Sinful: A Dark Asylum Bully Romance (The Boys of Chapel Crest Book 5)
Sinful: Chapter 22

I stared down at the text on my phone a week after Sirena’s meltdown in the living room. She’d missed classes earlier in the week, but I knew she was back because Ashes had just sent me a text to grab her from classes and walk her back to the house. He had his therapy session, and Stitches was being forced to do group therapy at the same time. Cady had detention, the guys seemed leery about having Bryce help, and Mirage was off doing god knew what. I hadn’t seen him all day.

He’d been acting strangely after the shit with Sirena happened. I was used to Asylum being in the room at night. Mirage rarely slept there. If he did, he came in during the four in the morning hour wearing his rabbit mask, then only slept for a few hours before going to classes. If he even bothered going at all.

Mirage was a world apart from Asylum in how he behaved. The fact he was able to pull himself together around people and blend in spoke volumes of his talents.

I shook my head, not wanting to get caught up in the mess that was Asylum/Mirage. Instead, I sent a reply message to Ashes to let him know I’d get Sirena, then take her to their house and sit with her until one of them returned.

After waiting a few more minutes, I made my way to Sirena’s class. It was another Bible study class. The Sister who ran it was quiet and not nearly as bad as the other assholes at this place. I leaned against the brick wall and stared at the lockers in front of me.

The bell rang a few seconds later, signaling the end of classes.

The moment Sirena came out with her head down, I sidled next to her. She cast me a quick look, her colorful eyes wide.

It was always uncomfortable being around her. I never knew what to say or what the hell to do with my hands. Stuffing them into my pants pockets, I walked beside her to her locker.

“Everyone was busy with after-school stuff,” I finally said when the crowd had thinned. “I’m supposed to take you back to the house and stay with you.”

She glanced at me again but didn’t say anything. Ashes told me she’d been having a lot of sleeping issues since her meltdown. He’d texted me some updates here and there, for which I was grateful. While Ashes had come around a lot, Stitches was still a little withdrawn. I didn’t blame him, though. He talked to me, but it wasn’t like it used to be with us. He’d gone through hell because of me. We all had. I hated myself for it. I tried to not focus on that shit, but it haunted me like an old ghost.

She opened her locker and grabbed her coat. I waited while she put it on and filled her book bag with what she needed before she put her head down and walked toward the exit. I followed her, pulling my jacket tighter around me.

Several minutes into our trek, she slipped on some ice. I caught her by the arm before she went down completely and brought her back to her feet. I couldn’t tell if her cheeks were red from the cold or from embarrassment. I hoped it wasn’t embarrassment.

Once she was firmly back on her feet, I released her arm, grateful she hadn’t tried to tug away from me. We continued in silence to the house. When we arrived, I inserted the key I still had and opened the door. She stepped inside, me behind her, and I closed us in.

Quickly, she dropped her bag to the floor and removed her jacket before going to the couch where she sat and stared straight ahead.

I didn’t really know what to do, so I went and sat on the L section of the couch.

“Are you hungry?” I finally asked.

She bit her bottom lip but remained quiet.

Fuck it. She had to be hungry.

I got up and went to the kitchen. I’d lived here for a good portion of my life, so it wasn’t hard to replace shit. Not knowing what she liked to eat, I stared down at a box of plain macaroni noodles before checking the fridge to replace a various assortment of cheeses and milk. Coming to a decision, I pulled a pot out of the cupboard, filled it with water, and put it on the stove.

From my view in the open kitchen, I could see she’d pulled her books out of her bag and was working on her homework.

Such a good girl.

I pushed that thought out of my head. Homework and I didn’t mix. Fuck that shit. I wasn’t going to go out into the world and be a scholar. Making it through was based on my intimidation factor and my role as a watcher. Of course, that may not work so well for me now in that department. It didn’t matter. The only way out of Chapel Crest was to pass. Classes. Therapy. Bible studies. All of it. Or death. Judging by how shit had gone down for me throughout my life, I was certain Death had long forgotten me.

I stayed in the kitchen, leaving Sirena to her work. When the water boiled, I put the noodles in, and when it was ready, I made the homemade macaroni and cheese for her. I never cooked around the guys. Ashes typically was the cook. He was a decent cook. Sometimes, he burned things just to see how many flames he could create. One time, when I’d asked Church why we let him near the stove, he’d smirked and said it was good tolerance building for Ashes.

Honestly, I was surprised Ashes hadn’t burned the house down long ago. I knew he struggled with his pyromania daily. In any other facility, they’d have taken his lighter away from him. But here? I think they wanted the excuse to corner him.

After I pulled the food from the oven, I made Sirena and myself each a plate and brought them both out to the living room. I placed the food in front of her on the coffee table.

She looked up at me in surprise, those colorful eyes of hers sending a jolt right through my heart.

“I made you something to eat,” I muttered. “I figured you might be hungry.”

Surprisingly, she closed her book and picked up the plate. A tiny part of me thought she might shun my attempt and go without, but I was happy when she lifted the fork to her lips, all the cheesy goodness on display.

With my breath held, I waited for her verdict. I hadn’t cooked in ages. When I was a kid, I’d cook with my mom. That shit went to hell, though, after my old man shot me.

Another sour memory I pushed away.

The tiniest moan slipped past her lips as she chewed and then swallowed.

“Do you like it?” I sounded far too eager for her approval. Desperate, even. I hated that, but fuck it. There it was.

While she never really said shit to me or communicated, it was when her gaze met mine, and that tiny smile graced her pretty face that I knew that was it. I was done for. If I had anything holding me back before about pleasing her, it was gone in that moment.

That smile. The little bit of sparkle in her sad, pretty eyes. All I wanted to do was make her smile for the rest of her days.

I couldn’t, though.

I wasn’t that sort of guy. The only thing I was good at was fucking everything up.

All the potential happiness whooshed out of my body at the thought that I’d never be good enough for her. That I didn’t deserve her or any bit of happiness. My name was Sin, for fuck’s sake. That didn’t exactly inspire good things.

I looked down at my plate still on the coffee table, lost in my miserable thoughts.

It was when the weight of someone next to me made me realize she’d moved to sit beside me.

I looked over at her, my heart in my throat.

So much innocence greeted me. Sweetness. Gentleness.

I swallowed hard as she leaned forward, picked up my plate, and handed it to me. Gingerly, I took it from her, my fingers brushing along hers for but a moment. A moment that made my heart leap higher and the flames slowly building in my soul spark brighter.

Reaching out, she gently brushed her fingers along my lips. I closed my eyes at how wonderful it was to feel the touch of someone else.

“Sinful,” she whispered softly.

I opened my eyes and stared at her, my throat tight.

“I am,” I answered back just as quietly, my voice shaking.

Fuck, get it together, pussy.

Her gaze darted over my face before her fingers fell away, making me exhale slowly.

“Eat,” she murmured, her focus still on me.

I forced out a slight smile, suddenly realizing why the guys were completely obsessed with her. She was everything we weren’t. Everything all of us had been missing in our lives. Everything we’d always wanted.

And I’d gone and fucked it up by locking her in a goddamn box with Asylum.

He’d paid his penance and won her back. He’d protected her in the facility. What had I done aside from running through the woods with her? Anyone with half a heart would have done that for someone.

All the shady shit I’d done couldn’t ever be made up. I’d accepted that. Hated it, but accepted it.

But the way she looked at me made me think maybe I could be wrong.

It always hurts. Love always hurts.

I didn’t want to hurt anymore. God help me, I didn’t.

Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to be normal.

She scooped noodles and cheese onto her fork and offered it to me despite me having my own.

Fuck, Siren, you’re making it so much worse.

Please, don’t give me hope.

I don’t deserve it.

I didn’t want to take her food since I had my own, but I didn’t want to push her away, either. Fear gripped me as I parted my lips for her.

Carefully, she put the food into my mouth. The guys always fed her. I’d even seen them doing it at lunch. Maybe she associated this with caring.

Fuck, I can’t get wrapped up in the tiny details. She probably just wants me to eat to prove I didn’t poison it. Quit overthinking.

She blinked at me, waiting for me to chew and swallow. I did so before offering her a small, wobbly smile.

I felt like a complete idiot sitting here. If she were any other girl, I’d have buried my cock inside her body already and have walked away. I’d learned my lesson with getting too attached.

But damnit, why did I want it so much?

Maybe because I couldn’t have it.

Damnit.

Seemingly satisfied, she went back to eating, not bothering to move away from me. I forced myself to not overthink it. I simply ate beside her, telling myself she was only being nice. Despite my sins, she was still the sweet girl she’d always been.

Except I’d seen her darkness only nights ago as she’d faded away and let whatever monster that lived inside her mind out into the world with her proclamation she was going to kill him.

Him.

I wanted to replace out what his name was and kill him too.

But if she wanted the honors, then I’d bring him to her and put him on his knees so she could have the pleasure of slitting his fucking throat.

I think we all had that desire.

We ate in silence, and when she was done, I took our plates and returned them to the kitchen before coming back and taking my seat again.

She still hadn’t moved away from me.

We sat in more silence for several long minutes before I finally spoke, not even knowing how to talk to her.

“Um, I, uh, don’t know what to say.”

Real fucking smooth, Sinclair. Way to state the obvious.

She fidgeted for a moment before she got up and went to her bag. Defeat coursed through me at her distance.

Hope sprung back to life, though, when she returned, a notebook and her pen in her hand, and sat next to me again.

I watched while she slowly scrawled words onto the lined pages. Her writing was beautiful. All loopy, like what I imagined a love letter would have looked like ages ago. And she had a message for me.

Are you OK?

I stared down at her words to me, my mouth dry.

She wanted to know if I was OK.

I couldn’t say the words, so I took the pen from her and wrote back.

I will be.

It began an exchanging of the pen and words. She wanted to speak to me. It was our first real conversation, and I didn’t want to screw anything up.

Do you promise?

I stared down at her words, hating the feelings burning my chest.

I’m trying to, siren.

I paused before writing more for her, hating that my writing looked more like chicken scratch than anything else.

Are you OK?

She took the pen from me and stared at the paper momentarily before finally writing back.

I don’t know. Sometimes. I’m scared.

I read her words, my heart aching for her.

What are you afraid of?

She took the pen.

Everything.

Her hand shook as she handed the pen back to me.

When I was younger, I was afraid. After my father shot me. I’m still afraid, but I’ve found that sometimes I can use that fear to be stronger.

I paused, feeling like a damn hypocrite. I was anything but strong.

I’m not the greatest at advice. I’m sorry.

She stared at the words for a moment before writing back to me.

What are you afraid of?

Fuck. Same answer, siren.

I’m afraid I’ll never be good enough for anyone.

I exhaled and decided to give her a little story about my past.

When I was younger, I had this necklace. Well, it was a rosary. I’d pray with it. It brought me peace during my parents’ divorce. The divorce was ugly, and I was raised on God. So I’d pray with this rosary every night. I’d say my novena. Begging God to save my family. To make my dad a better man for my mom.

My hand shook.

Church found me with it once. Asked me what it was for. I told him. He asked his mom for one, and she got it for him. Then Asher got one. Then Stitches. It seemed we all needed a little extra help in our lives. I lost mine, though. When my dad took me, I’d prayed with it that day. I begged God, the saints, and anyone who could hear my terrified prayers to save me. Maybe they did hear me because I’m still around. But the rosary is gone. I wish I had it because sometimes I think I could use the prayers. So I could have hope. Maybe God would hear me if I had it.

She read my words and didn’t move for a long time before she got to her feet and went upstairs, leaving me alone in the living room.

I felt like an idiot telling her that shit. I wasn’t the type to open up like that. My stomach twisted with the embarrassment of it.

Thinking she wasn’t going to come back, I sat there, wallowing in my self-pity. It was when she came back downstairs and sat beside me again that I perked up.

She took my hand and turned it palm up before placing her hand over it. Something cool dropped against my skin. Her eyes met mine for a moment, making my heart skip before she pulled her hand away.

I stared down at what she’d given me, my throat tight.

A rosary.

Blue and silver. A cross.

She took the pen and paper and quickly wrote another message.

For you. So you can have hope again.

The words became blurry as my eyes filled with tears. My inner thoughts pleaded with me.

Don’t fucking cry. Please, don’t fucking do it, Sinclair. Hold it in. She doesn’t need to see that shit. God, why did she have to be so perfect?

I rolled the beads between my fingers, trying to keep the tears at bay. It had been a long time since anyone had ever given me a gift, and this gift hit home for me.

Her warm fingers brushed along my jaw before she gently lifted my head to look at her. As hard as I tried to contain it, a tear worked its way down my cheek.

She cocked her head, her pretty plump lips parted, and leaned into me.

I held my breath as she placed a kiss on my cheek, taking the tear with her. I exhaled a shaky breath when she pulled away, everything within me telling me to just take the moment and kiss her lips. Tell her how sorry I was. Tell her I wasn’t worthy.

Fuck. I’m not worthy.

I can’t. I want it, but I can’t.

“Sinful,” she whispered. “Pray.”

I nodded, my throat tight, wanting to say so many things to her. Instead, the front door opened. Ashes and Stitches came into the room, ending our conversation. Quickly, I wiped at my eyes before tucking the rosary into my pocket. I glanced at our note before grabbing that, too, and stuffing it down beside the rosary. No sense in leaving it behind.

It was proof she gave a shit about me.

And that was worth saving.