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Because he really is all I have left.
“It doesn’t change anything,” he finally says, his voice calm, too calm. “It just makes things clearer,” he adds, lifting the mug of coffee to his lips.
“Clearer?” I echo, not understanding.
He leans back in his chair, his eyes still on me, filled with their familiar coldness. “Yeah. Clearer. You and me, we’re the only ones left, Tatum. No one else fucking matters. Not them, not anyone. Just us.”
I swallow hard, my hands trembling as I set the mug down on the table. “But we’re step-siblings, Caius. This… this isn’t right.”
“Right?” He laughs, a low, bitter sound that makes my stomach turn. “Who decides what’s right? The people who are dead? The ones who left us behind? Fuck that. Fuck them. We don’t owe them anything. They’re gone, Tatum. And we’re still here.”
I don’t know how to respond to that. He’s twisting everything, turning it inside out until I don’t know which way is up. But there’s a part of me, a small, terrible part, that wants to believe him. That wants to let go of all the guilt and shame and just…be with him. Because he’s right about one thing. We are the only ones left. And I’m so fucking lonely.
He reaches across the table, his hand closing over mine, and I flinch at the contact, but I don’t pull away. I can’t. His touch is like a drug, something I know I shouldn’t want but crave all the same. “Don’t fight it,” he says, his voice softening, turning into something almost tender. “You’re mine. You were always meant to be mine, and now that you are, I’m not fucking letting you go. I don't care what anyone thinks or has to fucking say about it. If people don’t like it, I’ll show them how I handle problems.”
My breath catches in my throat, my pulse quickening as his thumb strokes over my skin, slow and deliberate. There’s something predatory in his eyes, something that makes my heart race and my stomach twist with fear and excitement. He’s pulling me into his world, into the darkness that surrounds him, and I don’t know if I have the strength to resist. I don’t know if I want to.
This side of him is new. He’s softer than the boy I grew up with, and right now, despite how fucked up I think all this is, this soft side is easier for me to handle than the cruelty he normally inflicts on me.
“We shouldn’t,” I whisper, but there’s no conviction in my voice. I’m already slipping, already falling under his spell. He knows it, too. I can see it in the way his lips curve into that satisfied and cocky smile.
“Who’s going to stop us?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous. “No one. Not a single fucking person. So why fight it? Why pretend to be something you’re not? You think you’re some kind of saint, some perfect little girl who can do no wrong? Cause you’re not. That might be who they wanted you to be. Who you pretended to be for them. But I know the truth, Tatum. I know what you really are.”
“What am I?” I ask, my voice trembling, a mix of fear and curiosity.
“A fucking lunatic. My fucking little lunatic,” he says, and there’s a finality in his voice that sends a shiver down my spine. “And I’m yours. We belong to each other now, no matter what anyone else thinks. And I’m going to show you just how much you belong to me.”
I should push him away. I should tell him he’s wrong, that this is sick, twisted. But I don’t. I let him pull me to my feet and guide me out of the kitchen, up the stairs, to his room. I let him close the door behind us, shutting out the world, the guilt, the shame.
He leads me to the bed and slowly begins to unbutton my blouse. Inside, my heart is racing. Both fear and anticipation flow through me. He can sense it, my uncertainty and internal panic. It causes him to pause.
“Hold on, I have something that will help,” he whispers before grabbing the bottle of water from his night table. He opens the drawer and pulls out a small baggy of white powder. Cocaine. Caius doing drugs is nothing new. He’s been arrested for possession more times than I can count, and more nights than not, he stumbles home, completely out of it. Our parents never approved. I mean, why would they? But at some point, they stopped trying to make him stop. At some point they realized that the stoned version of Caius was easier to manage, and so they looked the other way.
I, however, have never touched it. Drugs have never been my thing, but at this moment, I can understand why he was so obsessed with them. Why, despite the dangers, the relief, the freedom they can give you would feel so alluring.
The tiny bag in Caius's hand gleams under the morning light, the white powder inside almost shimmering as he holds it out to me. I can feel my pulse quicken, the weight of the last few days crushing me from the inside out. The guilt. The sorrow. The endless, gnawing pain of losing her—my mother. It’s too much, and I need it to stop.
Just for a little while.
I take the bag from him, my fingers trembling slightly as I open it. Caius watches me, his eyes dark and unreadable, but I don’t care what he’s thinking. All I can focus on is the escape that powder promises. The escape from everything that’s been eating me alive.
I pour a small amount onto the back of my hand, lowering my head as I bring it closer. The burn hits instantly, sharp and fierce, as the powder shoots up my nose and into my system. I close my eyes, leaning back against the wall as the intoxicating rush takes over, spreading warmth and numbness through my veins.
It’s fast, almost too fast, and I feel the tension start to melt away. The pain, the grief—it all begins to blur at the edges, becoming distant, less real. I just want to float, to lose myself in this moment where nothing hurts, where I can pretend for just a few minutes that I’m not drowning in my own mind. In my grief.
Caius kneels before me, his dark eyes locked on mine, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans in closer. The room feels like it’s spinning, the high from the cocaine rushing through my veins, making everything sharper, more intense. Every touch, every breath, every movement is magnified.
I can barely keep my head up as I watch him, my body humming with a mix of nerves and desire. The guilt and pain from earlier are dulled now, replaced by the rush of the high and the heat of the moment. I want to lose myself in this and forget everything.
Everything except him.
Caius places his hands on my thighs, his touch sending a shiver up my spine as he pushes up the yellow summer dress I put on this morning. He takes his time, almost like he’s savoring the moment. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me. My breath hitches as he leans in, his lips brushing against the inside of my thigh in a teasing, tormenting, and forbidden way, making me ache with need.
My head falls back against the plaster wall, the ceiling blurring above me as I give in to the sensation and the warmth spreading through me like fire. His mouth moves higher, closer, and I can’t help the soft moan that escapes my lips.
“You have no idea how fucking long I’ve wanted to hear you make those goddamn sounds, Tatum,” he whispers with hot breath against my skin. The high makes everything more intense, every nerve in my body tingling as he finally reaches where I need him most.
The first touch of his mouth is electric, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. My hands find their way to his hair. His bleached locks threaded so tightly between my fingers my knuckles are turning white. I bite down on my lip, trying to keep quiet as my hips instinctively grind against his face, but it’s impossible. Every movement, every flick of his tongue, drives me closer to the edge; the pleasure building inside me is overwhelming and relentless.
