His Pretty Little Burden: A Dark Mafia, Age Gap Romance (Kids of The District Book 4) -
His Pretty Little Burden: Chapter 1
Three months earlier
THE TELEVISION FLICKERS ON, but it is one of those old-school boxes, thick and bordered in a kind of wood-look laminate. Static brings it to life, lighting the basement with flickering colour and then the glow of a black-and-white movie.
The girl and the boy on the screen are naked, but the girl isn’t moving, and then I realise it’s because she’s unconscious. It isn’t in English. Despite the disturbing content, I find it hard to look away from the hypnotic way her body shakes as he takes her without consent.
I glance from the screen and meet Benji’s soulful gaze. In my mind, I smile, and yet, my lips won’t form the curve.
Still, I’m almost certain he winks at me.
Subtle. Just for me to see. And even in this strange state of intoxication, I feel my heart soar in response to that gesture.
When the girl on the television screams, my eyes cut across to watch as she wakes up with the boy inside her. It’s not a nice film. But Benji likes cult movies, and I like him…
Dotted in the light from the standing lamps and the monitor, his room in the basement looks plucked straight from the set of an 80s show. On his wall, retro pin-up girls pose, their pear-shaped physiques tightly covered in short jumpsuits, taunting my skinny frame. He likes his girls curvaceous, confident, and dominant. Everything I’m not.
A cough drags my attention back to my brothers, back to the cannabis and cocaine sprinkled carelessly on the glass coffee table. My eyes scan their faces, naturally landing on Benji’s once more, and he gives me that grin. I think I successfully smile back this time.
A whooshing fills my ears, my heart rate slow but shuttering, nonsensical. I go to stand but wobble, dropping back down onto the couch.
No one notices.
My mouth is suddenly dry.
I go to talk, but the words don’t reach my tongue, yet I know they are in there. My bare thighs are like ice below my palms, and I wonder if I’m wet or sweating or if it’s just the sensation of being cold.
“She looks fucked.’
Benji moves beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. I lean into him, seeking comfort as the inebriation climbs into my consciousness and warps my reality. His scent covers me like a blanket fending off the awful helplessness my condition brings with it.
We watch the horrible movie play.
My eyes shift from the rape scene ahead, slicing through the air to a blinking red dot.
…flash…flash…flash…
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