Sadie (18+)

Chapter 31

It was nine-o-clock by the time the house had emptied. Bryan was the only one left, still out on the deck with Vincent. The faint light from the windows casted a glow upon their frames, empty bottles scattered between them on the table.

Julia had arrived back home after dropping her grandparents off, but sleepily trudged up the stairs upon returning. I told her I would meet her in a bit, as I wanted to help Gina with the last of the cleaning.

I was wrapping up the remaining slices of birthday cake when she joined my side in the kitchen, staring out onto the deck, her dress now swapped for a pair of sweatpants and a crewneck.

"I'm glad Bryan could make it. He moved a couple months ago, so he's an hour away now. They don't see each other much anymore," she explained. "Vin needs the company."

"I hope Julia and I stay friends for that long," I mumbled, studying her husband through the window. "Since high school, huh?" I didn't acknowledge the last bit, as I hadn't a clue on how to respond to it.

"Crazy, isn't it? I guarantee you and Julia will be friends just as long, if not longer," she said sweetly, planting a gentle kiss on my forehead. "Thank you so much for all of your help today. I appreciate it."

"It's the least I could do," I replied, wrapping her in a hug. "Thank you, Gina—for everything, for allowing me to stay here, for treating me so kindly."

"You are so welcome. This will always be your home, even when you're off to college," she assured, pinching my cheek.

I was feeling overwhelmingly soft, both from the alcohol I'd consumed not long ago, and the strong possibility of being kicked out by her husband. I liked living here, and not just for Vincent.

After she'd walked away and headed into her bedroom, I brushed away an escaped tear, sniffling pathetically. The guilt was no longer a faint throb, but had its sharp claws digging into the slimy crevices of my heart.

And I knew I shouldn't, but as I stalked the two men, laying my rapacious eyes on their conversation, the gesturing of hands, the raising of eyebrows, the muffled voices, I knew wanted to ruin the fun.

The sharp and sickly guilt could not compare to the elation upon metaphorically sinking teeth into flesh. And I wanted that with an excruciating desire—I wanted my canines drawing thick blood from Vincent's rationale, maybe even from Bryan's, draining what made them righteous.

It was startling—the ability to turn the guilt off and tuck it away, but this feeling was far too intoxicating, and I embraced it with open arms.

Anyway, if Vincent was going to kick me out, which I was fully confident he would, why not put on a memorable performance before the red curtain is drawn?

I waltzed over to the refrigerator and opened it, my palms finding the last three beers. I swiftly grasped the cold bottles, then found myself flipping on a switch that illuminated the deck. At once, two heads swiveled to acknowledge my presence as I hovered behind the door. I pushed open, a cool breeze settling on my exposed legs and warm cheeks.

"Hi," I chirped, placing the drinks down on the table. Both men were silent—Bryan seated at the right of the table, Vincent on the left. "I brought the rest of the beer."

Bryan went to reach for one, but Vincent interrupted, which halted his hand. "We're good. You can leave."

Bryan's eyes flitted between the two of us, intrigued by the tension which seeped from the deck and around us like fog. Vincent clearly did not want to engage, but I wanted the opposite.

"That's fine," I said, shrugging. "I'll drink them."

Vincent opened and shut his mouth, but no words surfaced. He sat up and straightened his shoulders, fingers tightly gripping the arms of his chair. Bryan, on the other hand, looked amused, raising a brow.