Things I Wanted To Say: Chapter 11

WELL.

That was unexpected.

Once I know Summer is fully asleep, I slip out of her bed, not sure where to look first. She confuses me. I don’t understand her whatsoever, yet I do. What just happened between us was unlike any sexual experience I’ve ever had in my life, and I’ve had quite a few. I’m no angel. No one expects me to be. I’m a selfish asshole who takes what he wants, whenever he wants it.

I never fully expected to take Summer Savage and definitely not tonight, though the temptation was always there.

Being with her, saying all that terrible shit, it felt…natural. She liked it too. I saw the flare in her eyes, the way she so readily agreed to everything I told her to do. She wants to be controlled. And I enjoy controlling her.

Somehow, even though we hate each other, it’s as if we’re a perfect match.

Maybe she imprinted on my brain when we were fourteen, that first night I kissed her. When she taught me how to kiss. I know now I had no clue what I was doing, and I only copied what I saw in movies. Porn. What the fuck ever. I kissed other girls like that, and they never tried to correct me. Maybe they didn’t know any better. I didn’t.

Yet she softened me. Taught me that kissing wasn’t about brute force, but gentle persuasion. I owe her that lesson.

She owes me for saving her ass tonight from that stupid fuck Elliot. And she saved me too. I might’ve beat Elliot’s ass, as well as his stupid friend’s, but they got a few licks in, leaving me in pain. That she brought me back to her room to take care of me was surprising.

I hate being indebted to people. It’s the worst thing you could ever do, a sign of weakness. And there’s nothing more I hate than weakness.

So I need something, anything I can find in this tiny little room of hers. Something that belongs to her.

Something I can use against her.

I’m not above blackmail. We both know this. And now that she’s lying asleep, blissful after that epic orgasm I just gave her, it should be easy to search through her belongings and find something personal. I know she has a secret in here somewhere. The girl is full of them.

I want to discover every single one.

I spot her backpack on the floor and go through it, grateful for the moon shining in the room and allowing me to see. It’s full of notebooks and textbooks, nothing interesting, but I go through each one, making sure there’s nothing hidden. I find a folded note that must’ve been passed between her and I think my sister. I recognize Sylvie’s writing, and I frown as I read what they wrote to each other.

Sylvie is trying to become her friend. I won’t have that.

I can’t.

I leave the note where I found it and zip the backpack closed, my gaze going to her desk. It’s cold as fuck in here, but I don’t want to put on my clothes yet. I know they’re still damp. I spot the oversized black hoodie Summer was wearing earlier on the floor, and I grab it, tugging it on. It’s a little short, but it’ll do.

Going to the pile of my clothes next to the bed, I grab my boxer briefs and slip them on as well, grimacing when I feel the damp fabric against my skin. I pissed Summer off earlier and I’m guessing she didn’t dry my clothes all the way. Fucking sucks.

Still worth it though, after what happened between us.

The girl is an expert dick sucker. Does that sound awful? Yes. Do I still consider her a whore? Confirmed.

But now she’s my whore, and I don’t share.

I go to her desk and rummage through it. Not much on top of it. A couple of piled notebooks—girl is obsessed with them or some shit—and then I start going through the drawers, constantly glancing over my shoulder to make sure she doesn’t wake up. I find a stack of old photos and I look through them. Photos of a younger version of Summer and her friends. They’re smiling, their hair windblown, their gazes clear and carefree, with the exception of Summer’s. There’s something dark that lingers in her eyes. Mysterious. Her smile is wide, but there’s pain in her eyes.

Anger grips me. Who hurt her?

I don’t know.

Maybe I don’t want to know.

Dropping the photos, I open the next drawer to spot a thick, black leather journal sitting there, just begging to be picked up. I do so without hesitation, holding it up to the light beaming into the window. There’s a white sticker on the front cover, and someone wrote on it—I assume it was Summer.

Things I meant to say…

Jack fucking pot.

I open the journal, and all I see is words. So many words. I flip through the pages, realizing quickly that it’s a journal, filled with her thoughts and dreams. Lists. Little bits of paper, a photograph here and there. Various dates. It started…over three years ago.

This is Summer’s journal. A diary of her personal life, all in one little convenient book.

I snap it shut, and slowly close the desk drawer.

With quiet efficiency, I finish getting dressed. Don’t bother putting on my uniform shirt. I leave it on her floor, since I’m taking her hoodie.

And her journal.

I’ve got what I need. This journal is full of information I’m sure, and all of it I can use against her. Tomorrow she’ll try and pretend nothing happened between us. She’ll act like I never touched her and made her burn. She’ll pretend she never had my cock in her mouth, or my fingers inside her tight pussy. As if she never came against my mouth, her clit pulsating beneath my tongue.

She’ll continue on as if what happened between us doesn’t exist, but fuck that. I’m going to tell her I have something that belongs to her, and the only way her secrets are safe is if she continues to meet with me until I’m through with her.

Because that will happen—I guarantee it. I’ll get bored. I’ll toss her aside and move on, and maybe even give the journal back to her. Eventually.

Or maybe not.

I go to her bed and watch her sleep, ignoring the strange feeling stirring in my chest. As if my heart is being strangled. She means nothing to me. She is nothing to me. Except for a good lay. And I haven’t even really fucked her yet.

My thoughts wander, and I think of Elliot and his townie friend who tried to beat the shit out of me. I fought as hard as I could, defending myself pretty decently, considering it was two against one. This only started because of Summer. Right after school, Elliot taunted me. Said he was going to fuck her first. Stupid fucker.

The hell he was. That piece of shit will be dead before he lays another hand on her.

She’s mine.

I clutch the journal in my hand and bend over her, dropping a soft kiss on her forehead, inhaling her intoxicating scent. She stirs in her sleep, murmuring nonsense, rolling over on her side, the comforter slipping, her bare back to me.

The temptation to climb back into bed and have my way with her is strong, but I tell myself to stop. I need to get the fuck out of here. I’ve stayed too long as it is.

As silent as I can be, I exit her room. I already texted Sylvie about the cameras, and she said she’d take care of it. No one will know I was in Savage’s room.

Except for her.