Warning: Almost sex. Bad language. Violence. Hints of not quite consensual sex if you squint really hard. Reid's POV.
Her lips were soft, fervently working against mine. Her hands had already shoved up my shirt and I made note that it would probably wrinkle. I would have unbuttoned it but she was so damn persistent, slapping away my hands and scouring my stomach like it were some fucking prize. Usually I'm flattered. I'm not ashamed. I like the noises chicks make with their mouths, universal sounds of approval. Her hand's already shoved past my pants, my shorts. You see, this is my type of girl. She's easy but not desperate. Nobody likes a slut, even I have standards. We want Pam Anderson, not Courtney Love. And she knows exactly how to please someone -- how to please me. She knows when to shut the fuck up; she knows to not ask questions. This is the girl I came to when I wanted to forget about the covenant, and Caleb. She didn't ask about the bruises anymore, she didn't bother looking concerned when she prodded my stomach or back too hard and I winced.
Her hand's soft but firm. I'm fucking hard under it. I am one hundred percent immerged in this act, the act I live for, my entire existence. And then his face appears at the front of my mind. Fucking Tyler Simms. I groan and feel her smile around the skin in her mouth. This bitch is a biter. But that also means pain turns her on. That's why I keep coming back to her. She doesn't boast about our fuckcapades, and I can fuck her however hard I want to. She'd never complain.
Her hand's working furiously on me. Every time the pressure begins to rise even in the slightest, I see him and the pressure fucking disappears. Growling, I pull away from her. Dana, that's her name. Confusion twists her face into something ugly. "What?" She demands.
"I can't do this right now," I admit in a shamed mumble.
Dana rolls her eyes and presses herself closer to me. I can feel her hand tighten. She's not trying to be erotic anymore. She's trying to fucking hurt me and I grimace, more so at her attempt rather than the pain she actually causes. She smiles. Fucking bitch. "Don't be a gentleman, Reid. Everybody knows you're not," she whispers into my ear. Her teeth scrape against my earlobe, too hard to be sexual.
"I'm not," I assure her, gently extracting her hand from my pants and pushing her away. While she gawks, I button my pants and pull down my shirt. That shit is wrinkled and I frown. "I can't do this right now," I repeat and reach for the door. Yeah, that room is crowded as fuck. I don't even have to move to reach the door.
Her hand closes around my wrist. She isn't strong, just a chick, I could've pulled away, but I don't. I let her touch me. I've always let her touch me. "Why not?" She asks insistently. "I'm willing to fuck you, are you really so vain that you're just gonna walk away?"
I want to smirk but I can't. I'm fucking pissed. I want to fuck this bitch so hard she won't be able to walk for weeks. But I can't get off with Tyler's face in my head. "Yes," I murmur instead and pull open the door. I don't close the door. I leave it open and her exposed. Her skirt is bunched up around her waist, her shirt unbuttoned and her chest bare. She looks beautiful.
I don't look back, even though I want to. I want to burn her image into my mind and see her every time I close my eyes. Instead, I force myself to stare straight ahead as I angrily march up the five flights of stairs, silently wishing Tyler's in the dorm room just so I can punch him. He isn't. Maybe pissed is quite possibly an understatement. Tyler isn't coming back, not until he forgives me. I'm getting tired of this shit. I know it takes a lot for him to get pissed. I can rib him for weeks and unless it's over the right subject, he doesn't give a shit. I've learned to steer clear of those right subjects though, so I must've done more than I thought for him to return home like that.
I sigh loudly and collapse onto my bed. I'm not tired but I close my eyes anyway. I'm fucking Reid Garwin. I'm not supposed to have a conscience, not on this kind of scale. I mean, I don't wanna go around murdering little puppies and dissecting frogs and shit. But I haven't killed anybody - ergo, I should still be the asshole. Yeah, I heard Tyler use that word in a sentence once. He was talking about my asshole too.
"Reid." Ugh. That fucking voice. That's what my nightmares are. No pictures. Just his voice. It doesn't even need words. Just the sound. My eyes snap open and I groan louder than necessary, like maybe I didn't already know it was Caleb. "Didn't you hear me knocking?" I wish I had -- just so I could knowingly ignore his ass.
"No. I didn't fucking hear you knocking." I snap, forcing myself up and away from my tempting bed and the inevitable bliss that will always be sleep. I rise to my feet because I don't feel comfortable lying down with Caleb so close to me. "What do you want, Danvers? Can't you see I was in the middle of 'me time'?" I wonder if he notices I only call him Danvers when we're alone. I wonder if he notices that that's my half assed attempt at putting distance between us.
Caleb frowns but he doesn't take the bait. Big man. "Have you seen this?" He asks, shoving a newspaper into my hands. Of course I haven't seen the paper. I don't care enough to pay attention to the news. But the image in the paper, the front page of the Pantagraph, is gruesome enough to draw and hold my attention. It's a body, except the body is blackened and bloody. It'd been burned. The homemade stake was still lodged in the ground in the back of the picture. I glance up from the paper to Caleb's edgy gaze. He already suspects. "That's Abigail Williams." I shrug. Who the fuck is that anyway? "She was that weird kid that always wore black and cursed the bible every chance she got. She was burned at the stake, Reid."
I shrug again. "She looked like a witch to me…"
Caleb sighs irritably and snatches the paper back. Ouch. Paper cut. He holds the paper high, right in my face, forcing my gaze back to her charcoaled body. "She was burned at the stake, Reid," he repeats. "She wasn't a witch but that doesn't matter. What matters is that somebody, somebody in town, believed she was a witch enough to kill her for it. She was burned at the stake, Reid." Jeez, as if I hadn't heard him the first two times.
"I got it," I snap. Scanning the paper, it's painfully obvious that nobody knows who did it. There are no leads, no evidence, even though the body and the murder weapon are there in plain sight. "What am I supposed to do about it?"
"If this is what they do to people they suspect are witches," Caleb begins in a deliberately slow voice. "What do you think they'll do when they find the real witches?"
"Doesn't matter," I snap. Because I've already taken care of it… "They can't touch us. And even if they could, they won't ever suspect us, Caleb. We're not exactly ideal witches, are we? We don't dress in black, trying to turn assholes into frogs." Caleb growls and I recoil. You see, most leaders are cool, calm and collected. Only Caleb isn't. He hides it well, though. Only I see him when he isn't. I alone know how hard he can hit when I piss him off far enough. I know how ruthless our fearless leader really is. How sadistic and twisted his 'punishments' can really get. "It doesn't even matter," I continue. He saw my flinch. "Shouldn't you be more concerned about the innocent that died because of this psycho fulfilling God's will?"
He doesn't know it yet, but he's itching for a fight. His jaw locks and his fists clench that much tighter. "I don't even know why I bother telling you anything." His voice is soft again. Disturbingly calm. I know that voice. It means I'd just pushed him over that cliff of control and now he is slowly sinking. But he isn't thrashing or anything. He doesn't even really want to be saved. It was painfully obvious that he enjoyed the release that came with drowning. "Oh yeah, now I remember -- what did you do?"
The question is just a growl. An accusation. Figures. But he lurched forward and I backed up. "What?" I cough. Great. Way to be Tyler. I shake my head, forcing my face into a practiced stance of confusion and anger. "I haven't done anything." Other than expose my Power to a complete dweeb hell bent on extracting revenge just because I'm prettier than him. And that pathetic attempt at sex in the custodian closet with the hottest chick in school, the only girl who knows how big a dick you really are. I was still hard. And destroying my relationship with my only friend. Huh… "What've you heard," I decide instead.
Caleb waves the newspaper in my face again. The corpse stares back at me, but her eyes are dried out and hanging half out her burnt skull. The white of her eyes shine brightly against the black of her face. I can't put skin on that face. I can't remember how she looked. "There hasn't been an execution in Ipswich in three hundred years, Reid. Obviously one of us did something. And I blame you."
Jeez. What a dick. "But I didn't do anything." I know, I should feel worst -- angry, pissed all the way off. But I can't muster the energy to project something I don't really feel. Instead, I sound calm, almost bored. I am bored. With this entire conversation. He always blames me. I wish I could just fast forward all the talking and get to the part where he punches me. Because eventually I go numb and his words disappear.
"I blame you," he repeats. Even in the midst of my supposed anger, I can't even blame him. When it comes to the Power, Pogue is a total wimp. Ironic, I suppose, since he embraces all things manly. And Tyler only Uses because he can. He used to Use all the time, it's like how chicks only eat when they're with other chicks. Tyler only Used when he was with me. I know he wanted me to view him in the same light that I viewed the Power. But I couldn't. It's like comparing your best friend to the coolest, slickest, hottest roller coaster in existence. It's something I've learned to not do. Because I already know which will win. Not only will the roller coaster win, but so will the Power. He's gotten a bit of a better handle on his Power now - he doesn't Use anymore to impress me. But when he does, he can get creative with it. Except his Use is always grounded in logic, a thing I never could understand. Because what about magic is ever logical? What a nerd, right?
But anyway. I can't blame Caleb, because out of all of us, even I know I'm bound to expose the covenant. It's inevitable. Destiny. What I want to know is because it's destiny, does that mean I'm still accountable? Like, can I even attempt to change what has always been? Should I even bother? Or have the fates already spun and cut my thread in life? Doesn't really matter, though, does it? Because Caleb has already blamed me. It's like Odin. Except he isn't all knowing and he sure as hell isn't all seeing. And he doesn't seem to give me anything profitable. He just keeps taking these things from me.
The first time he hit me, I was pissed. But as the confrontations grew more common, like every week, I stopped fighting. I used to argue with him daily, but now I don't even speak out against his authority. And in the future, I won't only not speak out against, but I won't disobey him. He's taking this part of me that Odin never took from any of his people, even that ass Loki. It's supposed to be an important part of me, the heart of the machine, and I know I should, but I'm not sure I can force myself to trust him with that part. I don't know if he'll protect it or crush it in the palm of his hand just because he can. His power scares me. How rapidly he's changing terrifies me because he isn't soft anymore. He isn't the Caleb the others used to know. He's hard as rock and sharp as nails and every time I try to reach for him he cuts me just to assert his command.
Can a good guy really be bad without being a bad guy? That's like breaking a rule, right? The good guy has to be good. Unless he's like an antihero. But Caleb isn't supposed to be the antihero. I am. He's fucking everything up.
But whatever. Do you really think Matthew Clyde is capable of burning a chick? All by his lonesome? I don't know him, and that single fact makes me more uneasy than I thought it would. Because I'd just left baby boy alone with a boy who quite possibly had already burned a supposed witch. But he's a nerd - is he really all that strong? And even then, isn't he supposed to be smart? If he wanted to kill witches, wouldn't he had tried that shit on me? Unless he's trying something else on me. But Tyler's safe. Human. And what's better is -- he's got power in a way Matthew doesn't even know.
"Reid." Caleb shoves me hard and I stumble back because I'd stopped paying attention to him. Caleb doesn't like being ignored. "Just tell me what you did. I won't be mad."
I scoff. No, I'd heard that before. The first time Caleb had broken a few of my ribs. He almost broke something else when he realized that he couldn't heal my ribs. Evidently the Power doesn't allow us to heal power induced injuries. But that's okay, because there's other ways to break bones. "I haven't done anything," I murmur. "But when I do, I'll be sure to tell you first."
"Reid." His voice is back to warning. I wish he'd make up his fucking mind.
"No," I snap. "You know what? I've had a real shitty day," I say, turning away from him and pacing the few feet to the door. "I'm not in the mood for your PMS. So get out." I swing open the door harder than necessary in my momentary bout of sudden anger and turn to glare at Caleb.
He takes a step closer. It's supposed to be intimidating. I don't know when our relationship changed so drastically. It was way before he ever hit me. Before the physical violence, there was only ridicule that always came when we were alone. It all came after we'd turned thirteen. That's when he changed. That's when we all changed. Stopped being who we'd always been, and started surprising each other. But so what? We're who we are now. What's it matter who we were when we were kids? You're supposed to grow up. Another rule. That's kind of the idea of life. Most of us improved, myself included. But Caleb didn't. I liked him when we were younger. We were friends. He cared.
His arm shoots out past me and shoves the door close. I don't stop him. I don't stop him as his other hand presses against my chest, even when his fingers touch bare skin. He pauses before applying pressure. I don't even fight as he presses me back against the door, or as he continues to walk forward, even when I can't back up anymore. I hate it when he gets like this. I can't decide how I feel about any of this -- our whole situation. I don't know how to feel about his touches, or what they do to me. I hate it when he presses his lips against my ear and whispers things, stupid words that never last. Broken apologies in short minutes of remorse.
"No, Cay," I try, lifting a hand to press against his chest but he bats it away. I let him. I'm acting like the bitch and I hate it.
"Someone saw, didn't they?" His voice is quiet, calm, but I manage to doubt it. "You're not addicted, Reid," he continues, his breath ghosting across my cheek, his lips centimeters from my ear. I shut my eyes tightly. Maybe he'll go away. "I know that. Just tell me. I promise I won't be mad. I just need to know, to be ready incase something happens. We all need to be ready for whatever is out there, Reid. So if you know something --"
"No." It's just a gasp. A pathetic gasp blackened and loaded with ill conceived desire. "I don't believe you." He stiffens against me. His eyes darken and a cruel smirk lights up his face. His eyes shift slightly, dropping down before returning to mine.
"But you want to," he whispers sweetly. I do. But that doesn't fucking matter. I shake my head but he ignores it. He presses harder against me, slight pressure against what I know he must have seen. I'm still hard from Dana. He likes this. The power, the control, that goes with sex. He likes knowing I can't get off unless he lets me. Even I know he likes watching me try to ignore him, growling in defeat as I cum. It always ends the same. His knee applies more pressure and I try to flinch away but there's nowhere else to go.
"Caleb." My voice sounds thick. "Don't -"
"Shhh," he silences me. I swallow hard. He presses harder against me, deliberately and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. "Don't be stubborn, Reid," he murmurs, his mouth closer to my face than I'd last figured. "Just give me his name. And I won't do any of this. I'll leave you alone, I promise. Just tell me."
"I don't trust you," I tell him instead, my jaw locking painfully tight, my voice raw. "You're not thinking clearly, Caleb."
His fist shoots out and strikes the door hard. I flinch and the door trembles. "You're endangering the whole covenant," he hisses. His breath smells minty fresh. In the back of my mind, I know I want to taste it. Not his toothpaste, or his gum, but him. I want to taste it on his tongue.
"I know," I whisper back. "But I'm also protecting an innocent, Caleb. He hasn't done anything wrong yet."
His fist connects with the door again. "He burned a girl to death," he shouts.
"You don't know that," I shout back. He is really beginning to piss me off. This isn't how it's supposed to be. He's supposed to shut the fuck up and listen to me. He's supposed to accept my choice and wait until Matthew fucked up and proved his own guilt. Where the fuck is his leader quality? "I don't think it was him," I add, my voice barely above a whisper. Caleb opens his mouth to argue. That's all he ever does anymore. "I trust him!" Huh. That's a weird thought. Because I don't fucking trust Matthew. He's a fucking snake. I fear what will happen when I stop watching him. And yet I know I'm not lying, which confuses the hell out of me.
"Reid." Just a growl, a warning I don't notice. The bastard punches me. I should have stumbled, but his hand still presses hard against my chest. He punches me again and again and again before I can even contemplate fighting back. He punches me in the stomach and I instinctively double over. A knee to the face drops me to my knees and turns my vision black for a few seconds. "You know I just want a name, Reid." Yes, I know. He buries a fist in my hair and pulls my head up. Blood is beginning to stain the wooden floor. "Let me take care of the problem, Reid." He's already started spitting my name out like it's a curse. I tongue my cheek and grimace. I'd bit through it. It'll need stitches. Because I can't heal and Caleb's an ass -- he only heals the things that show -- the things that can't be explained away. And Tyler…well obviously he isn't an option. "Goddamnit." It's like he's read my mind.
Caleb's fist tightens in my hair. "You'll kill him." I hadn't really considered that possibility but even as I say it, I know it's true. Caleb would kill Matthew because Matthew is annoying. He's a pompous asshole who won't deny what he knows. And in approaching him, Caleb will expose something I'd managed to keep hidden. The everybody else. I don't fucking care. Matthew isn't going to die until he makes a move. And then what -- what will I do? I can't seriously kill the dork. Well, I don't know what comes next. It doesn't matter, because it isn't going to come to that. I'll keep him to myself -- and Tyler. He'll be safe with us.
Caleb slowly eases himself to his knees, taking his sweet time. "I won't," he promises.
"Liar," I hiss. The throbbing in my head is rapidly intensifying. I choke on the blood clogging my throat.
"I'll hurt you," he promises. How rare it really is -- for him to tell the truth.
"I know." But it doesn't matter. Because Matthew Clyde has failed to do anything substantially wrong. He didn't burn that girl. He couldn't have. What the fuck? How could I know that? Hm. I don't know. But I've got a way to find out if what I think is true. This plan doesn't involve Tyler. Or Caleb. This time I won't involve any of them. I'll take care of it on my own.