Adoring Sloane from afar.
That’s what I’ve been relegated to doing anyway. He’s right within my reach but so far away. This is worse than I imagine rehab or boot camp. Or Grandma.
Tears spike my lashes and I sniffle, swiping at my eyes. What’s normal for others isn’t for me, so I shouldn’t try to make myself fit in. Or regret not attempting to do so.
I just followed the example set by my mom. She never had friends. She had acquaintances and associates. Mostly, she had brownnosers. It always frightened me that I’d treat girls the same way, so I either hung with her or Josh. They had time for me then, though, even indulging my obsession with Sloane.
“Georgiana?”
I startle at the sound of him rasping my name, but I refuse to respond, so I flounce to my bed and flop on it.
“Time to eat.”
He’s closer. Without permission, he opens my door and searches for me. His blue gaze eats me up before emptying again. “Eat.”
“I don’t have anything to fucking eat.” Smart ass. I blink at the ceiling and swipe at my escaping tears. Although I’m a virtual prisoner, they haven’t locked me in and for that I’m grateful.
“Get your ass to the dining room now,” he snarls and takes a step towards me.
Throwing my pillow at him, I shoot to my feet and stomp past him.
Kiln’s already seated and each place setting has a steaming plate of food. Country fried steak and gravy with mashed potatoes and sweet peas. They have highball glasses filled with an amber liquid—scotch, more than likely—while I have water.
Laying my cloth napkin in my lap, I mix the gravy and potatoes. Instead of ignoring each other, Sloane and Kiln are having a stilted conversation. They’re speaking low. Naturally, my ears perk up. It’s hard to pretend I’m not eavesdropping, but I take small swallows in a show of cooperation and listen carefully.
“They are a nice couple,” Kiln says without emotion.
Emotionless jackasses are running rampant in this house.
“And the tutor?”
Tutor? A sinking despair and a sneaking suspicion bloom inside of me.
“Nothing yet. Mr. and Mrs. Lester will find someone suitable, if we haven’t, before we depart, so the band can resume the tour.”
“That isn’t good enough.”
“Fuck, Sloane. You’ve done all you can fucking do. It’s time to make fucking money again.”
“Yes, bleed me dry. Fuck everything else, especially her.”
“You can’t fucking take her with us. How the fuck can you explain that?”
Apparently, no way, because silence descends in the room. My appetite flees, but I get enough food into me where Sloane allows me to leave the table. Running to my room, I slam my door, then tear through my things. Some are mine from home and others are new. But I don’t have my cell phone or my iPad or anything linked to the outside world.
Sobbing, I throw myself on the bed and it’s hours before I fall asleep.
“Good morning, Georgiana.”
Sloane’s hard voice seeps through my lethargic brain and I open my eyes.
I want Crowell. More to the point, I want blow. No. I need blow. Anything to get me through my terminal boredom and perpetual insignificance. It’s so easy for everyone to throw me away.
“Do you intend to sleep all day?”
“All day?” I repeat. Fuck him. “It’s only about nine o’clock.” Not that I’m certain and he’s blocking the view of the wall clock.
“No. It’s near noon,” Sloane grumbles. “Nine was three hours ago. The time you should’ve gotten up.”
“To listen to your militaristic orders, dickhead? There’s nothing more to do here than to eat and sleep.”
His body is so taut I’m afraid each of his tendons will snap. He grinds his back molars and clenches his fists. “I’m leaving soon, so get up. I haven’t eaten yet, so I’ll join you at the table in fifteen minutes.”
“When are you coming back?” I whisper, drawing in deep breaths to calm myself. My insides are shaky. I might throw up because I know his answer already.
He has no intentions of returning. Ever.
Sloane
Intently studying Georgie, I draw in a breath. My impending departure is fucking hard enough without the hurt and accusation blooming in her eyes. For the billionth time, I shove her age to the front of my brain. She’s young. Her body’s young. But her mind…her mind…is confused. Sad. Perhaps, even old, and a complete contradiction to her alluring curves.
I close the door, then sit on the edge of her bed. Do I want her mind to be mature because of how badly I want to fuck her?
I shy away from the answer.