Litany Of Sins

6 The Calculated Saboteur

CHAPTER 6

The Calculated Saboteur

L I L A

2012

“I am so down for a threesome,” the woman said, shrugging as if she were deciding on a pizza topping.

I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. I turned to her, my voice dripping with ice. “Well, unlike you, I am not desperate enough to jump into bed with any random guy who gives me five minutes of attention on a Saturday night.”

The woman’s face contorted with rage. “What the hell did you just say?” she demanded, wiggling out of the stranger’s grip and stepping toward me.

I did not flinch. I tilted my head, studying her. “Why the shock? The truth is usually offensive when you are not used to hearing it.”

“Excuse me?!” she shrieked, shoving my shoulder with a strong push of her hand.

I did not budge. I just looked her up and down as she scoffed at me for what I had done. “What exactly do you call this behavior right now?”

“I am a girl having a good time,” she spat, her eyes narrowed. “Which is more than I can say for a boring f*****g w***e like you.”

I gave her a slow, calm smile—the kind that usually makes people lose their minds. “It is honestly so, so, brave of you to call me names when you are the one currently half-undressed for a guy you probably met at a frat party an hour ago.” I let out a dry chuckle. “And I am the one with the problem? That is hilarious.”

Her face went from flushed to a deep, mottled crimson. “You think you are better than me?” she screeched, her voice cracking as she lunged forward again.

“Absolutely,” I responded confidently, and I saw right away that Mr. Anonymous had smirked as he lowered his head and tried to hide it.

But the other woman just pushed this time; she grabbed the collar of my shirt, her manicured nails digging into the fabric. “You are just some lonely, judgmental f*****g b***h sitting in the dark with a laptop because nobody wants to touch you!”

I let out a cold, dismissive scoff, content to stay silent and let her simmer in the rage I had stirred up. I wanted her to feel every bit of that anger; I wanted it to settle into her bones until she realized I was not at all intimidated.

She was shaking with a mix of intoxication and pure venom. “I am the one having the night of my life, and you are just absolutely nothing.” She shoved me back toward my bed, her chest heaving as she looked around for something of mine to break. “You want to talk about available? At least I am not invisible!"

I did not raise my voice; I did not have to. The air in the room felt heavy as I looked her dead in the eye. “It is fascinating, really,” I started, my voice dangerously smooth. “You are standing here with your clothes half-off in a room that is not yours, for a man who probably has not even bothered to ask your last name, and yet you are trying to lecture me on how to live?”

I let out a dry, mirthless laugh that seemed to grate on her nerves. “I am not the one seeking validation in a dorm room on a random Saturday night. If calling me boring makes you feel better about being a temporary convenience, then by all means—keep talking. But we both know who is actually losing here."

She turned toward Arlo’s cousin, still nameless to me at this point, who was pointing a trembling finger at me. “Tell her! Tell her she is a f*****g joke! Tell her you had never even looked at a boring, stuck-up f*****g b***h like her!” She turned back to me, her eyes wide and watery with rage.

I walked to the wall-phone with a chilling calm and dialed extension 1. “Security? This is Lila Rhodes in Room 81. I have two people who just barged into my room—one is half-naked—and they are causing a massive disturbance. I need them removed immediately.”

The woman did not wait. She lunged, yanking my hair back with such force I felt my neck wrench. “You f*****g b***h!” she screamed, falling right into my trap.

I did not cry out. Instead, I let a slow, triumphant smirk spread across my face, making sure Arlo’s cousin saw it. Then, I reached back, grabbed a handful of her hair, and gave it a sharp, clinical jerk. “Help! Help me! She is attacking me!” I shrieked into the receiver, making sure security heard every bit of the staged chaos.

“Stop it,” the cousin growled, finally stepping in. He hauled her back with effortless strength, her frantic clawing falling short of my face. By the time security burst through the door, I was the picture of a victim—disheveled, breathless, and terrified.

“Please,” I pleaded, my voice trembling perfectly. “I just told them they could not stay here, and do what they wanted to do just because they pleased to, and then she lost it.”

“You lying snake!” she yelled, ignoring the fact that she was still nearly topless.

The guards did not care, as one had hollered authoritatively, “Ma’am, cover up. You can not be in here causing a riot at one o’clock in the morning.”

I watched as they were escorted out for trespassing and indecency—grounds for a permanent ban I had memorized from the handbook hours ago. Just before the door closed, I caught the cousin’s eye. I did not hide it anymore; I gave him a tiny, mocking wave and mouthed the words, “Bye-bye.”

He did not look angry. He just looked back at me with a slow, dark smirk of his own, as if he had finally found someone worth playing with.

Monday brought with it the distinct, electric hum of college life. There was a peculiar kind of excitement that came with my first real Monday on campus. It felt worlds away from everything I had known in highschool.

After meeting a few classmates during my morning lectures, I spent the afternoon at a charming local café that doubled as a bistro. I tucked myself into a corner with a plate of shrimp pesto pasta and a triple-shot latte, the extra caffeine fueling me as I dove into my notes for tomorrow’s exam.

“If it is not the calculated saboteur.” I looked up to find him looming over my table, that same smug expression plastered across his annoyingly handsome face. His dark blond hair was perfectly styled today, making him look even more like the arrogant golden boy I knew he was.

Without an invitation, he pulled out the chair across from me, his warm hazel eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that would not let go. “You might have fooled the guards, sweetheart, but I saw exactly what you were doing.”

I leaned back, pressing my spine firmly against the chair and crossing my arms—a clear, physical barrier between us. I wanted my body language to scream that he was not welcome. “And I know exactly what your deal is,” I countered, mirroring his arrogant tone as best I could.

“Oh?” he mused. Without breaking eye contact, he reached out casually and plucked a piece of shrimp right off my plate with his bare fingers. He tossed it into his mouth and chewed slowly, looking entirely too comfortable. “And what exactly am I, then, sweetheart?”

I did not even flinch. I just looked at him and offered a calm, steady smile. “You are exactly what I said you were: a walking cliché who makes himself available to anyone for a single night of fun.” I shoved my plate toward him with a look of pure distaste. “And it is revolting that you think you can just help yourself to my food. I do not know you, I have no desire to know you, and I am most certainly not your sweetheart.”

I stood up, gathered my things in one swift, practiced motion, and walked away. I did not give him the satisfaction of a second glance.