Sins Of Her Venom
Chapter 47: Tension

Chapter 47: Tension

-Kathrine Andrews: (Song of the Chapter:

I don’t know why I did it. I don’t even like facial piercings. The thought of putting something permanent on my face, something that draws attention—it’s never appealed to me.

But every time I look at the scar on my lip in the mirror, that stupid, tiny cut, it’s like a sharp jab to my pride.

It pisses me off, especially knowing Glyndon was the one who put it there. Her slap. Her anger. Her audacity. And now, every time I see that mark, it’s her I think about.

So, I decided to cover it up. Replace the memory. Or at least, distract myself from it. A piercing felt impulsive and bold, a way to take back control.

As I said goodbye to my friends, the ache of laughter and camaraderie fading, I headed back to my room. The second I stepped inside, I froze.

She was there.

Glyndon.

Glyndon fucking Walton.

I thought she’d be asleep, tangled in her sheets, or maybe with Alex, still doing God knows what they do when I’m not around. But he wasn’t there.

She was alone, wide awake, sitting on her bed like she’d been waiting for me.

Her eyes snapped to me immediately, like a predator honing in on prey.

For a moment, I felt the weight of her gaze, heavy and searching, before it dropped to my lips.

Her expression faltered as her eyes widened slightly. I didn’t miss the subtle movement of her throat as she gulped—twice—her chest rising with a sharp inhale as she took in the piercing.

Good. Let her stare.

I ignored her, brushing past as if her reaction didn’t affect me, though I felt the heat of her eyes burning into my back.

I dropped my backpack onto the floor and began rummaging through my suitcase, searching for my pajamas.

The silence stretched between us, tense and unrelenting, until she finally pushed the blanket off her legs and stood.

I glanced at her briefly, noting the ridiculous tiny pajama shorts and tank top she was wearing—barely covering anything.

It annoyed me how naturally pretty she looked all the fucking time.

"Where were you?" she asked, her voice sharp and accusatory.

I didn’t answer.

"Where the fuck were you?" she repeated, louder this time, and before I could stop her, her hand darted out and grabbed my wrist, forcing me to turn around.

Her grip was firm, her nails digging slightly into my skin as her gaze searched my face, then dropped again to my lips.

Her brow furrowed, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something else but didn’t know how.

"Where the fuck were you?" she demanded again, her voice a little more desperate now. "And what’s that on your lip?"

I yanked my hand out of her grip and glared at her. "That is none of your business, Glyndon Walton."

I don’t even know why I’m addressing her by her full name, maybe I’m trying to remind her of who she is and that what she’s doing with me is wrong in her opinion.

And she is not supposed to be doing what she’s doing right now she is not supposed to be into me or trying to get attention or even talk to me.

She didn’t back down. Of course, she didn’t. She was relentless, stepping in front of the bathroom door just as I turned to escape.

Her body blocked the way, her stance firm and unwavering, and she looked me dead in the eye, her voice low and controlled.

"Where the fuck were you, Kathrine?" she asked, slower this time. "And what is that on your lip?"

I sighed, the weight of her persistence exhausting me. "Isn’t it obvious?" I said flatly, gesturing to it with a mock flourish. "I don’t know if you’re blind, but you might want to see a doctor for that. It’s a piercing, Glyndon. As for where I was? My whereabouts are none of your goddamn fucking business."

I stepped closer to her, close enough to smell the faint hint of whatever fruity lotion she used, close enough to watch her pupils widen as I leaned in.

Fuck she smelled good.

Fuck her for that.

My voice dropped as I added, "And don’t ever, ever try to act like my girlfriend again. You are not my girlfriend you’re not my friend you are not anyone important in my life you’re not someone that has the right over me or the right to know where I was or what I’m doing. My whereabouts are none of your fucking business. I am nothing to you and you are nothing to me."

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t move. Her defiance was written all over her face, but her body betrayed her as I grabbed her shoulders and pushed her aside.

My grip was harder than I intended, and she stumbled, losing her balance and dropping to the floor.

I know that was painful because she winced and gasped when her ass hit the floor... Hard and loud.

But I couldn’t fucking care less.

For a second, she stayed there, her palms pressed against the cold tile, her hair falling into her face. She didn’t look up at me.

I didn’t care.

I didn’t say a word.

I opened the bathroom door, stepped inside, and slammed it shut behind me.

I slammed my clothes on the sink, the fabric hitting the porcelain with a dull thud, and shoved my fingers into my hair, tugging slightly as I stared into the mirror.

My reflection glared back at me, my lips tight, my nostrils flaring with every shaky breath I took.

I was so angry.

The way she kept pushing into my life, acting like she had any right to. Acting like she was something to me.

She isn’t. She isn’t anyone. She isn’t anything.

And she will never be anything but a toy.

She doesn’t get to act jealous. She doesn’t get to act possessive over me. She doesn’t even like me—hell, I know she hates me.

I see it in her eyes every time she looks at me, that sharp, burning glare of resentment that’s always there.

But behind that hatred... I can see it. The want. The craving. The lust. The need.

And I get it.

It’s my fault. I made her like this. I made her addicted to me. I made her obsessed with me. To my touch. To my presence.

And I will keep doing what I’m doing to her. I will keep playing with her. I will keep showing her how much she wants and needs and craves my touch on her body.

I will keep showing her that no matter how much She has with her boyfriend she will never be able to fill up the gap that I made her and that I will keep making it bigger and bigger until she will never be able to ignore it.

But she doesn’t get to confuse herself. She doesn’t get to think she’s something important to me.

She doesn’t get to believe that I see her as anything more than nothing, more than a toy for vengeance.

Because she isn’t.

She’s nothing.

I exhaled sharply, shaking off the thoughts before they consumed me, and turned to the shower.

The water was hot against my skin, scalding almost, but I didn’t care.

I scrubbed quickly, washing off the day and the memory of her standing in front of me with that look in her eyes—half challenge, half desperation.

After drying off, I pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and a tiny tank top, the fabric thin enough to show the faint outline of my nipple piercings beneath.

I blow-dried my hair—it always annoyed me to sleep with it damp—and brushed my teeth with quick, aggressive strokes completely ignoring my new piercing, and how much it hurt when the toothpaste got near it.

My skincare routine, though rushed, gave me a small sense of control, and each product was applied with precision.

When I finally opened the bathroom door and stepped out, she was still there... Still up.

She hadn’t moved. She was now sitting on my bed instead of hers, her legs crossed under her, her back resting against the headboard as if she belonged there.

Her eyes followed me as I moved, her gaze heavy and impossible to ignore.

I didn’t say a word to her. I refused to acknowledge her.

Instead, I walked to my suitcase, neatly folding my towel and placing it inside before putting away the rest of my things.

My movements were deliberate, controlled, and calm, though inside, I was anything but.

When I was done, I climbed into bed, pulling the covers over myself and turning my back to her.

I didn’t care if she was still sitting there. She could sit there all night and watch me sleep for all I cared.

I closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep.

But ten minutes later, I felt it.

The shift of the mattress. The faint dip behind me.

She was moving closer.

Her body heat was suddenly there, creeping into the space between us, her presence pressing against my back like a shadow.

I could feel her, not touching me but close enough that the air between us felt charged, electric.

I kept my eyes closed, my jaw tightening as I pretended not to notice, not to care.

But my heart was racing, my breath shallow and uneven, and I hated myself for how much I noticed.

For how much I wanted to turn around, spread her legs, and push my tongue inside her little sweet pussy.

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