42 - Perfume

"Hell is empty and all the devils are here."

― William Shakespeare, The Tempest

. . .

TW - Physical Abuse

I was crying while eating the pizza.

"Kitten." Zavier rubbed my back as I hiccuped. "Is something wrong with the pizza?"

"It's beautiful." I hiccuped again. "Teach me." "To cook?"

I nodded. "And bake. I suck at baking." I sniffled. "Try the cake."

He rubbed my back while Ashton, who was sitting across the counter, stood up and walked to where my cake was in its box.

He bought the box and kept it on the counter. He opened it.

"It's...something," Zavier muttered, looking at the messy frosting. "Did you do it with your fingers?"

I sniffled. Ashton hit the back of Zavier's head. "Shut the fuck up."

"I didn't mean it like that, kitten," Zavier said to me, kissing me on the lips softly.

I nodded. "It's okay...I haven't tasted it but it probably tastes bad." I looked around. "Where's Xerxes?"

They shared a look.

"Business," Ashton replied with an assuring smile. "Let's cut up the cake and see how much magic my little one has in her hands." He kissed my forehead and walked away to grab a knife from its stand on another counter.

He sat back down on his stool as Zavier kept the cake down on a plate with a cream spatula.

Ashton handed me the knife. I cut a small piece. Zavier took it from my hand before I could taste it.

He took a bite.

Frowned.

And then his eyes widened. "The awful frosting doesn't do it justice, kitten." "Really? Let me-"

Xerxes entered the room.

He smiled at me. "Hey, baby." He wrapped his arms around me and sat down on my stool, keeping me on his lap. I sat my head on his shoulder and then I smelled it.

Sweet-smelling perfume. I froze.

He rubbed the base of my back. "Does it hurt?" he asked softly. "I-no," I whispered.

He frowned at me. "Are you sure? You look like you're going to cry."

"I-I'm sleepy." I wiggled out of his arms. "Good night," I muttered and walked away, combing the staircase and then running inside my room, closing and locking the door.

I felt like I could still smell the perfume. Had he been with some woman? Was that why Ashton and Zavier had seemed hesitant to tell me where he was?

It made sense.

How could I expect three men to want one girl? Of course, they'd want to go somewhere else for please, too.

But...

Did he hold her as he held me? Did he call her 'little love'? I snuggled under my blankets.

I grabbed my phone and texted Georgia, one of the million unanswered texts.

I need you, Georgie. Where are you?

I needed her. I needed to know if she was safe.

Her family was bad. That much I knew. Her father was bad to her and her brother.

I kept the phone away and closed my eyes, unable to keep myself from imagining a faceless woman all over Xerxes.

Did he like it?

I knew I wasn't as good as the subs they must have had before. Maybe I needed to listen to them more and they'd not be with anyone else. Maybe I needed to follow orders better, erase my hesitation. Maybe stop being so clingy. I had been all over Zavier when I was in pain and had asked for too many chocolates.

Maybe I was irritating them. Maybe I needed to back off. I sniffled.

I could barely sleep the whole night.

. . .

I opened my eyes when I heard my phone buzz.

George Washington

I attended the call. "I hate you. Tell me you are alright."

"I fucked up." She breathed and then sobbed. "God, Olivia. I didn't know I swear I-I didn't know about this I'm so fucking sor-"

My door slammed open.

Ashton looked at me. "There was poison in the cake." Georgia was sobbing into my ear. "I didn't know."

I hung up on her and got out of bed. "What?"

"There was poison in the cake," Ashton said softly, walking closer. His eyes had lost the calmness of his eyes. "I- did we do something wrong?" He asked lowly. "Did you find out?" He gripped my upper arms, pulling me closer to him. There was murder in his eyes. "Are you just like them? Just like her?"

"Ashton wh-"

"Do you want us dead?" He asked, his hands now squeezing my upper arms brutally. "What did we do wrong? You walked so fucking fast of the kitchen. Why? Couldn't see him after you poisoned him?"

"A-Ashton I-I di-"

He threw me on the bed and walked out of the room. "Stay here if you know what's good for you."

He slammed the door shut and I heard the sound of a lock. I froze.

Not the lock, please

All I could think of was them. Hurting me and then throwing me in that janitor closet like a toy.

. . .

"Look at this. Is this your pretty little sketchbook?" Brian mocked, opening the pink sketchbook that dad had bought me. "Aw, look at this. You made butterflies." He ripped the paper off, crushed it into a ball, and threw it at my face, making his friends laugh.

"You are so pathetic." He chuckled, his eyes running over my body. "Well, only your personality is." He pushed me, a single push, which sent me tumbling down on the floor, making me hurt my elbow on the hard floor of the school hallway.

He crouched down in front of me. In his hand was my sketchbook. "Why do you even bother living? Why do your even come here, huh?"

He took a lighter out of his pocket. "Let's set this one fire, shall we? It's not like you are going to stop me."

I watched as he put my sketchbook on fire, petrified by my fear to even do anything but sob pathetically. I was pathetic. He was right.

He grabbed my hand and moved it till my wrist was right over the fire. I jerked away, he held my hand tighter. "Move one more time and I'll burn your dress off."

I sobbed, feeling my wrist burn more. It hurt so much. I couldn't breathe. When he was done. He picked me up by the collar of my dress and threw me in the janitor's closet.

He closed the door. The last thing I remembered was the sound of him locking it and then I passed out, clutching my wrist to my chest and sobbing for someone, anyone, to help me.

But I was alone.

. . .