Page 25

Scarlett

For once, I’ve kept a promise.

The last thing in the world I’d ever expect is for Skylar Cole to be offering me help, but he’s been so amazing since New Year’s. We made a deal that he wouldn’t tell Penelope what was going on as long as I agreed to check in with him to make sure I’m safe. I made it extremely clear that she couldn’t know about what happened to me.

Call it shame or guilt, but I’d take Broody and Casanova’s wrath over Penelope’s any day. If she knew the truth about the Halloween party, my birthday, or the Post-it…she’d be furious. This is her home too, and they broke in here to defile me. Twice . My irresponsible choices have put her life in danger, not to mention my dad’s .

Lying to her has made weekends even more difficult, though. I never have a good enough explanation for why I won’t go to Eden anymore, and I can tell she’s suspicious. Whenever she asks me about what happened on New Year’s, I beat around the bush and give some excuse or another, saying I ran out of there before anything could happen.

But something did happen.

Something happened to me.

I still don’t know how to come to terms with the events of that night and what it did to me internally. Truthfully, it scared the shit out of me…but not for the reasons I thought it would.

Double penetration via two maniacal men wasn’t on my New Year’s resolution list, but it happened anyway. I didn’t go to the party expecting to get cut up, but it happened anyway. I couldn’t have anticipated for the two men to fight like wolves over blood pouring from a wound on my chest, but it happened anyway.

I didn’t want to find enjoyment in any of it…but I did anyway.

Casanova shouldn’t be able to read me so well. He doesn’t know anything about me, and there’s no way he could have known how I would react. Yet somehow, he was right. Somehow, he knew I would love it.

He insisted I would take pleasure in the things they did to me, and even when I denied it until I was blue in the face, I ended up reveling in every second of disgusting debasement. I licked my own blood from their tongues, for christ’s sake.

Who does that?

I don’t want to find out. I’m not one to kink shame, but I don’t want to find out what’s on the other side of the Red Room’s door. I have too much going on in my life right now.

This journey was meant to help me discover what’s out there for me and to find sexual gratification in strangers who wanted the same thing. But I never wanted this. If my big sexual revelation is the fact that I’m apparently into repulsive debauchery…I don’t want any part of it.

They can keep it to themselves.

Penelope hasn’t taken my rejection of Eden’s Deliverance well, but we’ve finally found a middle ground. Without going into detail, I explained that I’m only comfortable visiting the local watering hole for now.

Pennbriar has a dive bar on the corner of Main Street where we used to go out before she introduced me to Eden, so here we are, making a reappearance.

It’s been a month since the New Year’s party, and I haven’t been back since. My head has also never felt clearer. It’s like that place put some sort of spell on me every time I went, and without obsessing over my mask color or whether I’ll see those guys or not, I finally feel at peace.

Skylar was right, too.

I stuck to my guns and ignored Broody’s threats, and I haven’t heard another word from him since. They had to know what they did would scare me away, else they wouldn’t have waited so long that they felt the need to trick me into it. They knew I’d never come back.

“Hello! Earth to Scarlett,” Penelope calls to me, waving her hand in front of my eyes. I hadn’t realized I was spacing so badly.

I give a hearty chuckle, turning my attention to her. “Sorry, Pen. What were you saying?”

“ I wasn’t saying anything.” She points her nose at me, and for a second, I’m confused until I realize she’s gesturing to something over my shoulder.

Grabbing the bar counter, I spin my stool and come face to face with the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. If I thought Broody’s luscious hair or Casanova’s chiseled jaw were things to fawn over, I was mistaken .

They’ve got nothing on this man with his curly brown locks and trimmed beard. He has a prominent nose that stands out from his face, but the feature makes sense when he opens his mouth.

“Hello, bellezza . May I buy you a drink?” he asks. His thick Italian accent rings through my ears and straight to my clit, like a fucking aphrodisiac.

“You,” I start, swaying slightly when I poke him in the sternum, “can buy me anything you’d like.” I may have already had a drink or three, so I can’t be blamed for my behavior.

While the man gets the bartender’s attention, I turn to Penelope with my mouth agape, slapping her arm in exasperation.

Ding.

God, what a time to be cock blocked.

Pulling out my phone to check the messages, I roll my eyes to nobody in particular when I see that Skylar has texted me not only once, but five times in the past hour. I never answered his text from last night when he offered to come over if I needed him, so now he’s blowing my shit up.

Jesus, this guy. I put my phone face-down on the bar and tune out the incessant buzzing that ensues. I’ve got a date with a delicious foreigner.

The man returns with two bay breezes for us girls, and I accept it graciously, even though it’s not my drink of choice. Neither is the beer he’s sipping on, but I’ll let it slide on account of the fact he’s well on his way to making it into my bed tonight.

“So, stranger,” I say before wrapping my lips suggestively around the straw in my drink, “what’s your name, and what are you doing here ?”

“Dario.” He flashes me a shiny smile, his eyes lingering on my mouth for a second too long before meeting my gaze. “You can call me Dario . And you?”

Fuck me. Penelope is going to need earplugs tonight if he doesn’t stop talking to me like that. To make things worse, he reaches for me to curl his fingers around mine, then kisses the back of my hand like I’m a goddamn queen.

“Scarlett. You can call me Scarlett.”

“Scarlett,” he repeats. “Like the color red?” he asks, eyes lit up with fascination as they scan over me from head to toe—from my crimson hair to my ruby-red heels.

A gentle smile creeps up, but it’s not meant for Dario. I remember something Skylar said to me on Thanksgiving, and it might be the most meaningful declaration he made that night.

“Red is hardly an insult. You’re the personification of the color, it's just what you are…You radiate it…Red everything. Everywhere.”

That’s exactly what I’ve always wanted, but I didn’t think he ever recognized it for what it was. I assumed he was always teasing and just trying to insult my obsession with the color. I know now just how wrong I was about him.

“Yes,” I answer. “Like the color.”

Dario leans his head back slowly to look down his nose at me, nodding slightly in amusement. “Ah, yes. I see it. It fits you, diavolina. ”

“Diavolina?”

He tucks his fingers under my chin and rubs his thumb over my bottom lip. A wicked grin spreads across his face when he says, “Little devil.”

Immediately, I break out in a full-faced blush, my cheeks burning from the inside out. I shy away, but his fingers hold to their command and force me to keep eye contact. The alcohol rushes to my head and drops me into a daze I can’t control. Blame it on the drinks, blame it on a month of celibacy, or blame it on his accent…just don’t blame anything on me.

“Would you like to find out?” I ask, tilting my head towards the front door. When he nods in approval, I turn to Penelope as I grab my phone from the counter. “You can make it home okay?”

She winks, turning her attention instead to Dario’s crotch when she says, “You two have fun. I’ll give you a head start.”

I give her a kiss on the cheek before downing the rest of my bay breeze, then follow Dario into the parking lot. As we walk, I check my phone to see what new bombardments Skylar left me with while I was ignoring him.

A slew of notifications pop onto the screen, revealing I missed seven calls and one final text message.

When I’m safely in the passenger's seat of Dario’s BMW, I decide to respond, though my head is fucking pounding and the screen hurts my eyes to read.

His response is immediate, and I regret texting him back at all.

I’m not dealing with his overprotective crap tonight. Bitch is about to get laid, and I don’t need him on my mind when I do it. Tucking the phone back into my purse, I shut him out completely .

Despite keeping me in check for the past few weeks, Skylar and I haven’t rekindled our old flame from the holidays. I think he must understand the fragility of my situation, because he never tried, and I’ve been thankful for that. Fucking him in the middle of my processing period would have just confused things too much for me.

At this point, I hold more appreciation for him than attraction. He helped me through a catastrophic, life-altering event without ever judging me, teasing me, or making sly comments. He’s given me nothing but careful and delicate handling.

Just maybe a little too delicate for me.

What we had together was fun, but it was always going to be temporary. I needed it to move on and grow, but now he’s become something else. A friend, maybe.

After managing to guide Dario to our duplex—quite poorly, I might add, because the alcohol has overtaken my constitution and reason—we finally arrive outside. We’re here and I’m supposed to be showing him what a devil I really am, but I don’t feel like one at all.

I feel sick.

It could be my pathetic tolerance, my nerves surrounding the fact that I haven’t been intimate with anyone since them , or my frayed self-confidence rearing its ugly head. Whatever it is, I just don’t feel good anymore.

As much as it pains me to do so, seeing as I’ll probably never come face to face with this beauty again, I tell him the truth. “I’m sorry Da-ario, I think I need to go ri-right to sleep. Can I make it up to you?”

The sweetheart chuckles lightly, reaching over the console to press a soft kiss to my cheek. “Of course, diavolina. Let us exchange information, and we can get together when you are feeling better.”

We hand off our phones to one another, and I insert my phone number into his contact list as Diavolina with a devil emoji next to it. When he sees it, his mouth twists in a smirk before offering to walk me to the door .

But walking is hard.

My head is dizzy, images spinning and swirling before my eyes until the only thing keeping me from toppling over is Dario’s rough grip around my waist. We only make it a few steps up the porch before I hear shouting on the street.

He lets go of me to turn around and check on the noise, causing me to stumble into the wall when I lose my footing. The brick feels magical under my fingertips, each tiny bump on the rough surface prickling at the pads of my fingers when I slide my hands up and down. Aside from the lack of spatial awareness, all my other senses are heightened.

I can feel cuts forming on the face of my palms when I dig them into the jagged texture of the brick, but I welcome the stinging sensation without fear of pain.

I can smell the pine trees in the midnight air as the cold moisture sinks heavily into my lungs. Even the faint scent of chocolate reaches my nostrils from the factory a mile away.

I can taste the rum on my tongue, but a unique flavor lingers alongside it that I’m not familiar with. I don’t usually drink bay breezes, so I can’t put my finger on what it is.

I can see, when I turn to look over my shoulder, two dark figures approaching one another in the front yard. Dario stands with his hands up in surrender, while the other person storms toward him with a raised fist.

I can hear them shouting over the distance. Dario apologizes over and over, pleading with the other person to believe there’s been a misunderstanding—switching between English and Italian in his frantic attempt to calm the situation. The other person speaks up, but it’s not just any voice.

I know that voice.

“Skylar!” I scream from the top of my lungs, but I’m too late. His fist strikes Dario’s cheek and sends him crashing to the ground.

On wobbly legs, I rush down the porch steps and reach the pair just as Skylar straddles Dario’s waist, hovering above him as he pounds relentlessly against his face. A waterfall of blood pours from his nose and a cut on his brow, turning his gorgeous face into a Pollack painting.

With every ounce of strength I have left, I shove Skylar until he falls in the snow beside Dario’s lifeless body. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I cry, but he doesn’t answer so I turn my attention to Dario.

It takes a few minutes before he fully regains consciousness, but I stay by his side and help him to his feet when he’s able to stand. “I am sorry, bellezza. I did not know you had somebody else.”

I look up at him in confusion, my mind still spinning from the alcohol and impending panic attack threatening to surface. “I don’t—he’s not…” I can’t get the words out. I shouldn’t fucking have to. He shouldn’t even be here right now, and none of this should be happening. My eyes pan to Skylar who’s still sitting in the snow where I left him. “He’s my brother .” I emphasize the word, making sure he’s looking directly into my soul when he hears me say it.

I want it to hurt.

Dario gets into his car after accepting a million apologies for Skylar’s erratic behavior, promising that he still wants to see me despite the unfortunate blow up. I don’t know if I believe him, but I’m not prepared to do any more mental gymnastics tonight.

I need to go to sleep and turn my brain off. This night has been a disaster, and only proves that I wasn’t meant to be getting into any new situationships.

I’m not ready, and I never will be until I let go of all my baggage.

Skylar included.

I don’t even acknowledge him as I return to the house, passing him without a second glance as I climb the porch stairs and fumble with the keyhole to the front door. It takes a few fruitless attempts, but when I finally get it open and stumble inside, I feel his presence behind me.

I don’t have the time for it, I don’t have the emotional maturity to deal with it, and I’m not in the right headspace to verbalize exactly how much I despise him at this very moment .

“This is me ch-checking in for the last time,” I mutter. “Close the fucking door on your w-ay out. I nev-er want to see y-your face again.”

When I reach the staircase, I have to brace against the railing because my head is spinning so badly. I’ve never had alcohol affect me this much, and I think sobriety is about to join celibacy at the top of my list of priorities.

“Your brother, huh?” he calls after me, but I take my first step and ascend the staircase, leaving him in my wake—where I intend for him to stay. “Scarlett! Don’t you dare walk away from me!”

The stairs suddenly shake from the weight of his footsteps trudging angrily behind me, but I react quickly enough to the brief tug on my sweater that I’m able to sprint up the last few steps and barricade myself behind my bedroom door. His fists pound against the wood on the other side, fighting me like he always does.

Always fighting.

The door flies open, catching me in the chest as it swings. Skylar doesn’t give me time to recover before his hands are on me in a familiar hold—one hand wrapped around my throat while the other finds purchase in my hair to restrain me. His choppy breath blows against the strands still hanging in my face, pushing them around as he pants against my brow.

His eyes squint as they study my own, his hands twisting my head towards the moonlight coming from my balcony door so he can see my face better.

“What did you take?” he asks, but I just shake my head. I only had a few drinks. When he realizes I’m telling the truth, he jumps to a more ridiculous conclusion. “He drugged you.”

“You have n-no idea what you’re talking about,” I scold. “I’ve been w-with him all night, he never gave me anything. I had a f-few drinks, that’s all.”

He walks us towards the door, leaving me no choice but to step back until my back collides and causes it to click shut. The hand around my throat tightens and lifts me to my toes, the pressure too much for my already-throbbing skull .

“No, Scarlett. You have no idea what you’re talking about or who you’re getting yourself involved with.” His eyes are cold as the winter air when he demands, “Stay. Away. From. Him.”

No matter how hard I push against his chest, he won’t let up. Every word is a struggle, but I have to say my piece.

“There you go, dic-tating again. You don’t o-own me, Satan , and you sure as h-hell don’t get to tell me what to do. We’re not to-gether, we’re not friends, so yeah. That just leaves you as my st-epbrother.”

Skylar tips his ear to his shoulder, parting his lips while he stares down at my mouth. “Do you always fuck your brothers?”

He’s too close, and I’m too drunk. I know he’s trying to provoke something out of me, whether it’s another heated fucking or one of our infamous arguments. His behavior only reminds me of Casanova and Broody’s overbearing obsession with having me to themselves, and it disgusts me. I let them control me for far longer than I should have, and I won’t let another person do that to me.

“Once or twice, but never again.”

“Wanna bet?"