The devil

Chapter 2 Eden

Three Weeks Ago

“Didn’t know you were in here.”

I startle at the sound of his voice even though I heard the front door open followed by his footsteps.

Fumbling for the remote, I put the show I was barely paying attention to on pause and look at him.

The light from the television illuminates his tall and toned form as he rests against the entryway and I fight back a shiver.

If he didn’t enjoy politics so much, I’m positive he could have had a successful career as a model. He’s an intriguing combination of rugged and boyish good looks. Light brown hair cropped close in a style that’s suitable for business. Big brown eyes that are full of determination—like he’s always working toward the next big goal. And his chin, which is clenched in irritation more often than not, has the sexiest dimple smack dab in the center of it.

However, my absolute favorite feature of Cain’s are his lips. The man has the kind of lips women from all over the world go under the knife for. They’re full and sensuous, turning up at the corners ever so slightly to give him a perpetual smirk—like he knows how bad I want to kiss them.

“It’s Saturday night, shouldn’t you be hanging out with your friends?”

I inwardly flinch, not because of his cool tone or the slight slur coming from the booze he must have consumed tonight, but the fact that he knows damn well I don’t have many friends. Make that any.

I’m pretty much the town’s pariah, thanks to an incident that occurred when I was fourteen that led to my mother pulling me out of regular school and me continuing my studies at home.

Even now, the sting of embarrassment is so sharp my breath catches. I never meant for anyone to get ahold of the letters I wrote my seventh-grade teacher, Mr. Delany.

Ever since I was little, I’ve related to adults more than people my own age—something Mr. Delany seemed to understand—and we formed a friendship.

However, my private thoughts about him were never supposed to see the light of day. Those letters were for my eyes only.  

Unfortunately, once Tricia Rosenberg found them…they were for everyone else’s eyes too. Given my expressive language and graphic details of everything I wanted him to do to me…half the people in town thought he was some kind of child molester.

The other half thought I was a teenage Lolita…trying to ruin a good man with a good family because I came from a broken home and had daddy issues.

Needless to say, my life quickly became a living hell. I was bullied by my peers and verbally abused by the adults who were supposed to protect me.

My mother—already a prominent lawyer, played the offensive at first, claiming her young daughter was taken advantage of—no matter how many times I tried to tell her nothing ever happened between us and they were just stupid fantasies of mine.

However, things only got worse when I made the mistake of meeting Mr. Delany in the middle of the night to apologize for all the trouble I caused him. His wife showed up shortly after we did, and to say the shit hit the fan would be putting it mildly.

My life was one giant cluster fuck after that, but throughout it all, I maintained both mine and Mr. Delany’s i

Since there really was no disputing my fascination with him thanks to the letters, the town had a field day playing judge, jury, and executioner. Especially after it came out that Mr. Delany had ties to some important politician people admired.

My mother had no choice but to save face and her career by claiming her teenage daughter had severe psychological issues, and she decided to do the right thing and send me away so I could receive the proper treatment.

I’ve been stuck inside this house ever since. A prisoner of rumors, poor choices, a selfish mother, and the i

It’s only recently that I’ve started to interact with people outside my home again—thanks in part to Cain and my therapist’s, David, help.

I’m still not able to venture outside most days—not even to the mailbox—because my anxiety and fear forbid me. But at least I’m finally able to hold conversations with those who come here.

The irony. Most girls my age can’t wait for the freedom to explore the universe on their own terms. Yet I want nothing more than to stay trapped inside these four walls forever...because I know first-hand what a cruel place the outside world can be.  

“Oh, that’s right,” Cain muses, bringing me out of my thoughts. “You’re not really much of a people person. Are you, princess?”

“Rough night?” I throw back at him because I hate when he intentionally provokes me. I’m pretty sure he’s not too fond of it either.

Yet, we’ve done this little song and dance so many times I’m starting to lose count. Maybe we secretly resent one another because deep down we both want what we can never have. Maybe these taunts and underhanded digs we hurl at each other are our sick way of keeping our real feelings at bay since we know we can never act on them.

Or maybe…I’m just wishful thinking and fantasizing like I did with Mr. Delany all those years ago and Cain can’t wait for my next birthday so he can get rid of me for good.

God knows his attitude lately makes it seem that way. Which means I need to be on my best behavior because I’m certain I’ll die if he kicks me out. Not only because I’ll be broken-hearted, but I don’t have what it takes to make it on my own. I can barely make it down the driveway without breaking out in a sweat and having a panic attack.

Slipping his tie off his neck, he releases a long sigh. “You might say that.”

I sit up straight as he walks toward the couch, watching his every move. “Want to talk about it?”

He makes a dark mocking sound. “I’m good.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, I look around, unsure of what to do or say.

“Am I making you anxious?” The mocking tone in his voice is replaced by genuine concern. “Want me to leave?”

“Yes—no.”

He raises an eyebrow, amusement lighting his face. “That really clears things up.”

I laugh, my body relaxing a little with the action. “Yes, you’re making me anxious.” When he turns to leave, I quickly add, “But I don’t want you to go.” I point to the contents on the coffee table. “The popcorn’s burnt and the soda’s warm, but it’s still edible.”

He gives me a boyish grin as he takes a seat on the ottoman where I’m resting my feet. It’s strange he would pick the seat closest to me when he usually does the opposite. Another inch or so and we’d actually make contact.

I feel stupid when he sticks his hand in the popcorn bowl and I realize he took the seat closest to the refreshments…not me.

He makes a face. “This is awful.”

I shrug. “Hey, I warned you.”

Pushing the bowl away, he reaches for a can of soda and takes a large swig. “Fair enough. But why would you eat burnt popcorn in the first place? Why not throw it out and make yourself a new bowl?”

I pick at a loose string on my t-shirt. “Well, if I threw it out and started over, all my time and effort would have been for nothing. And if I made a new bowl of popcorn, I’d have to go through the whole monotonous process of waiting and listening for the kernels to pop at just the right time…something I already screwed up once tonight.” I chew on my thumbnail. “Two things I hate are wasting my time and having to do something over again because I didn’t do it right to begin with.”