Vacant (Empathy #3) (4 page)

Margaret is so obvious in her advances, it’s nauseating. The fact Joseph hates her makes playing with her sexually void which is a relief for my dick; it has seen some questionable places but wrinkled, used-up pussy was new for him.

“Hey, Ryan. Can I get you anything at all?” She saunters over to me, running her hand down my chest.

I grab her wrist and push it away, sneering. “Don’t fucking touch me again or I’ll cut off your arm and use it to fist you with.”

Her mouth drops, along with the glass she was holding, crashing onto the tiled floor and spraying my jeans with the contents.

“Oh dear. Watch you don’t cut your feet there,” I tell her in my most endearing voice. I hear Joseph’s footsteps approaching and I get a towel to wipe the crap off me.

“What did you say?” she asks as Joseph enters.

“I said I’m not sure how long I’m staying.” Answering her as if she asked the question of my stay will get a rise from Joseph and within seconds he proves me right.

“As long as he wants. He’s my guest not yours.”

Margaret follows my movements around the kitchen, her mouth still hanging open and her eyes bulging. She eventually goes back to the pan sizzling with eggs then picks it up and walks over to where Joseph has sat down. She scrapes two burnt eggs onto his plate. After dropping the pan next to him and saying, “Bon appetite,” she turns to the counter, grabs a bottle of wine and strides out of the kitchen.

He pushes the plate away and looks up at me. “Did she seriously take a bottle of wine? It’s eight am.” He doesn’t want or need the answer. “I’m not working today. Do you play golf?” I flinch and shake my head. He chuckles. “Well, I have a game planned with some colleagues. You’re welcome to
not
join us.”

I offer a grateful grin that he must think is real because he stands, pats me on the shoulder and leaves. I have plans for today.

MORNING LIGHT BLURS INTO NIGHT as the days pass with an echoing emptiness growing inside me. When I see the drive and ambition in my peers to succeed and get good grades, it separates me even more, making me envy them for being so normal. The buzz about a party gets them excited, and in this moment when I feel so alone I’d give anything to feel that bubble of nerves mixed with excitement for something as simple as a party. Whispering about a guy being cute isn’t something I’ve ever had the impulse to do. But to see girls’ eyes shine and their lips turn up into dazzling smiles at the mere glimpse of a guy they like, makes me want to find a guy cute and get a crush. Maybe date and have the urges to experiment sexually, be normal and find myself. But I know that’s impossible. I will never find myself because half of me is missing. I want to scream until my lungs give out and my throat tears and bleeds. There’s a pressure building inside me and I want to yell it out but I don’t. I just move with the crowd, sit through each lecture and continue to paint the missing part of me. As the darkening sky steals the day, I lay here in my bed in silence, waiting to finally wake up and feel some normalcy in my mind; to feel content in my own life.

“B
EING CONTENT IS FOR LOSERS WHO GIVE UP ON WANTING EXCEPTIONAL.”

I hear Ryan mock me, his voice so clear in my head it eases me into a heavy sleep.

I wake to the ringing of my cell phone.
Mom
is flashing up on the ID. I don’t answer it, I can’t. She’ll sense the chaos storming inside me and want to come visit. I don’t want that. I don’t want to have to put on a façade anymore, and to see my true face would scare her too much. Nervous energy burns in my veins making me pull on my running gear. Running or swimming is the only way to calm the fire roaring in my veins. I need to tire out my body so my mind can find some solitude from Ryan’s voice haunting me.

OH, THAT’S FREAKING GREAT. I smell disgusting and have sweat pouring from every pore. I have to walk past
her
after just finishing my run. Thank you, whoever hates me up there. I look to the sky and roll my eyes. Hannah is walking my way with a group of her friends. Her light blue eyes clash with mine and an icy chill runs up my spine, causing my fists to clench. This girl has issues. My dad taught me a few things over the years about reading people, and looking them up on the computer if needs be, and as soon as Hannah shunned me and tried to embarrass me in front of Tom I knew she was going to be a problem for me. I used the skills Dad taught me and looked her up, digging as far back as seventh grade when her daddy was caught for defrauding his taxes, sending their family from riches to rags. She was Miss Popular but was quickly abandoned by her friends when she had to go to a state run school instead of her private one. Why would someone who had lived on both sides of the coin be such a raging bitch?

“Shower much?” she hisses, her eyes dropping to my feet and peeling up my body with distaste. I’m not in the mood for her.

“S
HE’S BENEATH YOU.”

Ryan’s voice whispers with the breeze. I plaster a wide smile on my face and say, “Nice purse.”

Her eyes squint, making her look like she has crow’s feet on her pretty face. The cogs churn in her head, her eyebrows crashing together in confusion.

“Like you’d know what Mulberry is.” She sneers.

Why does she think I’m poor, or dumb or freaking emo for that matter? Do I look like I crawled out of a gutter? I have more money than she could ever dream of. My parents gave me my trust fund when I turned eighteen and it’s just sitting there gaining interest. Money or assets don’t consume me; designer outfits are something I saw hanging in my mother’s wardrobe my whole life, but neither of us follow fashion trends. Mom loves handbags and shoes but she isn’t a snotty brat about it like Hannah. I don’t want to rise to her level of pathetic but for someone broke and riding college on a swimming scholarship, this bitch has too much attitude
.

“M
AKE HER BLEED, CEREUS.”

“Actually, Hannah, my mom owns that design in three colors.” I step forward so I’m almost touching her. Her friends are looking anywhere but at us and by their feet shuffling I would surmise they’re feeling uncomfortable with Hannah’s lack of maturity.

“Only her label is here.” I point to the center of the bag. “Where it’s supposed to be, if it’s not a knock-off, that is.”

Her face pales and she stares at me like she could kill me with a look alone. I don’t enjoy stooping to her level but she had it coming. I step around her, wave to the other girls—one actually waves back—and that makes a genuine smile grace my lips.