Corrupt(72)

Its sound echoed though the vast house and always reminded me that life went on while we slept. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock…

Kind of a scary thought, actually. Creatures stirred outside, trees sat patiently in the forest, and danger could be lurking right outside the front door, mere feet away from our vulnerable spots in our warm beds.

And the Crist house held that same mystery. There were too many dark corners. Too many nooks to hide in and too many dark closets hidden in dormant rooms lurking behind closed doors.

The house was heavy with secrets and surprises, and it scared me, which was probably why I always found myself wandering around at night.

I enjoyed the fear of the silent darkness, but it was something else, too. You became aware of things under the shroud of night that you didn’t see in the light of day. The things people hide and how lax they become with their secrets when they think is everyone is asleep.

In the Crist house, the most interesting hours would often be after midnight. I’d learned to love the sound of the house being shut down and locked up. It was like a new world was about to unfold.

My bare feet didn’t make any sound as I walked into the dark kitchen and headed over to the pantry.

This was where I’d first found out that Mr. Crist was scared of Michael. It had been the middle of the night, and Michael had been sixteen. He’d come into the kitchen to get something to drink and hadn’t noticed me on the patio outside. I’d gotten up to watch the rain under an awning with a stash of fruit rollups Mrs. Crist had bought me. I remember it clearly, because it was my first night in the new bedroom she’d decorated just for me for when I slept over.

His father walked in to the kitchen, and I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but it turned heated, and Mr. Crist slapped his son across the face.

I hated it, of course, but it wasn’t something I hadn’t seen before, unfortunately. Mr. Crist and Michael didn’t get along, and it wasn’t the first time Michael had been hit.

But this time was different. He didn’t take it quietly. He immediately lashed out and grabbed his father by the neck. I stared in horror as Mr. Crist struggled. Something had come over Michael, and I’d never seen him act like that before.

And as second after second passed, it was clear that Michael was too old for his father to push around, and now Mr. Crist knew it.

I watched as his father start to choke and cough.

Michael eventually let go, and his father stormed out of the kitchen. The incident lost Michael his car and his allowance, but I didn’t think Mr. Crist ever touched him again after that.

Opening the pantry door, I turned on the small light and walked down to the third column of shelves, finding the peanut butter.

Holding it to my chest, I gazed around, spotting the half-full bag of mini-marshmallows on the top shelf near the corner.

I smiled, walking over and arching up on my tiptoes, trying to pinch the bag between my fingers and grab it.

But then an arm reached out over me, snatching the bag, and I jerked my hand down, sucking in a quick breath.

“I thought you were tired,” Michael said, holding out the bag to me.

I swallowed to wet my dry mouth and turned, peering up at him. He was dressed in black lounge pants with no shirt, and his hair looked wet, probably from a shower.

I wanted to groan at the ache between my legs. God, he drove me crazy.

With everything that had happened tonight, I hadn’t had a chance to slow down enough for it to occur to me, but…

The last time I saw Michael was in the pool cave. I tensed my thighs, the little pulse in my clit suddenly beating harder at the memory and wanting a whole lot more of whatever he did to me in there.

Thankfully, he hadn’t mentioned it.

After we’d arrived home from Sticks, we’d both gone our separate ways. I went to my room and hurriedly dialed the number for the satellite phone he’d finally given to me in the car ride home, unfortunately not getting an answer.

After calling a few more times with no luck, I decided to try again in the morning. She was fine. Damon had just scared me with the threat, which was probably all he was trying to do to begin with.

I then crawled into a hot bath and slipped into some pajama shorts and a white cami. But I was no longer tired. Since I hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning at my apartment, I went downstairs in search of food.

Brushing past Michael, I left the pantry and set the provisions down on the island, trying to get away from him.

No such luck.

He came to my side and stood next to me, grabbing the loaf of bread and taking out two slices for me and two for himself.

Guess he was hungry, too.

I let out a frustrated breath and spun around, sliding two plates out of the cabinet while he opened the refrigerator and dug in one of the drawers for something.

We didn’t speak as we busied ourselves making sandwiches. I dug into the marshmallow bag for a handful and poured them onto the peanut butter I’d already spread while he unscrewed a pickle jar. I stopped what I was doing, twisting up my lips as he laid slices across his peanut-butter sandwich.

Gross.

“That makes you so much less attractive,” I said, wincing.

He snorted, and I watched as he replaced the top slice of bread and picked up the sandwich, bringing it to his mouth.

“Don’t knock ‘til you try it.” And he took a huge bite, grabbing his plate and walking around me.