Oak Hall—the boy's dorm—was identical to Evergreen Hall. It was a five-minute walk from Evergreen and at times during the school year, Solana and I would visit some of our male friends from class to play pickleball in the field or study in the library—which was far prettier than Evergreen.
But Oak Hall now became a place of setting for my torment. Mostly I only came to go to Marcus's dorm—it was usually a one-night stop.
I rushed inside, making my presence little known as I used a shortcut—a hidden staircase in one of the storage rooms I used to get to the third-floor dorms in the upperclassmen manor. I made it to Marcus's dorm in record time—just ten minutes before seven.
I knocked on the door, clenching the hem of my skirt as my glasses began to fog from how hoarse my breaths were.
After a moment, I heard a loud bang. "Doors open," I heard from the other side.
I took a deep breath and turned the knob, entering his room, already getting a whiff of chemicals from his fruity e-pen.
"You're early as fuck," Marcus snarls, coming out of his private bathroom, startling me.
I immediately averted my eyes after noticing his loose pants and tie. It looked like he was already getting comfortable.
It was faint but I heard his mocking giggle. "How was your winter break?"
"Fine," I said blandly.
He stared at me with those corrupt green eyes, amused at my nervousness and unwillingness to be here.
"Don't just stand there, come inside."
I walked down the short steps of the massive dorm room suite, and while he plopped in one of the cushion couches by his gaming set, I went straight to the dresser and lowered my head. "You called for me."
Marcus's smile was bright but his eyes mocking as he stared up and down. "Well, what did you get for Christmas? No jewelry. No new shoes. Well … I see you got new glasses." He tilted his head and I had to stop myself from shaking.
"Next year," he says, his eyes brightening, "I'll buy you contacts." He almost sounded genuine, like a kind friend. If only you all knew.
"Come here," he says, his eyes narrowing.
I walked over, standing over him as he sat on the cushion. "Take it off," he demands.
My hands trembled as I took off my glasses, pressing my lips together. He takes them from my hand and throws them across the room. I don't get to complain before he leans over and grabs a handful of my ass.
I gasp.
"Have you been wearing make-up?" He asks as he kneads my ass, his fingers slipping under my skirt and playing with the bands of my underwear. He pinches my skin. "Yeah?"
I shake my head, squealing.
He pouts. "Is it too expensive? You know, they sell some good stuff for cheap nowadays."
I bite my lip. "I prefer … not to."
His lips thin, his hands tensing, and I hold my breath. "Well, your skin is …. Rough. Maybe some will do you good. Hmm?"
I force myself to keep my composure. "Okay."
He flips me over, pushing me into the cushion with his legs. My upper body was just hanging on, and I didn't understand why he couldn't take this to his bed, but then I remember how much of an impatient asshole Marcus is.
He unbuttoned his blazer, revealing his beautiful skin, and all the muscles and veins bulging from how hot and excited he is. "God, you're hot. I've been dying to get inside of you again." His hands roamed my body, tracing the curves of my hips, and the swell of my breasts. I could feel the heat radiating off his body, his erection pressing against my thigh. "I'm not gonna last long," he growled, his lips crashing down on mine.
Marcus's kiss intensified when he felt my tears falling, his grip tightening on my hips as he grinded against me, feeling his cock strain against the fabric of his pants. He pulled back, glaring at the tears, his voice harsh. "Don't you fucking cry. You want this too." He kissed me fiercely again, his tongue invading my mouth as he tried to dominate me, to own me completely. "You've always wanted this."
I forced myself to just let him have it, but Marcus made sure I felt every little twitch and burn as he kissed and nicked me, tearing my blazer apart. His hands roamed my body, his touch rough as he tore at my skirt. He took hold of my tie, only to tighten it, cutting off my air. "You want to be quiet and scared? Fine, but you'll do it right." His other hand was busy at my breast, squeezing and kneading it as he leaned in, his hot breath fanning my ear. "Beg for air, Rag. Beg me for it." His grip tightened, and he waited, a twisted smile stretching his lips.
Marcus's grin grew as I pleaded by grabbing his arm, and he took his sweet time in releasing the pressure, just enough to let a gasp of air into my lungs. "Better," he growled, his lips trailing down my stomach. He pulled my shirt up, revealing my bra, and his teeth nipped at the sensitive skin just above it. "Don't forget our pact. You're mine to break, mine to have."
His hands found the clasp of my bra, unfastening it and tossing it aside. His mouth closed over a nipple, his teeth nipping and his tongue swirling around it as he sucked. He moved to the other, giving it the same treatment, his hands roaming to my waistband, tugging at my skirt. "Beg for me. Beg for this cock." He growled, his voice deep and demanding.
I didn't utter a word, but it seemed like he couldn't be patient and started unzipping his pants. Marcus groaned in anticipation, his cock springing free. He spread my legs, tugging my underwear out of the way, and his eyes roamed my wet folds. A smirk tugged at his lips as he spat into my pussy, watching as it mingled with the slickness already there.
"You want this, Rag. You want this more than you'll ever admit." He positioned himself at my entrance, his cock throbbing as he pushed into me. He filled me with a single, deep thrust, his eyes locked with mine, a fierce, possessive look in them.
He pulled back and thrust forward again, his pace slow at first but growing quicker, harder, and more demanding. "Say my name. Say it while I fuck you." His hips slammed into mine, his face a mix of lust and anger, his grip on my hips crushing.
I couldn't think, all I could feel was the intensity building, his cock pulsing inside me, hot and thick. Marcus's eyes narrowed, his thrusts becoming more erratic. "Fucking say it!" he growled, his voice hoarse.
I didn't comply, and I screamed as he started thrusting into me more violently. Marcus's eyes flared with anger, the lack of submission from me only fueling him. He thrust into me harder, his grip on my hips bruising, his cock hitting my cervix with each brutal thrust. He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear as he growled, "Say my name or I'll fuck so bad you can't come to class tomorrow."
I hissed as he thrusted into me right after. "Mgh ugh—Fuck! M-marcus—ugh."
His thrusts became more erratic, his cock twitching inside me, and I could feel the heat building in my core, the pleasure mingling with the pain. Marcus's breaths came in ragged pants, his entire body tense, his eyes locked with mine. The room began to fade, the only thing that mattered was his cock buried deep inside me, the raw animalistic lust that drove him. He groaned, a low, guttural sound, as he pulled out and his hot seed spilled onto his thighs and the fabric of the couch.
He looked high as he stared at me, spaced out as I sat up, feeling a rush of pain hit my stomach when I did so. As much as I was happy for him to be out of me. I knew it wasn't over.
"Come clean it bitch."
His thighs were drenched in his cum, and he always had me lick every single cum off his body after we fucked. And that's exactly what I did as I bent down and forced myself to lick every drop that stained his body. He even nudged me to do the fabric.
Cleaning him up after sex—it's how I got the nickname Rag.
Marcus smirked at me, a twisted look of satisfaction on his face. "Fuck—"
I immediately jumped when the door to Marcus's dorm creaked open. The room fell silent. Marcus, who had been smirking at me, immediately stiffened. The air grew heavy and thick.
I didn't have to turn around to know it was him.
Damon Saint-Hayes stood by the door. His presence alone could freeze a desert—tall, with chiseled and strong features, and dark hair that framed his striking, emotionless face. He was dressed in the school's uniform, but the way he wore it, with the blazer unbuttoned and the tie loose, made it seem effortlessly graceful like a model. His eyes, a piercing shade of gray, scanned the room with a disinterested glance, but when they landed on me, I felt as though I'd been held at gunpoint.
For a brief moment, those cold, calculating eyes seemed to size me up, taking in every detail. My breath caught in my throat and I found myself unable to hold his gaze. I quickly looked away, my heart pounding in my chest—not just from fear, but from something else, something I didn't want to acknowledge.
I immediately covered myself with my blazer, thankful that Marcus didn't fully unclapse my bra and take off my skirt.
"Get her out," Damon said, his voice low and commanding. He barely spared Marcus a glance as he spoke, yet his words held a weight that brooked no argument.
Marcus suddenly seemed small in his presence. His confidence wavered as he quickly adjusted his posture, a nervous smile playing on her lips. "I was just—"
He cut him off with a look, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Now."
Marcus swallowed, his bravado crumbling under his cold stare. He turned to me, his expression hardening. "She was just leaving," he said, his tone sharp. "Weren't you?"
I nodded, making quick work of my clothes and slipping into my loafers that had fallen off during our session. My voice caught in my throat as I quickly moved toward the door, picking up my thrown glasses along the way.
As I passed Damon, our arms brushed slightly, and a jolt of electricity shot through me. It was just a fleeting touch, but it left me cold.
I hurried out of the room, my heart racing. As soon as the door closed behind me, I leaned against the wall, my legs trembling. The tears I had been holding back finally broke free, streaming down my cheeks as I struggled to breathe.
I couldn't stay here. I couldn't let them see me like this. With a choked sob, I pushed myself away from the wall and ran down the hallway, the sound of my footsteps echoing through the empty corridors. By the time I reached the stairwell of the storage room, I was crying openly, the tears blurring my vision as I thought of my mother's distance, and the fact that I wasn't sure if I could do this for another semester let alone another year.
My tears were hot, scorching trails down my cheeks as I curled deeper into myself, trying to make my body as small as possible, hoping to disappear from the world. The overwhelming sadness and helplessness pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. But then, I felt a gentle warmth—a hand, soft and reassuring, resting on my shoulder. It was as if the world had paused for a moment, the coldness retreating.
I looked up, my vision blurred by tears, and was met by the warmest hazel eyes I'd ever seen. They were so familiar, a comforting light. The sadness that had seemed all-encompassing suddenly felt distant, like a storm that had passed, leaving only a soft drizzle in its wake. His face was etched with concern, his brows slightly furrowed as he took in my tear-streaked face. "Anna," he breathed, his voice a mix of disbelief and worry, as if he couldn't quite believe I was there, crumpled and broken before him.
I'd been called many things over the past years—mostly "Rag," a title that stuck to me like mud. My real name had almost become a distant memory, something precious but forgotten amidst his taunts. But when he said it, when he said my name, it was like a spark ignited in the fog of my mind, a flame that cut through the darkness. I choked on a sob, my breath catching in my throat as I stared at him, hardly believing my eyes. "Atlas?"
I never expected—never in a million years—that Atlas Bonjovi would be staring at me with worried eyes like an angel sent from heaven. "Holy shit … Anna!" Atlas's voice was a mix of shock and concern as he dropped to the ground in front of me, his hands gripping my shoulders, eyes frantically scanning my face. "Are you okay?! What happened—holy shit, I can't believe I'm seeing you right now," he croaked out, his words stumbling over each other.
My tear-stained eyes cleared. Atlas was here. The boy who had vanished from my life as suddenly as he'd entered it, now standing before me like a ghost. I hadn't seen him in years. His blonde hair had darkened slightly since he was here two years ago, and it curled softly around the nape of his neck. His skin was tanner, a healthy bronze that made his hazel eyes stand out even more, still holding that same warm glow. His lips, a soft shade of peach, were set in a concerned frown, and I couldn't help but notice how much taller and more muscular he'd become. He looked more … mature and refined, even in his simple uniform, the fabric stretching slightly over his broad shoulders.
As he looked me over, I felt a lump in my throat, unsure of what to do with the overwhelming mix of emotions swirling inside me. I coughed, the sound breaking through the silence, and it seemed to jolt Atlas into action. He stood up quickly, pulling me with him, his grip firm yet gentle. "C'mon, don't stay down here. Let me get you a tissue," he said, his voice urgent as he guided me out of the storage room.
My heart fluttered in my chest as he led me down the hallway, his hand still wrapped around mine. The corridor was dimly lit, the walls lined with the usual dorm bulletin boards. As we reached the end of the hall, he stopped in front of a door at the corner, fumbling with the key. A few boys loitering nearby started eyeing us, their gazes lingering a little too long. It was then I realized Atlas was still holding my hand, in the boys' dorm, and I quickly pulled my hand away, embarrassed.
He noticed the movement and twisted around to face me, his expression softening as he swallowed whatever words were on the tip of his tongue. He opened the door and stepped inside, motioning for me to follow. Atlas's dorm room was small but cozy, with movie posters plastered across the walls, giving the space a personal touch. Unlike all the old and traditional rooms, his had a modern feel to it, with sleek furniture and minimal clutter, though his boyish influence was evident in the little details—the sports gear piled in the corner, the slightly messy bed, and the guitar propped against the wall.
I was startled when he reappeared from the side, holding a roll of paper towels. "I know it's rough for the eyes but… it's kind of all me and my roommate have," he said with a sheepish smile, handing them to me. I hesitated before taking them, my mind still reeling from the fact that Atlas was here, acting as if we hadn't lost years in between. Here I was, in his dorm room, wiping my tear-stained face with a paper towel he'd handed me as if this was something we did every day. I left my glasses off for now, not needing them to see the concern etched on his face as I dabbed at my swollen eyes. He was right about it stinging.
"Shit," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
I perked up, raising an eyebrow at him. "What?"
He shook his head, snapping out of whatever trance he'd been in. "No, it's just… it just feels crazy staring at you right now."
For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze. "You're… back," I murmured, the words sounding hollow even to me.
He scratched the top of his head, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Yeah, my dad came back to Boston to start working at the foundation," he mutters like he's not entirely enthusiastic about the idea. "So … I saw you at the ceremony."
"Did you?" I muttered, feeling a strange mixture of relief and sadness.
"You left before I could get to you… You've changed a lot."
Changed was an understatement. I was no longer the bubbly girl that Atlas once knew. I was a broken wreck, and he'd just witnessed the worst side of it, yet he hadn't left me alone. Not yet.
"I should head back," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I wiped my eyes one last time.
He nodded, just as lost for words as I was. "Right. Curfew still hasn't changed, ha."
"Ha," I echoed blankly, the sound forced. I turned around, tossing the paper towel into the bin by his door when he called out to me.
"Hey, Anna."
I twisted around, my eyes meeting his.
"What happened?"
The question rooted me to the ground, my heart pounding in my chest as all the pain and torment threatened to spill over. A part of me wanted to tell him everything, to unload the burden that had been suffocating me for so long. For the first time, I had something from my past back, a sliver of hope that maybe things weren't as bleak as they seemed. But I knew better. Atlas might have been well-off, but he wasn't a legacy. His father was a football star, nothing more. He wasn't my knight in shining armor—at least not in this story.
I gave him a faint smile, the kind that didn't reach my eyes. "Welcome back to Aldridge, Atlas." I turned and closed the door behind me.