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TWO
LILIYA
Crushing the books I carry to my chest, my eyes widen as the boy approaches me. No, not a boy…a man. He looks young, maybe a couple of years older than me, but he’s got the appearance of someone who has lived a hundred lifetimes.
My friends don’t move as he approaches, oblivious to the fact that he wants to see me and not them. They continue to cackle as he halts, waiting for them to move at his command. It’s not until the glint of a blade catches their attention that they flea like rodents.
My breathing quickens as his hands raise, and he steps forward, not stopping until we’re within reach. I can’t take my eyes off the curved knife in his hand; even as he speaks, my ears ring.
Fear should be my response. I should be afraid of this man who brandishes a weapon in public, but that’s not what I feel.
My body is…aroused.
Confusion swirls within me, and my heart pounds as he reaches out to touch me, caressing my jaw with a finger, the knife snug to his wrist. It would take so little for him to turn it on me, but he doesn’t. He watches me, studies my reactions like I’m a bug under a microscope.
“Liliya.” My name on his lips breaks me from the spell he’s weaved.
Stepping back, I straighten my shoulders and ask, “How do you know my name?”
His hand drops, and I swear I catch disappointment in his stare. “I know your father.”
My father.The bane of my existence. The man who enjoys tormenting me until I’m in tears on the bathroom floor and can’t stand the sight of my own flesh.
“What do you want?”Ah, there’s the fear.I can’t hide the quiver in my voice.
His head tilts to the side, those ice-blue eyes moving down my body like he owns it. Ownsme. “I am Dez Kovak.” That doesn’t answer my question.
“What do you want?” I ask again, biting my lip as my sight flicks to the man waiting for him across the street. He’s every bit as imposing as Dez.
“You, of course.” I startle at his bluntness. It’s not often I obtain truthful answers from the men in my life.
My body begs me to get closer to him, to soak up the offer in his eyes of belonging to him. My heart is torn, however; she’s been hurt too many times. The rational side of my brain screams for me to run. He’s a bad man, just like my father. There’s no way in hell anything good will come from knowing him.
“I need to go,” I say when I see my friends starting to walk away, about to leave me alone in the street with a stranger. Dez steps forward as if to stop me, but I dash away quickly, catching up to them. There’s a pull in me to glance back, to see if he’ll stay or, perhaps, follow me. I don’t know which I’d prefer.
Pushing a strand of hair out of my face, I steal a look back to find he’s staring after me, his brows drawn together and his fisted hands by his sides. My heart jumps when I register the blood dripping from his fingers onto the snowy ground as he squeezes the blade in his palm.
I lose my breath as images hit me in succession, slamming into my mind like a freight train and sucking the air from my lungs.
Me sitting between Dez’s legs as he draws circles on my thighs, cutting only deep enough for blood to pebble to the surface.
Dez lying naked over top of me, tracing the slight curves of my body and marking me as his while he slides in and out of my virgin body.
Me sitting on top of Dez, drawing a delicate flower on his bare chest until he comes deep inside of me.
I’m sick.
Disgusting.
Something is so wrong with me because I shouldn’t be having these fantasies about a man I don’t know, involving something so barbarous I can hardly think straight.
“Earth to Liliya!” Jazzy snaps her fingers in front of my face, annoyance in her tone and set across her mouth. “What is wrong with you?” she spits out.
“Sorry, just thinking about that test tomorrow,” I mutter, lying through my pearly white teeth.
“You were thinking of the freak with the knife,” she accuses, stopping in her tracks with a hand on her hip and accusation in her eyes. I hate the way she makes me feel so small. “It’s obvious you’re a weirdo, but I didn’t realize you were such a freak, too.” She scoffs and laughs at the perceived insult, her friends tittering with her. “God, I knew by letting you in our friend group that you’d do something weird and bring our coolness factor down. You’re such a loser, string bean.”
It’s a nickname I’ve been carrying around since I started school. One I hate, but they have no idea what makes me tick.
