark and quite like not a soul was there. When I pushed open my door, the lights were off, and Luna’s bed was flat. She wasn’t here. I was thankful. I needed to shower off every part of me that I didn’t understand and hope it only left what made sense.
I spent longer than I really meant to in the shower, taking my time, because once Luna got back, I knew she’d be tired, leaving me to be mindful of how loud I was. Downside of having a roommate your senior year of high school: a lack of freedom.
The only things that felt better after my long shower were my muscles; nothing else seemed resolved enough to relax.
I yanked out Henry Jon’s journal from my bedside table, before glancing at the time on my phone: 12:12 a.m. Curfew was 11 on game nights and weekends so we could all bask in the glory.
Luna would never be caught missing curfew; she was practically the mom of her friends and so innocent that I thought even the Devil would shy away.
Arcadia Prep kept track of our keycards and swipes, meaning every missed curfew was a mark against you. I was pretty sure I never made curfew and was still waiting for my punishment.
I smiled to myself, pretending Luna got brave and Nyx stopped fighting how much he was into her. Who was I kidding? Luna wouldn’t even let love break the rules. If Nyx was going to love Luna, he was going to have to do it between classes, before curfew, and most likely in private so no one had to feel bad about themselves.
I found my bookmark wedged between the old pages, and I let the diary fall open to where I had left off. I was hoping Henry Jon would make more sense than Bolton did.
Henry Jon
I was standing face to face with the Devil’s child, and my faith was stronger than ever. I laid in wait, watching my Rosalia get dragged deeper into the lust of the evil. I made no advances on the demon, I had nothing but my faith in my arsenal. I needed answers, and that took time.
I prayed every night that God watched over my Rosalia, not letting her slip out of my grip.
Every dusk, I went out to the forest to search for clues on how to defeat the devil among us. I found the tusk of the monster deeper into the woods and tucked it into my pocket, hoping this would be the first step to our victory.