Page 40 of My Dark Divine
I won’t let that happen again.
I plop down into my seat, the wooden chair squeaking beneath me. My back presses against the rough surface, the bruises a constant reminder of what awaits me after school. I try to focus on getting my stuff out, muffling the buzzing thoughts and whispers that won’t stop since I entered this cursed classroom. It’s getting old for me, but for them, I seem to be the most interesting topic of discussion.
As I pull out my book, a wave of shame washes over me at the sight of its tattered condition. Dad got furious when I struggled with my homework and, in a fit of rage, ripped it apart before throwing it out the window. I spent a long time searching for it in the bushes. The spine of the book hangs loose, its pages damaged from the water sprayed by the hydrant, and some are completely ripped. Still, I place it on the table in front of me before shifting my attention back to the contents of my backpack.
Shame quickly transforms into fear when I spot my headphones, the wire torn in half, with red and blue strands jutting out of the white casing. Tears blur my vision as the sickening realization descends upon me—I don’t have the money to buy new ones. Dad won’t give me any—he’ll tell me I didn’t earn anything.
It’s all my fault. I let myself relax and listen to my music, completely oblivious as he kept calling my name. When he found me, he was furious, and, as a lesson, he destroyed my headphones by cutting the wires. I should have known to listen to the music only at night, when he was asleep. Now, I’m left with nothing.
A thick lump forms in my throat, and my lips tremble as I gaze down at the wire lying at the bottom of my backpack. I try to swallow, nearly letting out a sob as intense emotion surges through me.
Suddenly, something catches my attention. From the corner of my eye, I sense someone watching me—not the usual mocking stares, but a piercing, almost hypnotic gaze that commands my attention.
I turn my head and lock eyes with my classmate Amelia—a quiet girl who has never made fun of me, at least not out loud. There’s a flicker of something indescribable in her blue eyes, and when they crinkle into a smile, I nearly choke on my breath.
Shame rushes back with renewed intensity as she bows her head, scribbling something on a piece of paper before folding it four times and handing it to me. Licking my dry lips, I extend a shaky hand to accept the note from her fingers. She quickly returns her attention to the teacher, and I take the hint, careful not to raise any suspicions.
As I unfold the note, a smile spreads across my face. I read the text over and over, unable to believe what I’m seeing. Written in neat handwriting are the words that make my heart race:
‘Want to go out? :)’
Yeah, maybe not everything in my life is so bad after all.
“Your father has been a prominent business leader. How do you see that translating into his political platform?” the interviewer asks, shoving a mic right into my face.
Another question, another answer, and honestly, I’m not sure how much longer I can handle this. I fucking hate press tours, interviews, and all the bullshit we have to endure. I prefer the quiet of closed-door meetings.
However, I understand the consequences of fucking this up, and I’m honestly relieved she has stopped torturing me with questions about why I look like I’ve just come from a battlefield. I’m growing weary of repeating the same ridiculous story about losing a fight with some jerk who tried to grope my fiancée. Firstof all, I would never actually lose in a situation like that, and second, it seems a bit unfair to my Venetia.
So I straighten my posture, flash a practiced smile, and respond, “My father has always focused on creating opportunities. He knows how to manage resources effectively and aims to bring that same efficiency and innovation to address issues like homelessness, environmental challenges, and more—not just within our state but across the country.”
She returns my smile, her expression tinged with flirtation as she nods in approval. My attention shifts to Venetia, who stands not far away, dealing with her own version of this nightmare.
I have to admit, I’ve been on the verge of snapping, wanting to throw her over my shoulder and lock her up somewhere. Her incessant whining and screaming have been driving me fucking insane. She even attempted to jump out of the car on the way to the airport, which took me completely by surprise.
But despite how irritating she can be, a part of me loves it. The part that remembers the way she came all over my fingers and licked it all off. The part that wants to spank her for everything she does before I fuck her raw until she can’t walk.
“What’s the next step for the campaign?”
Fuck.The fucking campaign.
Reluctantly, I pull my gaze away from the troublemaker herself and redirect my focus to the persistent lady, who seems to be getting annoyed that I shifted all attention to my fiancée.
“We’ll continue working with local organizations and leaders to raise funds and awareness.” I pause for effect. “It’s a team effort, and we’re just getting started.”
Camera flashes invade my vision, and the relentless clicking of the shutters amplifies my simmering anger. At this point, I feel like I could suffocate in it, the rage thundering through my fucking ears while my mind races between two things.
Venetia. Craving for coke.
Craving for coke. Venetia.
Andmorefucking Venetia.
“Venetia, over there!” a cameraman shouts, and she complies, stepping closer to me after finishing her conversation. “A little more to the left. West, come closer to your girlfriend!”
Fuck this. We should already be on our way to the hotel, but no—the fucking paparazzi and their insatiable thirst for photos are stealing our time. I sense the hesitance in her movements, the way her eyes avoid mine. And it’s not just because she despises me. She’s afraid of me. I felt it in the car, and now I can taste it in the air.
“You already have enough photos,” I joke, flashing another practiced smile as I close the distance between us in a few strides and wrap my hand around her waist. She freezes, a shudder rippling through her body as she visibly tenses up, struggling to maintain her smile. “Relax. I’m not going to kill you here,” I say, leaning closer.
