MY STEPBROTHER'S OBSESSION

SCARLETT "f**k me harder!" My mother's screams dragged me out of sleep like nails on a chalkboard. I groaned, rubbing the exhaustion from my eyes as I sat up in bed, my body heavy with the kind of tired that never really goes away. "Yeah, that's it! Just like that. Harder! Hit me harder!" Her voice echoed through our thin apartment walls. I'm sure the neighbors two streets over could hear her. Hell, I'm sure they knew our business better than I did at this point. I rolled my eyes, dragged myself out of bed, and shuffled toward the kitchen for water. Anything to drown out the noise. Just as I twisted the cap off the bottle, I heard it, the unmistakable crash of a bed frame giving out, followed by my mother's dramatic "Oww!" Yeah. That's my life. And I know what you're thinking. Trust me, I've heard it all before. But let me take you through my story first before you judge. My life became a disaster the day I turned four. Someone once told me that we all have demons, invisible forces designed to drag us through hell and break us piece by piece. At first, I thought my demon was my mother. The constant parade of strange men. The moaning. The way her lifestyle forced me into situations no kid should face, including losing my virginity way too young just to understand what the hell all the noise was about. But she wasn't my demon. My name is Scarlett Hayes, daughter of Monica Hayes, and this is my story. When I said my life went to hell at four, I was being hypothetical. The real nightmare started in eighth grade when I met Damien Cross. He's my demon. The one who won't let me breathe. It all began the year I turned thirteen. Damien became my personal tormentor, and to this day, I don't know what I did to deserve it. But here's the twisted part, I still fantasize about him. Even though he's cruel. Even though he's made my life miserable. Rebecca, my best friend, says it's just puberty messing with my head, making me think I need him in ways I shouldn't. But I think it's simpler than that. I'm just another stupid girl falling for a bad boy. Ugh. Even thinking about him pisses me off. Damien Cross is the son of the infamous Cross family, popular, rich, tall, devastatingly handsome. He rolls up to school in a limo with his crew of bouncer-sized friends: Blake, Carter, Jaxon, and Easton. He's every girl's dream bad boy, the kind romance novels are written about. The kind that breaks your heart but makes you believe you can fix him. Spoiler alert: you can't. Damien is a bad boy. Always has been. Always will be. He flirts with a different girl every day like he's changing underwear, and somehow, they all think they'll be the one to tame him. Idiots. Let's fast forward to today. I was sitting in my usual spot on the school field, earbuds in, letting Afrobeat drown out the memory of my mother's morning performance. The warm sun kissed my skin, and for a moment, I felt almost peaceful. Then a shadow blocked the light. I looked up to find Damien standing over me, that infuriating smirk plastered across his face. Here we go again. He was either here to bully me or humiliate me, those were his only two modes. But today, I wasn't running. I was done being his punching bag. Done letting Ivy fight my battles. I rolled my eyes. "What do you want this time, Damien?" I stared at him, watching his lips move but hearing nothing through my music. He must've realized because he yanked one earbud out. "I'm talking to you, pup," he said, his tone unreadable. I braced myself for the usual, being shoved, insulted, laughed at. But he didn't move. He just stood there, his eyes slowly trailing down to my thighs. That smirk deepened. My stomach twisted. "Damien, what do you want?" I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice. "You've really been playing hard to get," he said, his grin turning wolfish. There was something different in his expression, something darker, more suggestive. This wasn't his usual bullying routine. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not playing anything," I said flatly. He raised an eyebrow, disbelief flashing across his face. "Come on. Don't act innocent. Rumor has it you scream my name in the girls' bathroom." My blood turned to ice. I scoffed, forcing myself to look unaffected even though my heart was pounding. That only happened once. Once. After walking in on my mom with some random guy in our living room, I came to school so wound up I couldn't think straight. I locked myself in a bathroom stall and… handled it. But I didn't realize how loud I'd been until I got called to the principal's office. The rumors spread like wildfire after that. "That was a long time ago," I shot back. "And I'll never have anything to do with you." "I love it when you lie to yourself, pumpkin." He reached out and brushed his fingers along my cheek, the touch so gentle it made my skin burn. I jerked back. "Look, I'm done with this conversation." I shoved my books into my bag and started to stand, but his hand clamped down on my wrist. He leaned in close, his breath warm against my ear. "No need to leave. I'll see myself out." Then, just like that, he let go and walked back to his friends, who were laughing like hyenas as he approached. Boys. Were they seriously placing bets on me? Before I could spiral further, two cold hands covered my eyes. "Ivy, I know it's you," I said, smiling despite myself. "Hey there, red hair." She plopped down beside me, grinning. Then her eyes narrowed. "I just saw Damien leaving. What did that asshole want this time? Did he touch you? Because I swear to God, " "He came for something different today," I said, cutting her off. "Different how? Tell me so I can go punch him in his perfect face." "Girl, relax." I grabbed her wrist and pulled her back down. "It's not that serious." She stared at me expectantly. "I love hearing about unserious things. Spill." I hesitated. "I think… he wants me. Like, as one of his conquests." Ivy blinked. "Girl, are you okay?" "What? Yes." "You were just smiling." I touched my face, horrified. Was I? How could I be smiling about Damian treating me like another notch on his bedpost? Maybe it was the bad boy effect. Or maybe I was losing my damn mind. Damien Cross is a jerk. He should be the last person I'm thinking about. Ivy leaned in, her grin turning wicked. "Or maybe you're just horny and need to get laid by a bad boy." "Ew! That's disgusting. I thought we were both Team Anti-Damien." "Who said anything about Damien? I'm talking about Liam. The janitor's son. I've seen the way you look at him." I groaned. She wasn't wrong. I did need to get laid before I completely lost it. I'd hooked up with Liam twice, and honestly? It was exactly what I needed. No strings, no drama. But I cut things off six months ago when he started talking about making things official. I don't do relationships. My mom taught me that lesson early: s*x without strings is the only way to avoid getting hurt. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. The dismissal bell rang, snapping me out of my thoughts. I packed up my stuff and walked back to class with Ivy, who spent the entire walk listing a thousand reasons why I should give Liam another shot. His name is Liam, by the way. And yeah, maybe she had a point. But as we walked, I couldn't stop thinking about the way Damien had looked at me. The way his fingers had felt against my skin. Maybe Ivy was wrong. Maybe my real problem wasn't that I needed to get laid. Maybe it was that I wanted the one person I absolutely shouldn't.