Sev would probably relish breaking my skin.
Making me beg him to stop.
Doing anything and everything to break me down, now that he has a chance to.
God.
Fuck.
This isn’t who I am.
“I… I’m sorry,” I manage to say to the door guard.
I hate the waver in my voice.
But the pit in my stomach wins out.
A charge of pure, incandescent warning fills my blood, adrenaline and instinct signaling me to fucking move.
I turn on my heel and charge off back into the dark street.
Don’t call after me.
Please, please don’t.
I practically choke on air as I walk off, my shoes clicking on the asphalt, relief pouring through my blood like I just escaped a wild predator.
But no voice comes from behind me.
Once I’m down the street, under the thicket of branches canopied above the new grass, I turn and look back.
No one is looking after me.
The door is already shut.
1
Weston
It’s two weeks later when I finally break.
The evening smells like fresh rain on pavement as I approach the Zenith house door.
Petrichor,my brother used to call it, every time rain changed the air like this and suddenly made everything feel alive.
The patter of raindrops hitting my coat finally stops short as I walk under the awning of the front porch. I’m in front of the glossy, black front door again.
And this time I’m desperate enough to go inside.
This is how often Zenith meets, apparently. Every fourteen days, they come together to engage in senseless depravity that could get every single person in this room expelled from Crimson College.
I haven’t jerked off in four days.
On purpose.
I’m pent up. I’m finding Sev Berlant tonight and I don’t give a damn if it’s a bad decision. Then I’ll never need to step foot in this sick place again.
I saythe stupid passphrase again at the door, “to be unchained,” and this time I force myself to walk inside.