Charming the devil charm.., p.2
Charming the Devil (Charming #2), page 2
Maybe since I have nothing to do tonight, Diana will want to go see a movie or get out of the house. I feel like my relationship with Diana has been on the back-burner lately, with both of us being so busy with our own lives. I suppose it was going to happen eventually. There’s a point when you grow up and stop leaning on your sister for everything. We’ve spent our whole lives together; my role was to protect her, and her role was to make me feel normal. I can’t help but feel with this drift between us, those two things are going to fall through the cracks.
I shake off the feeling of not needing to protect Diana like I used to. It’s a rough feeling when you feel like you’re not doing anything right. I’m clearly not girlfriend material to Henry, and I’ve been slacking in the sister department. At least my grades in school are decent, which probably has more to do with me wanting to leave this cesspool of a campus than wanting to start a career and being an actual adult.
I think about everything Henry said as I walk through campus to my apartment. This is the first time that he’s ever mentioned having a sister, and I guess it’s not a huge shock. Looking back at our conversations, they were all pretty superficial. We fuck at school, his car, and sometimes my place. I feel like an idiot as I make my way home. Was I so blinded by a decent dick that I didn’t see the warning signs? Was I so desperate for authoritative attention that I’ve become this sex-crazed moron?
Our apartment isn’t anything special, but they allow pets, not that I’m paying that pet deposit. The door creaks as I open it and shut it behind me. Tossing my bag on the floor, I look around the small living space.
Otis greets me by rubbing his small black body against my legs as I enter the foyer. I crouch down to pet along his spine, and he chirps at me as he walks away. Maybe I should get another kitten friend for him.
I sigh, mentally preparing myself to spill my guts to Diana. Maybe she’ll have some good advice, or maybe she’ll be my partner in crime on a spy mission to see what he’s actually doing tonight. All my plans crumble when I see Diana curled into a ball on the couch. She has a glazed-over expression on her face, like she’s completely zoned out.
“Diana?” I say her name, but she doesn’t respond.
When I go and sit next to her, the blue eyes that look exactly like mine bore into me. I can tell she’s lying when she sighs and shakes her head, saying, “Just really bad cramps.”
“Diana, did something happen? Is something bothering you?”
She fakes a smile and shakes her head again. “No, just not feeling great,” she answers, bushing off my concern.
Now is definitely not the time to talk about my drama with fucking my professor or my speculations about what’s really going on tonight. I push her hair back and smile. “Want to rent a movie and just have a night in, like we used to?”
She grins and nods. “Get Clueless,” she instructs as I grab the keys to head to the rental place. I nod my head and glance at her one last time. Something is definitely going on that she isn’t telling me.
It seems like my twin and I might both be keeping secrets from one another.
When I get back from the store, it’s like Diana is back to her old self; she isn’t moping around and actually laughs at the right times during the movie. She falls asleep early, leaving me too much time on my hands to think and plot. My nightstand drawer pulses like a beacon, pulling me towards it, but I try to shake the feeling away.
I don’t need it. Why would I need it?
But the pull is too strong, and I open the drawer and withdraw the dagger. It feels like it’s been tugging at me incessantly every night when I crawl into bed. Like if I don’t take it out of the drawer and touch it, I won’t be able to sleep. It wants to be used, I know that much as my hand shakes around the dark hilt.
The pull isn’t usually this heavy on my chest, but it feels like I won’t be able to leave the house unless I bring it with me.
When I stole it two years ago, I thought maybe I’d sell it and make some money. But instead, I had a sheath made and now carry it around in my purse more often than not. I don’t know why the call is so strong lately, but it doesn’t hurt to be a protected woman anyways.
Knowing that Diana is content in her bed and that Otis is fed, I grab the keys to the Camry and drive out to Professor Montague’s house. Has he ever taken me to his house? No. Do I know where he lives? Absolutely yes.
His home is nice, a two-story mid-century style home with a garden out front. The other times I’ve been by, I haven’t seen another vehicle, which probably isn’t surprising since he has a two-car garage. His windows are large, allowing me to see everything in his living room and kitchen. It’s like looking into a fishbowl. A woman is bending over, taking out a tray of cookies, when he wraps his arms around her and kisses the side of her face. She places some of the previously baked cookies into a familiar tin and spins around to greet him with a kiss.
Cheating motherfucker.
He gave me cookies this other woman made for him? I feel like I’m going to be sick. I guess deep down, I should have known. Nothing ever good comes from being someone’s dirty, little secret.
I suppose we were never official, but I did have expectations of some sort of loyalty to me. His promised words were ones of monogamy or at least of a potential relationship.
He’s gentle with her, unlike the way he is with me. He’s delicate as he cradles her face while kissing her. He smiles in between their kisses, and I wonder how come I didn’t get that too. Instead, I got his rough side. Don’t get me wrong, I fucking love the roughness, but as I watch them together, I realize that it wasn’t me that he was cheating on, it was her.
Her hand caresses his cheek, and that’s when the shimmering of her diamond ring sparkling in the light catches my attention.
He has a wife.
He wasn’t meeting his sister, he couldn’t go on a date with me because he has a wife.
She looks so sweet, a tiny little thing with short brown hair and big brown eyes. My stomach sinks as I think about how she would feel if she found out about our affair. I didn’t dedicate myself to this man, but I still feel extremely hurt. If she knew, she would be devastated.
I find it interesting that he teaches philosophy as I ponder the thought of telling her or not. He teaches us all the time about the conundrums between right and wrong, and now he’s at the center of my moral struggle. Is it better to live a lie and be happy or to know the truth and be devastated?
I’m not paying attention, and before I know it, I’m looking down to see my hand wrapped around the dark hilt of my dagger. It seems to center me as it heats my palm.
Maybe I can help her, she doesn’t have to know everything. She can live in her blissful bubble full of lies while this lying piece of shit gets what he deserves.
With that possibility floating through my mind, I continue watching them enjoy their night in the living room. It’s so domestic the way they interact as they watch a show and eat their dinner on the couch. How can some men be so absolutely fucking foul?
My anger only gets worse the longer I watch them. I feel nothing but pity and anger for his wife. She’s an unknowing party, who deserves vengeance, just like I do. While I have the right to my anger, I also feel used, worthless, and most of all, unlovable. The woman he decided ‘till-death-do-us-part with is completely unaware of the asshole she’s living with.
That her husband goes off to work, giving younger women sweet promises while making them feel special and smart before he fucks them… and then what? Comes home and acts like a doting husband? Does he use me to get out the dark fantasies that his wife won’t act on and then come home to her so he can give her his sweet side?
I always thought he was an attractive man, but as I look at him now, I see him for the hideous person he truly is. And I decide that he needs to pay.
A dark urge, the one I usually tamper down, is bubbling so close to the surface. I know I’ll have to act on it. I can only imagine how good it will feel to finally give in to this feeling. To give the dagger what it wants and what I want. So, I wait.
I wait until his wife leaves the living room, and I see the bedroom lamp turn on. I track her movements as she puts lotion on her skin and opens a book, getting comfortable in their bed. In the meantime, professor Montague continues watching TV, his stance relaxed, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Does the man even have a conscience?
When his wife finally puts down her book and turns off the lamp, I wait about another fifteen minutes until I get out of the car to go knock on the door. It’s ballsy, I know, but I won’t be able to leave this house until I confront him, until he’s dealt with.
I lightly tap on the door and take a step back on the mat that says ‘Home Sweet Home’. When he opens the door, his jaw drops, and he quickly looks behind him before shutting the door and standing on the front step with me.
“Lilith, sweetheart. What are you doing here?”
I don’t roll my eyes, I don’t scoff, I don’t let him know that I know everything. That he’s a fucking creep and a user. The more I think about how disgusting of a man he is, the angrier I get. When I think about his unsuspecting wife and how she would feel knowing he cheated on her, I wonder how it compares to how I feel being used as his mistress.
“You’re married,” I state softly. My calmness has him shifting from foot to foot, telling me just how uncomfortable this makes him.
“Lilith, can we talk about this another time?” He uses his ‘professor voice’, the one filled with authority, as he tries to manipulate me, and I have to try to keep my temper in check.
“Are you worried your wife will find out now that I’m here?”
That’s when his facade drops, and his hand shoots out, his fingers gripping around my chin tightly. I let him hold me there, letting him think that he has the advantage as he squeezes, digging his fingertips into the skin of my cheeks.
It’s odd, you would think that at the moment where I’m being threatened, my heart would race and fear would lace every one of my nerve endings, but I’m eerily calm. I want him to think he’s the stronger one out of the two of us, that he has complete control, and that I’m not a threat. But I know better.
“Listen here, you dumb-little bitch. I’m not about to let some co-ed pussy ruin everything I’ve worked for. So leave, now.”
I can feel the metal of his wedding ring against my jaw, and I can’t help the manic smile that takes over my face. He scoffs at me before pushing my face away with malice.
“Knew a bitch who liked it as rough as you was fucked up,” he spits, turning around. His hand cups the doorknob, and something about the glint of his wedding ring triggers me.
I’ve had my hand on the hilt of my dagger the entire time as if it’s the source of my courage to not back down; it’s like it’s driving me. I’m not sure what I plan on doing with the dagger. At least that’s what I tell myself as I impulsively slice off his glittering ring finger, the digit separating from his hand. I thought there would be more like a small pop, but the cut is clean and precise.
I expected him to writhe in pain, to clutch his hand against his chest as his hand spurts blood.
That’s not what happens, though.
His body instantaneously crumples to the ground, lifeless.
Like I stabbed him directly in the brain instead of just slicing off his finger. He doesn’t even look like a normal dead body, not that I’ve seen many. But his veins are all black as his skin shrivels against his bones. He looks like someone who has been dead for months, not just moments.
“Holy fucking shit,” I gasp, examining him before looking down at my dagger and then glancing back at the body. “What the actual fuck?” I nudge his body with the toe of my shoe, and that part of him starts to fall apart from the small touch alone. My eyes widen, but I don’t panic. How… how did I do this by just trying to slice off his finger?
The obsidian hilt of my dagger glows, and I stare back down at Professor Montague’s body. It’s not fear that fills me or regret, it’s satisfaction. While I didn’t mean to kill him, and I have no fucking clue how I made this happen, I don’t regret my actions. As I look down at him and think about his wife, I realize the world is a better place without people like him in it.
I glance at his severed finger one last time, a sick part of me wanting to grab it and put it in my pocket, but I’m not that fucking stupid. Instead, I turn on my heel and leisurely take my time walking back to my piece-of-shit Camry. I drive off quietly, wondering if you get an automatic A in a class if a professor dies.
Chapter two
I wash the blood off of the dagger, and I guess I should be feeling… shocked, guilt, remorse? I just killed my boyfriend—the man I was sleeping with—my professor. His wife will probably open the front door to see his shriveled-up body lying on their front step.
I should feel bad, right?
But I feel calm, the most content I think I’ve ever felt. It felt good to use the dagger, to let that anger out, to give him what he deserves. I didn’t mean to kill him; it’s clear that this dagger is more than I thought it was. I swear the blade winks at me as soon as it’s shiny and clean again. Its appetite sated—for now.
But am I?
I replay every moment of tonight in my mind. The way he looked at me with disgust, like I was beneath him, that he could use and speak to women any way he wanted to. And then he was nothing; he’s a wrinkled gray prune on a welcome mat. I laugh at my own joke and shake my head. Maybe this was the more that I always thought I was capable of. This is my purpose, ridding the world of evil men who think they are above others.
I’ve had thoughts like that before. Thoughts of what it would be like to take someone’s life, to have that power, to be the one who chooses. Of course, a moral code needs to be in place—mostly to keep the bloodlust in check. And maybe death wasn’t an appropriate punishment for Professor Montague. But it doesn’t matter when I think about how good it felt.
When I look down at the dagger, I realize that all this time, we were meant for each other. It’s clearly something other, far more than a standard dagger. I’ve heard rumors of supernatural beings and objects. It’s not a surprise that I found this dagger in Hallowsdeep, the place where things go bump in the night.
I know I’m crazy when I start speaking to the blade. “We’re meant for each other, aren’t we?”
The handle warms, which is clearly a yes. I smile at the gift in front of me; maybe the dagger only does what it did to Professor Montague if the person truly deserves it. But to test that theory would be fucked up and involves possibly killing someone who doesn’t deserve it.
I hear a retching noise and put the blade back in the nightstand drawer. When I get to our shared bathroom, I find my sister throwing up into the toilet. She’s on her knees, crying, so I gather her hair in my hand and rub her back.
“Diana, are you sick? What do you need?”
She just cries harder, throwing up again. She’s inconsolable as I continue to rub her back. This is so unlike her that my concern skyrockets when she looks at me. Her expression lacks the usual warmth that it normally holds. My afterglow from the evening fades as worry for Diana takes over.
“What do you need?”
“I just need to go back to sleep,” she says softly.
“Okay.” I gently hoist her by the waist and take her back to her room, tucking her in before pulling her pink pastel blanket up to her chin. “You know you can tell me if something is wrong, right?”
She nods, her eyes collecting with tears.
“I’m okay, Lilith, really.” She turns on her side, but I don’t let her get away with it as I crawl behind her and throw my arm around her waist.
“Somethings bothering you, Diana. You know I’ll always be on your side. I’ll always help you with whatever you need.” She sighs heavily and shakes her head.
“I just want to forget about it.”
“Forget about what?” I ask, pushing some hair off her sweaty face.
“It’s nothing, Lilith. I promise.”
“Since when did we start keeping secrets from one another?” I ask.
She scoffs and shakes her head. “Good question,” she retorts, and I sigh. “Just go to bed, Lilith.” Tonight's events seem irrelevant as I wonder why Diana is pushing me away. I do as she requests and leave her room, even if I just want to stay and push more, to figure out what’s bothering her and how I can help her fix it. Diana is the most important person to me. We might not have freaky telepathic twin abilities, but our bond is strong. At least, I thought it was.
When I get to my bed, I struggle to fall asleep. A combination of the dagger in my drawer making demands and a lingering fear of Diana no longer needing me keeps me awake.
The entire campus is talking about Professor Montague. The news isn’t giving much information, but it’s obvious that detectives are baffled. Rightfully so, the man looks like he’s been dead for months, and he has no fatal wounds, just a missing finger. I read the news article further, where they interview his wife. Her name is Debra, and her quote is what makes me feel a small morsel of guilt. “My husband didn’t deserve this. He’s a good man, I have no idea who would ever want to harm him.”
I sigh and fold the paper as I look around at the other students reading the same article, speculating about what happened to our dear professor. When I look to my left, I’m greeted by a woman who is observing me in a way that leans towards uncomfortable.
She’s just as tall as me, black hair pinned back into a ponytail. She’s impeccably dressed and has eyeliner sharply drawn over her eyes. Her brown gaze looks me up and down before she smiles.
“What do you think of all of this professor drama?” she asks as she takes a seat next to me, her skirt rising, showing off her long legs and expensive boots.
