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12
PENELOPE
My feet are moving, but I’m not sure that I’m the reason they’re doing it. The last twenty minutes definitely happened, I can feel it in the bone-deep shaking that’s still vibrating through my legs and the rapidly cooling liquid that’s slowly leaking out of my sore pussy.
I just had sex with Hawthorn Benedict, in a room at our school, over the arm of an old couch. I let him touch me and fuck me and talk dirty to me, and it was unbelievable. But I shouldn’t have let it happen again. He gave me a chance to leave, but all I’ve wanted since I left him at the marina was to feel the warmth of his control again, and even though I know keeping my distance from him and my sister is the sensible thing to do, I needed him today.
I needed the brand of control he showed me the other morning on the boat. My entire life is spinning out of control, but with him, all I have to do is trust him to take over. It’s as exhilarating as it is terrifying.
Maybe if he wasn’t my sister’s friend, things could be different. But he’s part of Izzy’s new family—literally one of the five people in this school that I need to stay away from. So why do I seem incapable of ignoring him?
Everything about Hawthorn is starting to become a compulsion, and even though I know having any kind of relationship with him will only end up destroying me, I can’t seem to tell him no. Right now, his cold and exciting commands are the only kind of connection I feel capable of. Izabella is desperately trying to offer me a chance at reforging our family, but I don’t want it, I don’t deserve it, but I can’t seem to walk away from him as easily as I can her.
Darting into the closest bathroom, I lock myself in a cubicle and clean up as best as I can without a shower. I have no experience of sex with a condom, but without one is messy, especially in a skirt with no underwear. An unbidden giggle breaks free of my lips, and I slap my hand over my mouth to stifle the sound. I’m not sure if I’m happy or hysterical, but either way, it’s better than the nothingness that has been trying to consume me since I got back from the engagement party two days ago.
After flushing the toilet, I smooth down my skirt, checking and rechecking that you can’t tell I’m not wearing anything beneath it. After washing my hands, I leave the bathroom and step into the corridor. I used to love coming to GAA, this school was my platform, a place where I was adored, even if it was only because they wanted to use me. Now, I’m a pariah, the formerly almost super rich, it’s not exactly the most impressive title.
As I walk toward my class, no one follows me with their eyes, and when I happen to glance in the direction of a boy I don’t recognize, he winks at me. A week ago, he wouldn’t have dared to flirt with me. But now I’m not important or interesting anymore. No one envies me, no one wants me, or wants to use me, they just don’t care, and as the realization dawns on me, tears fill my eyes.
I want my mom, only she doesn’t care either—I’m not sure she ever did—because she hates me now. I ruined all of our lives, and I have no one else to blame but myself. Pushing my feet to move quicker, I dart past the class I’m supposed to go to, and before I realize it, I’m running down the hallway, through the school, and out the front door. I can’t be here, I can’t be this nobody, I just can’t.
Rushing across the lawns I dart for the road, pulling up the Uber app on my cell and almost collapse with relief when there’s a driver only four minutes away from me. My bag is still in my locker, all I have is my cell phone and my credit card that my parents could have canceled by now, but I can’t go back. I can’t face my classmates’ ambivalence.
When the car pulls to the curb, I hurry to climb in, wiping the tears from my eyes as I slide into the back seat. The driver glances at me in the rearview mirror, her hair a mass of black, tightly wound curls that bounce as she turns to look at me, her eyes softening when she sees my tears.
“Are you okay, sweetie?”
I nod but don’t speak, and after a moment of awkward silence. she pulls away from the curb and blends into the lunchtime traffic. When the hotel comes into view, I unclip my seatbelt and have my hand on the handle ready to open the door before we even come to a complete stop.
“Thanks,” I say offhandedly as I climb out of the car and rush into the hotel lobby. Wiping a fresh bout of tears from my eyes, I march to the elevator and stab my finger against the call button. While I wait, I reach for my bag, only to remember that I left it and my key card in my locker at school.
Tipping my head back, I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale a weary, shaky breath. Turning, I pad across the lobby to the reception desk, blinking as I try to keep the tears that are leaking from my eyes at bay.
“Good afternoon. How may I help you?” the chipper male receptionist asks me, his smile wide, flashing his gleaming white, perfectly straight teeth.
“I’ve lost my key card, could I have a replacement, please?” I ask, my voice a little shaky as I try valiantly to keep my emotional meltdown under wraps.
“Of course, what’s your room number?”
“Ten sixty-five.”
Tapping at the computer in front of him, he looks up and smiles at me. “Your name, please?”
“Penelope Rhodes.”
“And do you have the payment card you provided us with?”
Handing over my credit card, I pull in shallow breaths, trying to stay calm as misery threatens to overwhelm me.
“Okay, here is your key, we have you due to check out tomorrow, do you need a wakeup call or a breakfast order placed?” he asks, his smile never slipping an inch.
“No, I need to extend my stay for a week, please,” I say, turning to leave, my new key card gripped tightly in my hand.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Rhodes, but I’m afraid your room isn’t available after tomorrow.”
“Okay.” I nod, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “Can you book me into a different suite?”
“I’m afraid all of the suites are booked for the next five days. We have a large group of guests that have reserved all of the suites, as well as both penthouse apartments. We do have standard rooms available,” he says, his infuriating smile still firmly fixed in place.
