Wanting What I Shouldn't

Chapter 6

   I stayed up all night.

   Thinking about him.

   Stupid Kingston.

   Eventually the night had turned to dawn, awaking my eyes with the light of day as the sun slipped through my window seat. I've been laying in my bed since the park.

   I groan to myself tiredly as I get out of my small bed. Well, it isn't exactly a bed. It's a mattress on the floor with a couple blankets.

   My eyes look around my tiny room. It couldn't be any better than a normal sized bathroom with an actual small bathroom off one wall. It held one small sink, cramped shower, and tiny toilet. But it's okay, that's all I need.

   The paint on the walls is chipped and peeling as the days go on, my pile of clothes off in the left corner of my room. My beat up mattress sat in the far right corner of my room, the blanket I have barely goes down to me feet, but I wear my socks and sweats to bed. The broken lamp plugged into the only working outlet I have in my room, my phone charger plugged into the same cover less outlet.

   Slowly making my way over to my pile of clothes and start to pick through them.

   I slip on some ripped skinny jeans and a white sweater that fell off my shoulder, revealing my black bra strap. Then pulling on some white socks and throwing my hair up into a messy bun and put my clear rimmed round glasses on. Checking myself in the mirror and smiling softly. I look cute and innocent. Besides the white bandages wrapped around my left wrist and the one that was secretly hidden. The fighter I had gone against brought a knife into the fight, he got me good in the wrist and slashed me across the side. But I took him down quickly. They don't call me the 'Swift Shadow' for nothing.

   Taking one last look in my shattered mirror I nod with a smile.

   Perfect.

   I stuff my things into my black backpack and zipped it up. Grabbing my new book off my leaning desk and quietly opening my bedroom door.

   As quietly as I can, I tiptoe down the stairs, knowing that my father was most likely home.

   After the events last night, I walked to the illegal ring hidden back in the alleyways through town. I had to blow off some steam.

   And get fucked.

   And I accomplished both. But the guy I hooked up with didn't turn me on the way Kingston did, he didn't whisper dirty things into my ear, he didn't grind himself into me while I snapped back at him. He didn't slap me anytime I said something bratty.

   He wasn't Kingston.

   So when I got home, I wrapped my cuts and then laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling as I thought of Kingston.

   The way his piercing grey eyes swirled with lust as I moved myself against him. The way he gripped my hips when I tried to walk away. The way his minty breath fanned my neck. The way he nibbled my ear teasingly.

  But also the way he looked in the sun rays. The way his black hair shown in the gentle touch of the sun. The way that smirk of his spread across his face when he watched me struggling with reaching the high books. The way he gently brushed my hip with his hand, causing that warm, new feeling to run through my veins. The way he chuckled at me.

   God I love that chuckle.

   I grab my white sneakers and yank them on, tying the laces tightly.

   My gaze drifts to the old buzzing refrigerator sitting in the run down and breaking kitchen. I debate getting something to eat, but if my father noticed anything out of place I was sure to get it.