Page 17

seventeen

Lucy

It’s been a week since I watched a man get shoved through a meat grinder and then reduced to ash. I haven’t said much about it, then again I haven’t tried to think about it much either.

Even though my thoughts come through every day when I try to paint.

It’s all the same when I touch a new canvas. Blacked out shadows with charcoal covering an unidentifiable face of a man. Splatters of red throughout. Fire. Lots of fire.

Today, I decided to take my hand and just smear different shades of red throughout the canvas. And now I’ve been staring at it for two hours.

Apart from the images of death, other things happen too.

Like fucking Damien.

Fucking Damien all of the time.

In the shower, in my bed, on the kitchen counter. In his office. One time, on his conference table when all of his team left. Never in his bedroom though. And not in his sex room again either, which slightly disappoints me. And he never kisses me, which also disappoints me, but he laid that rule out in the beginning. And no matter how intimate the sex can be sometimes, I know by the end of it when he leaves, that’s all it ever was. That’s all it will ever be.

We’re so intimate that he ordered a doctor here to give me a shot of birth control. Something I neither refused or felt excited about. It’s a smart idea, using birth control. There’s no way I should be getting pregnant by my sister’s husband or the leader of a cartel, but then again, I probably shouldn’t marry him either.

Yet, here I am. Staring at a wet canvas full of red and white, wondering how the fuck I got here and where I will go from here.

There’s a brochure next to my art station for the university I once attended. They’re offering a marketing program online now, since the state of the world is becoming more and more remote. I want to go back, but I’ve yet to bring the idea up to Damien. When I emailed admissions, they stated I would have to go in for in-person registration. I don’t know how he would feel about that, me going into a university I once attended. It’s too risky, I could run into anyone there and I know that would piss him off greatly.

But I can’t stay hidden forever. Especially if I’m going to have his last name.

“What is that?” Damien asks as he appears behind me.

It doesn’t startle me anymore. The man creeps up out of nowhere. I hate to admit it, but I feel him long before he even speaks. I can feel his eyes on me, feel his breath near my skin before he opens his mouth. I can smell him and my body goes absolutely wild. I’m pulled to him in every way, and it’s unnerving and intoxicating all at once.

I don’t know if he’s referring to the painting or the brochure, so I decide to throw all caution to the wind and tell him anyway.

I need to get the fuck out of this penthouse.

“I want to go back to school,” I start, my voice clear and steady as his finger makes a trail from my bare shoulder to my wrist. I’m wearing a short sundress today, and from the way he presses his length into my back, I can tell that he likes it.

And I like to please him. In fact, I fucking love it.

I love him .

“The program is online and I only have a year left before I get my bachelors in marketing,” I say quietly and his hand freezes on mine as his lips skim my shoulder.

My eyes practically roll into the back of my head.

“What’s the catch?” he whispers across my skin, his free hand snaking up the back of my thigh to cup my bare ass.

I’m not wearing underwear. Damien hates underwear. I know this because he praises me every time I go without, and I love receiving his praise.

I’m so ridiculous, but I can’t help it.

“They want an in-person registration,” I whisper and he scoffs as his hand moves to slide a finger down the center of my growing wetness. I shift on my heels, angling for his invasion.

It doesn’t come. He’s fucking with me.

“Please,” I beg silently and I feel his smile against my ear.

“Please what? Please touch you or please let you go and risk running into your family?” he growls and I bow my head.

My father gives the college massive donations every year, because my sister got her law degree there. He’s there constantly for his rallies, which are abundant right now since he’s running for office again. I know Damien is trying to avoid that.

“You plan to marry me in three weeks, Damien. They’re going to find out. At least let me get my degree. I’ve done nothing but listen and obey. I haven’t asked any questions. I’ve kept to myself. I’ve done it all for-”

“Do you want an award for that? A gold star perhaps, Lucille?” he taunts and I grow angry and pull away from him, but I can’t do more than turn around and face him because he immediately has me pressed against the canvas. Wet paint now seeps through the back of my dress.

“Fuck you,” I seethe and he smiles wickedly.

He pins my wrists against the canvas and kneels before me, my anger dissipates slightly and I hate that. I hate that he does this to me and that I let him.

He hikes my dress up to my waist, baring my wet flesh to his mouth as he settles on his knees to the floor.

He leans forward, but doesn’t press his lips to my flesh. All I can feel is his breath as he speaks. It makes me shiver.

“Okay,” he says, short and simple as he eyes my pussy.

My eyes drop down and lock with his. Surprise fills me.

“Okay what?” I ask, shocked that he would agree so quickly. I expected more of a fight.

He leans closer and licks a line from one hip bone to the other, my ass rising and pressing against the wet canvas in response.

“You can go. But Bruno attends with you and you make it quick. Pay for the semester in full. I’ll deposit the money in your account tomorrow morning,” he says as he breaks my gaze to stare at my pussy. My heart is pounding against my chest. It’s hard to focus on this conversation because now all I want is for him to lick me to completion.

“Why aren’t you-”

“Just shut up and take the offer, Lucy,” he growls, and I quiet instantly, mostly because as soon as he is done speaking, he licks me from my clit to my opening and I choke on my moan because of it.

He eats me with an intensity I’ve yet to see from him, like he’s been dying to taste me all day. I don’t question his actions or even his motives at this point because it feels too god damn good. I’m nothing but a stream of choking gasps and orgasms. My dress and skin are both stained from my paints and he’s growling as I start to come on his tongue.

But he doesn’t stop then. He continues until I’ve had three more climaxes, until I’m shaking and nearly to the point of tears in his grasp because every nerve ending is alive and sensitive.

“Such a good girl,” he growls, and I know then from his praise that’s why he’s agreed, because I’ve been good.

And he’s noticed.

And he’s rewarded me for it.

It’s all I’ve ever wanted in this life. To be recognized for my efforts or seen period. And he does. Damien watches me close and he sees me. And I shouldn’t be seeking validation like this, especially from him, but I can’t help it. I’ve been in the shadows for so long that even if my captor praises me for my good work, I brighten like the sun. I feel warmth spread all around me and it’s both confusing and addicting. I want it all of the time.

I want him all of the time.

He stands and pulls my dress down, even though it’s covered in paint. When he pulls me away from the easel, we both stare at the artwork that we’ve just created. Everything is smeared, except for the bottom, where you can see where my ass was pressed against it and where both of our hands touched it.

I look down at Damien’s hand because it smacked against the canvas during one of my orgasms. Red covers his skin. When he moves his eyes from the canvas to his own hand, he smiles that wicked smile again.

“I think this is your best work to date,” he says, and I beam at him,

He stares at me then, taking in my smile for what feels like an eternity. I want to ask what’s going through his mind, but I refrain. I just stand there in my post orgasmic glow and admire him.

“I finalized the merger with Fleur de Femme yesterday,” he says after a while and I tilt my head at him.

“How did that go?” I ask and he bites down on his lip as he smoothes a strand of hair away from my eye with his clean hand, something he does often.

“I fired the PR team and most of the staff,” he exclaims and my eyes widen in shock.

“Why did you do that?” I ask and he shrugs.

“Because they were trash at their jobs. The business has been sinking money for years,” he says and I sigh, not sure what else to say in response.

They turned me away in an instant, money be damned.

“Anyways, I need a new head for the marketing staff. That’s why I’ve agreed to the degree. I need someone to be well versed on the job when they take it,” he says and I tilt my head at him in confusion, mostly because I don’t want to believe what he is saying.

“You start next week. Make sure the classes align with your schedule when I send it to you,” he says as he straightens his shoulders and goes to leave.

Me? The head of marketing at a major fragrance retailer? This is too good to be true.

“This is a handout,” I say and he stops at the door before he turns slowly to face me.

“No, this is an opportunity, Lucille,” he says in a dark tone, narrowing his eyes at me. “So, I wouldn’t fuck it up if I were you,” he growls before he leaves with the door open, leaving me alone with his warning.

This is a test. Yet another that Damien loves to give.

I should sit here and ponder over it, maybe even lean into more of my anger and frustration, but I pay no mind to it. Instead, I grab my laptop and respond to the admissions counselor at the university and schedule my meeting for tomorrow afternoon.

As fucked as everything is, as fast as everything is moving, I have a plan. I’m going to get my life back on track. That way, when everything crashes and burns, when Damien inevitability leaves me on my ass, I’ll have a back-up plan.

And then maybe my heart won’t be so shattered when the time finally comes.

Maybe.

* * *

I arrive at my old school with Bruno leaning against the Escalade. He gives me a short nod as Andy follows me into the admissions office. He’s new apparently. Bruno mentioned Andy was transferred here from Columbia a month ago. He doesn’t speak any English which I don’t mind, because that means we never have to talk. He’s just my shadow. Simple as that. I tend to find his presence comforting as well. Safe even. Andy seems like the type to rip anyone’s head off in a millisecond, which is terrifying to most, but he’s been nothing but polite to me. He even smiles at me, which is quite the contrast to the rest of Damien’s team that I’ve only met briefly.

The meeting with the admissions counselor is short and sweet. My transcripts state that I only have a total of fifteen credit hours to complete, just under a year as I predicted. I’m almost thrilled, but a part of me hates that I won’t be going for my dream degree. I’ll only get to take a couple of art classes, most of them being graphic design. But maybe one day I can go back and get my masters.

“So, what loan servicer will be providing payment with us this semester?” the old counselor asks as she types aggressively on her keyboard, eyes trained to the computer as she speaks.

“None, I’ll be paying in full,” I say as I hand her my new AMEX.

Damien deposited fifty thousand dollars into my bank account this morning. Thirty thousand more than my monthly allowance that was stated in the contract and twenty thousand more than the cost of the actual semester, which I explained to him at breakfast this morning.

He didn’t respond. Just waved at me as he read whatever was on his phone.

The counselor looks at me and then the computer. I know she thinks that my father is paying for this, my last name is all over this city right now because of his re-election campaign. However, this college cares about Megan, not me. They’re the very few people that even know I’m his other daughter, and they’re only nice to me because I bear his name.

They never ask questions, probably because he told them not to when I first enrolled.

I can’t believe I’m grateful for one thing my father ever did for me, force a university to turn a blind eye to me. I’m only grateful because it’s covering my ass now.

She takes my AMEX and plugs everything in before handing it back to me with a heavy stack of paperwork.

“Fall semester starts in a month, so you barely missed the deadline,” she exclaims, straightening her glasses on her wrinkled nose.

She smells of roses and cotton and it burns my nostrils as she leans close.

“You have two weeks to finalize your schedule and get your books. Most of them are QR codes, since everything is online, but you still will have to pay to access them, obviously,” she says, still avoiding eye contact with me.

“Since you’re technically going part time, I would recommend getting started on your thesis now. The professors are very picky when it comes to our marketing degree, mostly because it’s such a saturated career. They want to make sure you stand out,” she says, a slight sneer in her voice.

I don’t show that I’m offended, instead I offer her a smile and extend my hand.

“Wonderful. Thank you for your time today, Mrs. Guthrie,” I say as she tentatively takes my hand to shake it with a bored expression plastered on her old face.

I walk out of the admissions office and place the paperwork in my bag. I turn to Andy as we walk down the hall past the president’s office, there’s a bathroom at the end of the hall and I have to go.

“You don’t need to follow me in there,” I say with a sigh as I push the door open. “I’ll be quick,” I continue and he nods at me.

When I finish and go to wash my hands, I stand and stare at myself in the mirror. For the first time in a while, my eyes have a bit of sparkle to them. My cheeks have a bit of color and my face has filled out since Damien’s chef is ordered to feed me constantly.

I look…healthy. Happy even. The sight should unnerve me given the circumstances, but instead I am enthralled.

That is until someone enters the very small bathroom near the president’s office. Someone that’s very thin and tall with the sleek black bob that I've memorized to detail.

Megan.

My sister.

Oh, Jesus Christ this cannot be happening right now.

My heart drops into my stomach and my blood runs cold. Every strand of hair on my body rises as I look down and finish scrubbing my hands before turning the water off, praying that she doesn’t notice me.

“Lucille?” she calls, her voice holding the same rigid, icy tone as it always has.

Fuck.

I turn around slowly and straighten my bag on my shoulder as I shift in my boots. I look casual today, despite the Prada tote that rests against me. A bag that my sister is now eyeing with suspicion.

“Hello, Megan,” I say as I meet her dark eyes, my body filling with dread as I speak to my sister for the first time in years.

The sister who always ignored me. The sister that neglected me. The sister that taunted me. The sister that abandoned me when I needed her the most.

The woman with an ex-husband that I’m supposed to marry in three weeks.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, that hint of disgust still present in her tone.

Lie. You’ll have to anyway.

“Getting my transcripts,” I say as clench my fists at my sides, her eyes track the movement.

She’s in the same, dark pencil skirt and loose, modest top. If she wasn’t so bitchy and had an eating disorder, my sister could easily be the most beautiful woman in the world.

But instead, she’s like the other mother from Coraline. Or I guess, the other sister if there was one. My mom has the other mother in her fucking back pocket.

“Interesting,” she says, eyeing me close as I try to stand tall and remain unphased, which is a total and complete failure since my voice shakes when I speak to her.

“Why are you here?” I ask and she smirks at me with a scoff, as if I should know.

As if I should know anything about her or her life since she’s ignored my phone calls for the last three years.

“Freshman seminar. They asked me to come as a guest speaker for the incoming law students,” she says with a proud, brag-like sophistication that makes me want to hurl all over her Jimmy Choos.

But, I refrain.

Mostly because I want to get the hell out of here.

“Well, good luck with that-” I start to say as I move closer to the door, but she stops me with a fake smile.

“We should have lunch sometime. Catch up,” she says and I know she doesn’t want to have lunch with me, I can tell by the suspicious look in her eye. My sister is notorious for prying. It’s why she’s my father’s head lawyer.

She’s built to unveil secrets and spill them for his benefit. She is built for sabotage.

“Maybe. I’ve been really busy lately. It was good seeing you,” I say, even though it wasn’t.

Even though I’m lying to her face as I desperately try to flee from her.

“I’m sure,” she says with narrowed eyes and an even icier tone.

I leave the restroom quickly and rush down the remainder of the hall before descending the staircase as fast as possible so I can get to the lobby and get the hell out of here. Andy is behind me, and doesn’t say a word. Thank God. I knew this man was decent.

When I reach the Escalade, Bruno opens the door for me. I slide in, with a feeling that I’m being watched. I try to chalk it up and imagine that it’s just Damien’s two men that are escorting me, but when Bruno closes the door and I look up at the window of the admissions hallway, I find Megan standing there, watching me as the car drives away.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Damien’s going to be so pissed. But if Andy doesn’t say anything, if Andy didn’t see anything, then I should be in the clear. I won’t have to mention that I ran into Megan today. He doesn’t have to know.

He doesn’t have to know. Even though we vowed not to lie, he doesn’t have to know. It’s not a lie if he doesn’t ask, right?

“Bruno, roll down the window,” I bark as a wave of nausea fills me and I start to grow lightheaded.

He does as I ask and I lean out of the window and vomit my breakfast all over the Manhattan street as we make our way through the city.