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Forgiven Lust

“How do I know you didn't touch me then? You had the chance?" I retort another question. He walks toward me. His domineering aura veered off him. Making him look ten times larger. I take a step back, recoiling in my skin. He places both hands on my hip, and squeezes it lightly, bringing his face down to my right ear, "if I had touched you last night, trust me, you won't be walking right now; nor would you be prancing around with your skin unscathed," he breathes out, and nibbles light on my ear. He walks back to the kitchen and carries on with the dishes as if nothing happened. I look at him wide-eyed and clutch tightly at my shirt, well, his shirt. ———————————————————————— Twenty-one years old Deven has a life, but to her, it’s not a life at all. She drives herself into a world of desires; a world that shouldn’t be tampered with; but she has no choice. She wants to run away from it; shut herself from it; wash clean of it, but unfortunately, she has not where to run to, or so she thinks. Will she find someone to render her the freedom she wants, or will she be caged for the rest of her life?

Winifred_Onyemachi · Fantasy
Not enough ratings
24 Chs

Chapter 12— Bacon.

Deven's POV:

I stare blankly at the ceiling as the remnants of the effect of the nightmare wear off.

I sigh deeply and shakingly as I get up from the bed and head inside the bathroom.

I pause as I catch a glimpse of my appearance in the mirror. I look so distraught.

My eyes are bloodshot; I have bags under them. My skin looks pale. My lips are dry. And I can see tear stains on my cheeks.

I look away from my reflection, walk over to the toilet, sit down, and stare at the wall.

I feel stuck. There's so much pain, anger, and disgust in me that I don't know...I don't know where to feel or what to feel anymore. All I feel is confusion and loss. I no longer feel connected with myself. What's wrong with me?

I'm used to the nightmares on my birthday but I will never get used to how real it feels.

Sometimes I ask myself what I would do if I see him again. I don't know. I'll freeze, I know that. But other than standing like a rock, what else will I do?

I hear someone knock on the door and I jolt unintentionally at the sudden noise.

"Deven, you've been in there for ten minutes now. Are you okay?"

I notice how he didn't call me 'Bellus mea' or 'angel' like he normally does.

That hurts far worse than anything I've ever been through.

"Deven?" he calls again and I realize I still haven't responded.

I softly clear my throat and reply, "I'm fine."

"Can you come out? I need to take get ready for work," he says. I hate that I hear every ounce of indifference in his voice.

He's not even gonna ask what's wrong.

I thought he cared. Is this because of our disagreement last night?

I don't reply. I just clean up and flush the toilet.

The sound of the toilet flushing is the only thing that stills the screeching awkwardness between us even though I haven't opened the door. Maybe it's just me.

I place my hand on the doorknob and pause because for once since I've met Doyle, I'm not finding his presence comforting.

I push past my fears and open the door. I don't stare or give him a moment to speak, I just walk past him.

He doesn't even try to stop me and comfort me like he normally would. I'm sure he knows, in fact, I know he knows that I had a nightmare.

He doesn't even say 'good morning.'

He walks into the bathroom and locks the door.

I choke on air— an, apparently, very thin air that's filled this room.

What's happening? I want a redo.

I close my eyes and let the lone tear from my left eye fall.

I quickly wipe it and walk out of the room and down to the kitchen.

Maybe I should prepare breakfast and then that will give him something to talk to me about.

Now, what should I make? Pancakes with bacon.

Who can resist bacon? Besides, that's what he served me after he saved me.

After a couple of minutes of cooking, I hear him descending the stairs.

I take a peek at him every so often. I try to be discreet, so he doesn't know that I notice his presence.

He walks past me and digs into the fridge.

He can see me making food, in fact, there's more than enough food for him to eat.

"Good morning," I mumble as he stands beside me.

"Good morning," he says in a low rumble. Not the type of rumble that makes me feel butterflies.

"I made breakfast."

He still doesn't look at me.

"Well, I have to go. I'll eat it later."

He finally turns to me and stares at me for several painstaking seconds as if he's contemplating on what to do with me before turning to walk away.

At least that's what his intentions were but I grab him by the collar and deepen the kiss.

I pull away and look into his eyes. He looks surprised and amused. That's a start.

He licks his lips and looks down at mine.

"I'll see you later," he whispers against my lips before leaving a simple, lingering kiss, that I didn't want to pull away from, on my lips.

"I'll ask Lucas to come to keep you company," he yells as he leaves.

After a couple of minutes of his departure, I hear the doorbell ring. That must be Lucas.

I open the door excitedly expecting Lucas to stand in front of me with as much excitement.

My smile falls from my face when the person in front of me looks nothing like Lucas.

I take a step back and whisper, "you're not Lucas."

He smirks maliciously and responds, "I'm not Lucas but I could be whoever you want me to be."

He throws in a wink at the end of his comment.

I try to back away and lock the door but it was too late. He reaches out and grabs me. I open my mouth to scream but I feel the same sting I did when Mrs. Bulgarie punished me.

Doyle is the last person on my mind before my eyes shut.