INSATIABLE CRAVINGS
Insatiable Cravings - Episode 5
Subtitle; {Loving You Is A Loosing Game}
TAGS: Age-gap, Mafia, Forbidden Love, Drama, Tragedy and Betrayal.
Settings: United Kingdom, Russia and others.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
~ Genevieve ~
"Why not?" I grumbled like a five-year-old, begging for something she knew she shouldn't have but wanted nonetheless. "If we go together, it'll be a jolly good time."
Jules let out one of those sighs she does when she's weary of my constant pleading. However, she didn't say a word, merely continued tapping away on her laptop.
"Julianna Ember Nelsons, do not ignore me," I persisted, not ceasing my whining.
Finally, she abandoned her laptop to face me with a scolding look. Being the expert manipulator that I am, I mustered a sad pout in hopes of evoking some mercy. Her blue eyes, nearly the same shade as mine, studied my face, shifting from fatigued to contemplative.
If you weren't aware before, you should be now; my pout possesses magical qualities. These lips hold power.
"Genevieve Dove King, do not disturb me," my dearest friend mirrored my tone, prompting an eye roll from me.
Spoke too soon, I thought.
"Touché," I muttered, deliberately letting the words slip from my lips.
A smirk graced her lips as she smugly shrugged her shoulders. Jules then redirected her attention back to her laptop, evidently engrossed in whatever assignment or project she was working on.
Or perhaps she was studying ahead. She does that a lot. That's why she's a genius; there's nothing she doesn't know academically. I, on the other hand, am just moderately intelligent, and it would be preferable if I didn't loathe school.
I should probably be occupied with whatever she's working on, but my mind is preoccupied, and reading hasn't helped today.
I have a stalkér. A rather handsome one, to be precise. He has been following me at night during my infrequent night strolls, captivated by the attention he's giving me.
Yet, he refuses to reveal himself.
Two weeks of knowing he's nearby, observing me as I traverse the streets, anticipating each night for him to unveil his identity, but he never does. Every night, I assume he might reveal himself, but he doesn't.
And while I'm not particularly fond of Dominic Morozov, I must concede that the few encounters we've had from a distance weren't entirely unpleasant.
Not that they were pleasant, either.
Who am I kidding?
It's rather vexing that I miss his absurd presence, especially now that he's chosen to keep a watchful eye - his eyes on me in the darkness, literally.
Right now, all I desire is to clear my mind, expel all thoughts of Dominic, and perhaps coax him out of hiding. The only completely legal option is to head out and revel, a proposition I've been pestering my dear friend about for what seems like an eternity.
Eternity, meaning just half an hour.
Even though my mind was consumed with thoughts of him, I noticed her fingers halt their tapping, her gaze fixed on me. I lifted my eyes to meet hers and pouted once more.
Out of nowhere, a throw pillow struck my face before I could catch it, and I turned to the recipient of my ire, only to find Christian standing at the threshold of Julianna's room.
Christian is our companion, more so Jules' friend, with her acting as the intermediary between us. Hence, I can tolerate him.
Nevertheless, as Jules has been my friend for years, she discerned my intentions before I could act upon them, leaping onto me. As I sat on the bed, I collapsed onto it with her on my back, glaring at him.
"I'll have your head," I silently mouthed to him, struggling to rise without causing her harm.
"Not if I have yours first," he audaciously mouthed back, even tilting his empty head.
Apparently, I'm a chair. A remarkably comfortable one, as Jules balanced herself on me, addressing the imbecile before her, "Hey, what brings you here?"
"Yeah, shouldn't you be with your girlfriend?" I interjected spitefully, just to provoke him.
Christian scowled at me as he proceeded further into Julianna's room, seating himself at her study desk. "She's occupied."
"And why aren't you?"
Jules bounced twice on my back, eliciting an 'oww' from me. "Be quiet." She turned to her other friend. "Ignore her."
Ignore me?
Absolutely outrageous. No one ignores Genevieve King and gets away with it. I'm unignorable, and yes, I just coined a term.
The fóol, however, responded, "Wasn't planning to. What were you doing?"
"Studying."
"When are you not studying?"
"Studying isn't half bad, you know."
"I'm not saying it's bad, I'm just..."
Yeah, yeah, I wasn't going to let them carry on chatting like lovesick couples while I'm being squashed by the person I call my best mate.
Feeling a tad envious, I rolled my eyes and remarked, "Could you save this discussion for later, after you've gotten off me?" I emphasized the 'after' to make my point clear.
"If I get up, you two won't have a go at each other, right?" She inquired, peering at me. I nodded. "Promise?"
"Ugh, just get up." The retort slipped out before I could stop it. She complied, and I promptly lobbed the pillow back at him, ensuring it landed firmly.
Annoying fellow, that one.
And no, I don't despÃse him. I don't fancy him either. You could say it's more of a love-hate dynamic between us.
"What are your plans for this evening?" Christian inquired, gazing solely at Jules as if he was smitten with her.
Because he is. I know it, he knows it, she doesn't. Oh, and his girlfriend of three years doesn't knows it too.
Entertaining, isn't it?
"We're off to a party," I interjected once more. "And you?"
"I hadn't agreed to it, Vie."
"You didn't say no either. Come on, Jules, I need you there with me."
Only then did his eyes shift from her to me as he began to speak ill-adviséd words. "Don't pressure her if she doesn't wish to go, Genny."
See?
I knew it was going to be dà ft; he never says the right thing at any point. It's sort of his reputation in this little group.
My face instantly scrunched up as I eyed him, ready to pounce. And just as my cutting remark was about to be unleashed, I heard Jules speak.
"She wasn't and isn't pressuring me, Christian."
Oh, poor wounded soul. Too bad, I couldn't care less.
"Right," Christian muttered. "I'd love to join, but I have a date with Sloane."
By the way, Sloane is his girlfriend of three years. And yes, she's the one unaware that her boyfriend loves my best friend. To add to the comedy, Sloane fancies Julianna and me, and I have no intention of enlightening the two girls about what I know that they don't.
"Yeah, she informed us," Jules said. "Does that mean we'll see you on Monday then?"
"Yep, seems likely."
"Have a blast on your outing."
"Yeah, enjoy it and don't hurry back."
"She doesn't mean that."
I do.
"She does." Ah, he knows me.
✷✷✷✷
Given my knack for persuasion, I managed to talk Julianna into accompanying me to the party. Yes, I had to promise she could leave whenever she pleased.
It's been nearly two hours since our arrival, and I can tell she's thoroughly enjoying herself, just as I predicted.
Meanwhile, as I try to dance and drink Dominic out of my head, I realize I'm a bit tipsy but not having as much fun as I'd like.
Leaning towards Julie's ear to be heard over the music, I shout, "What drink do you fancy? I'll go grab it."
I need a good drink. A really strong one. And the only way to achieve that is by downing more alcoholic beverages, right?
"A cranberry mocktail, please."
I already knew she'd ask for that; I'm not sure why I even bothered asking.
"Coming right up, darling."
Running my fingers through my wavy hair, I shook my head a bit to add more volume as I navigated through the crowd of dancing revellers to the bar.
Resting my arms on the counter, I placed my order and waited for it to be ready. I left a few notes on the counter, uncertain of the exact amount, and departed.
Another half hour and many drinks later, I still wasn't as intoxicated as I desired, as he lingered on my mind. Or perhaps, I'm not a lightweight.
Admittedly, I'm fóolish for letting him dominate my thoughts, making it all about him. He wields that much influence.
Breaking away from Julie's shoulders, I ceased dancing and leaned down to tell her something. "I'll be back."
"Where are you off to?" She clutched my hands as if I'd just declared I wanted to throw myself off a clÃff. Her face glistened under the colourful strobing lights, betraying a sense of unease I could name as anxiety. "We don't need more drinks."
We?
"I know, I want to go to the loo. I'll be back in a tick." I explained, letting her release my arms of her own accord. "Give me one minute, Jules, I'll be right back."
She gave me a slight nod of approval with a sigh. I turned on my heel, heading towards the bathroom, the path elongated by all the drunken louts surrounding the room.
I halted in my tracks when a lad abruptly stopped walking right in front of me. In his hands were two cups as he grinned an odd smile in my direction, causing me to check my surroundings to see if it was aimed at me specifically.
Spoiler alert, it was.
"Hey, princess."
Firstly, eww. Secondly, how dare he address me in such a manner?
"Here, I got you a drink." It was abundantly clear he didn't notice the grimace on my face, or he deliberately chose to ignore it.
Whichever the case, I felt a strong urge to vomit. No, seriously, I genuinely felt like regurgitating all the drinks I'd had.
My eyes scanned him from top to bottom, sending a silent message to my brain to ignore him to avoid my mother's ire. Being the dutiful daughter that I am, I attempted to sidestep him, but he didn't seem to be getting the unspoken message I was conveying.
F+ck off.
Or perhaps he's clueless about reading body language, so I explored another avenue. "I don't want it."
"Why not, princess?"
If he calls me that again, I swear I'll plúck out his tongue and feed it to a stray dog.
"Because I've had enough drinks." I politely responded. "Now, may I go?"
"What's your name? You're s+xy as héll."
Fuming at his refusal to move out of my way, I shoved past him as he inched closer with the drinks still in his hands.
Who knows what's in there?
That's how people get druggéd, and over my dead body would I become one of the victims. No way, not me.
The imbécile's expression then shifted from whatever it was to angér. "What the héck is your problem?"
Ignore him.
Just keep walking.
"Huh?!" His shout caused me to pause momentarily, yearning to do something reprehensible to him. Yet, I refrained and continued onward. "You must think you're too good to ignore someone like me." His hand gripped my wrist, pulling me towards him.
Thankfully, my reflexes were swift enough to jerk him out of my space before delivering a slap to his cheek.
"What did you just do?" He questioned me, as if he wasn't the one feeling the sting of my blow.
"I don't know, why don't you tell me?"
My mother, sister, and even father always warned me that my tongue was too sharp and would likely land me in trouble one day.
Today might be that day, even though it's already night.
The oaf lunged at me, pushing me against the wall, one of his hands—suddenly and strangely empty of a cup—encircling my waist.
Why isn't múrder legal again?
Rolling my eyes, I did the one thing that was entirely legal - kneed him in the gróin. The loud music and the inordinate number of inebriated people prevented onlookers from noticing what was happening.
Or they were choosing to ignore it. It wouldn't surprise me if that were the case.
The persistent bastà rd was adamant about getting whatever he wanted from me, as he swiftly recovered and chased after me, grabbing hold of me.
Now, this is the tricky part. I'm a girl who can defend herself, but lacking substantial fighting skills, I wasn't well-prepared for the punches and kicks. I hadn't practised self-defence rigorously enough to combat his aggressive hand-grabbing and pulling.
By now, we were almost at the secluded corner between the lavatory and the main party. I tried everything, but he was far stronger than me.
Then I felt him again. His eyes on me as I struggled for freedom. Stomping hard on the idiot's foot with my sturdy boot, I turned my head to locate his hiding place.
He's here. Dominic is here, and he's watching me right now.
No, he isn't. You're merely convincing yourself.
No, he's truly here.
My back landed on the wall as the dà ft gÃt pressed himself against my body, his face inching towards mine, to, I don't know, kiss me?
Oh no, he doesn't.
Just when my palms landed on his chest to push him out of my personal space, I stepped on something that wasn't the flat surface of the floor. My eyes quickly darted to the ground, meeting with the item that made my step uneven - a knÃfe. Picking it up, I wanted to properly inspect it.
But then the nuisà nce came at me once again, and this time, I was so annoyed that I didn't give a tóss what happens.
Without realizing how dangeroús the knÃfe in my hand was, I used the same hand holding it to slap him across the face. "Don't touch me," I said for the umpteenth time since he started bothering me.
It was also then I realized a liquid on my hand. His blood stained the side of my palm and was currently dripping on the floor.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Oh, my mother will kÃll me.
I couldn't wait for him to recover from the last one before running back to Jules. She was now sitting by the bartender, having a chinwag with him.
"Let's go."
"What? Did you do something you shouldn't have?"
"What? Of course not." Subtly, I tucked the switchblade knife in my boots. "I think I danced a little bit too much, and now, my legs feel numb." I lied.
I need to get out of here. We need to leave before any more thing happens.
Jules looked doubtful but luckily didn't push it further. "Alright, let's go. I'm driving."
Sure, I don't mind.
••
When I got home, to my surprise and relief, my parents weren't home, and it was currently half past eleven.
God, whoever and wherever he was, was definitely on my side tonight. I can only hope and pray that the news of me being involved in whatever shÃte doesn't come out in the open because as unaffected as I act sometimes, my mother's words cut deep all of the times.
I quickly had a long shower with my racing mind occupied with whether or not I was being delusional about Dominic being at the club.
I felt him.
It might sound dà ft, but I really did feel him then. It was like every other night when I pretend I don't know he is somewhere in the shadows, watching me like a stalker which he is, by the way.
After I managed to clear my thoughts, I put on some comfy clothes - hoodie and shorts before heading downstairs with my Kindle. I am famished and bored.
And since the help has already retired to bed, I was left to make something for myself.
Great.
Pulling out my phone, I looked up simple meals to make on Google only to just end up confused. I then made a decision to eat fruits since I can't make anything to save my life.
There was this one time I tried making a dish. The microwave exploded, almost burning down the whole house. We did stopped using the kitchen because it had to be renovated after my messed up experiment. I was banned from ever cooking or entering the kitchen, so yeah.
Slumping on the L-shaped sofa, I picked up the remote to reduce the volume of the tally to the lowest because I always need absolute silence when reading. With my bowl of cut fruits beside me and my Kindle in my hand, I dived straight into the book.
Twenty minutes later, I finished the fruits, returned the bowl and continued reading. I was still reading when my parents walked in side by side, like the happy couple they are not.
I don't think I can remember the last time I saw them kiss. That's because I have never seen them kiss; it's always work, work and work, it's annoying. And they are always talking business even when family is involved.
Hmm, perks of being a King. So exciting, isn't it?
My Dad first noticed me. I call him that because he's more of a parent than my mother. His face wavered into a small smile. "You're still up?"
My mother's gaze trailed to me, and her eyes dimmed a tad bit. "Why are you still up?"
I just love her so much.
Retaining my frown, I raised my Kindle up in the air. "Reading."
"Have you had dinner?"
"Of course, she has had dinner." She answered for me, and it took everything not to say anything to her.
My Dad strode his way to me, sat down next to me and asked. "What are you reading?"
Blimey, I détest that question. It's downright awkward for a reader to spill the beans about the books we dive into, especially to one's parents.
Should I blurt out, "Oh, it's about this masked man who's stalkiñg a girl and sending her créepy messages. And lo and behold, they end up smitten later on." Or should I go with, "It's about this girl who just moved to a new flat atop a cliff, and starts finding roses mysteriously popping up everywhere. Courtesy of her stalkér, mind you."
They'd likely think I've gone completely bà rmy, so I put on a smile and muttered, "Romance."
Technically, it wasn't a fib, but it wasn't the full truth either.
"A hopeless romantic, eh?" He teased.
I let out a nervous chuckle and nodded slightly. "You could say that."
All of a sudden, my mother cranked up the telly's volume. I rolled my eyes and returned to my Kindle, eager to resume my reading.
"Kyle, isn't that George's lad?"
Who's George?
Glancing back at the telly, I was gobsmacked to see the dÃck from the club, looking like he'd been through the wringer, laid up in a hospital bed with a gà sh on his cheek.
I recognized that gà sh because I'd put it there, but who else had a go at him?
He looked rough as a badger's backside, and I winced watching it. The news blathered on about a róbbery he'd suffered on his way home from a mate's party.
"That's dreà dful. He looks right knackeréd." I glanced over at my mother and nearly smirked.
That's probably the only honest thing she's uttered in her life. But my smile faded when she added, "Who'd do such a thing to such a sweet lad?"
Sweet?
"Genevieve, what was that scoff for?" She snapped at me.
Did I scoff?
"I-" I began, intending to fib that it was about the book I was reading, but changed my mind. "I just reckon you shouldn't make claims you're not certain of."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You called him sweet, how can you be sure he's sweet?"
"Because I know him, Genevieve. Why would you think otherwise?"
Because he's not. He tried to force me to drink a dodgy drink and crossed boundaries I never approved of; that's far from sweet.
"See? You've got nothing to say."
Not like she'd believe me if I did. She'd likely blame me for going out and dressing in 'provocà tive' or 'misleà ding' attire. She's a top-notch mother, couldn't ask for better.
"Go to your room, right now."
Brilliant, as if I relished her company anyway.
..
A sigh escaped me as I tossed my Kindle on the bed, vexed and let down by my own mother.
She doesn't give a fig about me, or Adrianna, or even my Dad; all she wants is a picture-perfect family, which is dà ft because no family is without its faults.
Running my fingers through my hair, I picked up my scrunchie from the nightstand next to the knÃfe, tied my hair back, and picked up the switchblade.
It was a sight to behold. Engraved with something mysterious, I couldn't help but wonder who gave it to me.
Who else but Dominic?
But was he really there?
Did I conjure his presence because I was mindlessly missing him?
No, that can't be it.
He was there. I know he was, and this knife is further proof of it.
Dominic Morozov was at the club to keep an eye on me. But why won't he just show his handsome self to me?
TBC📖✍️
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