Defile Me

ten: francesa whitmore

IVY

THE WORD JUST spewed out of my mouth. I tended to do things like that — speak without thinking. I wasn't sure why the hell I said that; why I said yes.

It was random, unrelated, not even on topic yet it was the only thing I was able to think about. I thought about it much more than I should have, like a mosquito you just can't seem to catch, next thing you know you're itching your arm.

It was a lousy deal. Just an offer, that had already been informed was 'off the table' but still. The longer I waited it out, the more reasons piled up to take it.

If I was being honest, he'd be doing me a favor. I'd get to drop out of the race and get anything I want.

And what I wanted was something I longed for. Something dear to me.

It was the reason I was so late, the reason I had showed up 30 minutes later rather than intended. It was intoxicating my mind, the sudden desire for it was driven by my so influential friend, Lane.

She's gotten me thinking of the million future possibilities of me doing every single thing my father asks, one order after the other, like a pawn.

Lane did that a lot; made me overthink. Most times out of spite but other times just to set me straight. This time she was right — I had been following every order after the other for my father. It had to stop.

This was my chance to prove my father wrong — or better yet, just prove something to myself; that I could deny his commands. But that wasn't the only reason I wanted this.

The silence between us maintained, he stared at me, his thoughts concealed and unthinkable to my limited imagination.

I was sure he'd deny me of it from how long he kept silent.

"You changed your mind?" He asked.

I didn't expect him to even respond, I'd assume he'd dismiss me and rather change the subject to the whole reason we're here; tutoring. Then again he hadn't been too happy about the whole tutoring idea.

I patted my foot against the carpeted floor, the pencil rotating back and forth between my fingers, "As much as it pains me to admit.. yes. I decided it'd be better if I just didn't run."

There was clearly more to it than that but I wasn't going to spill my life story to Myles out of all people. No context was much preferred.

He stared at me intently — as if he was thinking, focusing on something, rather than what I was saying.

His eyes flared. "You must want something. Not too long ago you were sure of denying my deal. So tell me.. what is it that you want?"

My eyes shifted a short glance to the textbooks, reminding me of the whole reason we're here—for me to tutor him.

I had already lost focus of tutoring and what could so clearly be seen, he did too. That didn't matter at the moment, what mattered was getting what I wanted.

And what I wanted was my mother.

Of course, that was far too much to ask for, it was illogical; she was dead after all.

So I wanted the next best thing, something I couldn't obtain, something I'd failed to have for so long.

A swift hand of mine ran down the hem of my skirt. "Francesca Whitmore." Her name ran my throat dry at the intermittent capability to say it; it's been so long since I had. "I want you to find something of hers."