"Leave me alone," he snapped, hoping she would finally take the hint.
"No, I won't let go! Not until you say it. That you love me too. Just like before!"
Her arms relaxed, giving him just enough space to turn. But the second he faced her, she held him tighter.
"Seriously? What are you doing? Stop being such a spoiled brat."
"I don't care!"
Without warning, her lips crashed into his. Her tongue slipped into his mouth before he could stop it.
And reflexively, his body started to respond.
No man could stay relax with a pretty girl like her offering herself.
His hand moved on its own, settling on her waist—small, warm, with just enough curve to make him forget that she was his beloved childhood friend.
Just as the heat rose inside him, he pushed her off.
"We can't do this. You're just confused alright," he explained, although it did not help that he was also caught up in the moment.
"Fine." Her voice trembled as she wiped her mouth. Then she turned and walked out without glancing back.
He locked the door to his room, then slid down the wall until the cold floor caught him.
'Fuck my life,'
Every part of him wanted to hit something to vent his frustration. If he hadn't been such a coward in the first place, he would've escaped this life a long time ago.
Deep down, he knew it was pointless. Mentally, he was broken. He forced himself back to the bathroom to finish cleaning up.
After he finished, he went back to his room, swallowed painkillers: his only friends in this miserable life, and collapsed onto the bed.
Funny enough, it was his twentieth birthday. Instead of gifts, he got punches and kicks to celebrate.
Knock, knock, knock
He hadn't even closed his eyes. So the noise ruined his mood further.
'My body still hurts.'
Reluctantly, he opened the door.
Standing there was a gorgeous middle-aged woman.
Light clothes clung to her, and her blond hair was tied back in a knot. That smile—well, it was meant to be seductive, you could tell that much by how much it curved.
He noticed it, sure, but he was too tired to care, too tired to play along with whatever game she was running.
"Aunty, stop coming to my room. Uncle might get suspicious again."
She didn't seem to hear the warning. Or maybe she did, and just didn't care.
"Don't worry. I'll be out after you do the usual." She pushed him lightly, just enough to make him stumble back a step
"Look at you, beaten up again…" she smiled while locking the door behind her.
It made him itch with irritation, but he could do nothing. She got leveraged over him.
"You look like a puppy. Makes me want to tease you a little more." Her fingers were cool against his skin as she grabbed his cheek with both of her hands.
Slowly, her thumb brushed over his broken lip, a gesture that might have been tender in another home, but not in this.
"Aunty..."
Before he could form another word, she leaned in, her face eclipsing his.
Her lips were soft, but the kiss was born from a contract, and not passion.
At first, he enjoyed it. Or at least, he told himself he did. The thought that this was a way to get back at his uncle was intoxicating. A silent fuck you delivered under his own roof.
But time, like a slow leak, had emptied that particular vessel. Now, as her tongue moved against his, he could only count the years of being used as a tool.
Her requests, once simple, had become a series of escalating and unreasonable demands, each one a new rung on a ladder he never wanted to climb.
He wasn't a partner in a secret rebellion anymore. He was a toy. An object to be picked up, used, and put back on the shelf until the next time.
-Thirty Minutes Later-
"Ahh, that was good, Shane." She stood from the bed and gathered her discarded clothes from the floor.
"I'm glad you're here to satisfy me when I'm lonely," she added, slipping back into her clothes and brushing her hair in front of the mirror.
"Robert barely touches me anymore. He would rather do it with the girls in the bar."
The complaint was too self-absorbed.
She didn't even turn to look at him. She didn't consider the fact that he was wounded, that every movement of her made his body ache.
For her, his pain was simply part of the fun. He was here. He was functional. That was all that registered.
In a way, she and Robert fit each other perfectly. Both used people for their own gain, no guilt, no hesitation.
"Here's your allowance. I know he barely gives you anything, despite all the work you do for him." She pulled a few bills from her wallet and tossed them at him—about a hundred.
He said nothing. Just bent down, picked up the bills, and tucked them onto his pillow.
Satisfied and energized, she leaned in and kissed him again.
"Just be a good boy, Shane. I'll make sure you get all the love you've been missing." She patted his head before walking away.
Only when he heard the door click shut was he able to breathe easier.
'Fuck… fuck… fuck…' he repeated, words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to dull the guilt.
If Nathalie ever learned about his secret, it would destroy her.