Chapter 5

5

PHIX, Ryan Oakes - Underneath

The next day…

The family home feels different now. It’s like it’s holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. Like it’s waiting for my mom to get home from her work day and bake one of her famous casseroles in the oven that hasn’t been touched since that night.

Since the accident.

The silence is thick and oppressive as I lay here. As if the walls themselves know what Caius and I have done. My skin feels too tight, my thoughts too loud, and I can’t escape the images flashing through my mind—the blood, the fear, the look in Caius’s eyes as he watched me pierce my skin with the blade of his knife.

Like he liked it. Got off on it.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should be horrified, disgusted, repulsed by what we did in that forest. And I am, I think. But there’s also this part of me that enjoyed it. There’s something dark and twisted that coils in my stomach as the visions replay in my head. A sick sort of thrill that won’t go away no matter how much I try to push it down. I even spent hours in the shower last night, scrubbing my skin raw like it would make me feel better. Like it would cleanse me of the sins we have committed.

But it didn’t.

It’s like I’m teetering on the edge of something new, and I don’t know if I want to fall or if I’m already too far gone to stop.

I can feel the heat from Caius as he lays beside me. Always so close. His presence wraps around me, suffocating and comforting all at once. My body reacts to him in ways I don’t understand. Ways that it’s never reacted to any of the other guys I was with before him. My heart races whenever he’s near me, a mix of fear and something that makes me feel like I’m coming apart at the seams.

The morning sun is peering in through the broken blinds. I can’t bring myself to look at him, but I can feel his eyes on me. It’s like he’s waiting for something, waiting for me to say or do something. But what? I don’t even know what the hell I’m supposed to feel anymore. My hands won’t stop shaking, and I can still feel the ghost of his knife in my grip. The way the handle felt cold and heavy, the way the blade sliced through flesh like it was nothing.

“Tatum,” Caius’s voice is low, almost a whisper, but it cuts through the chaos in my mind, sharp and clear. “Look at me.”

I don’t want to. I want to run, hide, and pretend that none of this is real. But I can’t. I can’t escape him, can’t escape what we did. Slowly, I turn to face him. My heart rate increases, and my breath comes in short, shallow bursts as I meet his gaze.

His eyes are dark, intense, and they pin me in place like a starving predator watching its prey. He looks at me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters. When we were younger, I may have given anything to have him look at me that way. Like he’d go through hell to protect me like my friends older brothers would them. But I never got that. All I got was the cruel and cold side of him, and now that I find myself face to face with this version of my stepbrother, I wish I could go back.

Back to his bullying. His hatred. Because all of the pain he caused me was easier to accept than what I’m left with.

But I can’t. There is no going back, there is only going forward, and that’s what terrifies me.

“You did good,” he says, his voice soft but with an edge that sends a shiver down my spine. “You proved that you’re mine.”

His words should make me recoil, should make me sick, but instead, they send a thrill through me, a dark, twisted excitement that I don’t understand or want to accept. I hate this. I hate myself for feeling this way, but I can’t stop. I’m drawn to him like a moth to a goddamn flame, knowing that he will lead me to my end, but still unable to stay away.

“I…” My voice cracks, and I swallow hard, trying to steady myself, but it’s no use. I’m shaking, my whole body trembling as I try to find the words to make sense of the chaos in my mind. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

He sits up and reaches his hands out to cup my cheeks. His touch is warm and firm, grounding me in a way that instantly seems to silence every thought spinning through my head. I should push him away, should run as far and as fast as I can, but I don’t. I can’t . Instead, I lean into his touch, my eyes fluttering shut as I use the silence his touch provides to try to make sense of the storm raging inside me.

“Nothing is wrong with you. Don’t you see that?” he whispers. His voice is soothing, almost tender, but there’s still a hint of darkness beneath it. “This is who you are. Who we are.”

I want to deny it, want to scream that he’s wrong that I’m not like him. But the words won’t come. Because deep down, I know he’s right. There’s a darkness in me, a part of me that craves the things we did tonight, that finds a sick sort of pleasure in the fear, the violence, the blood. It scares me, but it’s also intoxicating, like a drug I can’t quit, no matter how much I want to.

“I’m scared,” I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper, the words torn from me like a confession.

“I know,” he says, his thumb brushing over my cheek, his touch soft but commanding, like he knows I won’t pull away. “But you don’t need to be. It’s not like you’re alone. I’m here, and I’ll take care of you.” he adds with a devious smirk.

I know it’s fucked up, but I can’t help but cling to him. To his words. He’s the only solid thing in this swirling vortex of fear and confusion, the only thing that makes sense, even if everything about this is wrong.

“Caius…” I don’t know what I’m asking for or what I need, but his name is a plea on my lips, a desperate whisper that betrays just how lost I really am.

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pulls me closer, his arms wrapping around me, holding me against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, a comforting rhythm that I latch onto, my fingers clutching at his shirt as if he’s the only thing keeping me from falling apart.

And maybe he is. Maybe that’s the scariest part of all.

He tilts my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “Here,” he adds as he reaches for the small baggy of cocaine on his nightstand and dumps a small amount onto his hand. He holds it out to me, flat in his palm, and the world narrows down to that tiny, perfect mound. My breath catches, and I lean in, my nose brushing against his skin as I close the distance.

The coke hits my nostril, sharp and immediate, and I inhale, deep and slow, letting it burn its way up into my head. My eyes flutter shut just as Caius takes a hit himself. In the darkness, the world seems to be spinning around me, and when I open them again, everything is brighter, clearer. My body feels like it’s humming, every nerve alive and on fire. I can taste the bitterness in the back of my throat and feel the rush as it slams into my brain, sending a shockwave through me.

I glance up at Caius just as his hand returns to cup my face, and I kiss his palm, slow and deliberate, tasting the salt of his skin mixed with the remnants of the cocaine. He smirks down at me, and I can see it in his eyes—he’s just as high, just as caught up in this moment as I am. And I know he’s got more planned for us tonight, something darker, something dangerous. And I’m ready.

I’m always ready when it’s with him.

The intensity in his eyes steals the breath from my lungs as I take his finger into my mouth. Sucking and lapping my tongue around it. There’s something raw and primal in his gaze, making my heart race and my blood pound violently in my veins. It’s a mirror of the same desire flowing through me. A hunger for him, despite how wrong I know it is.

“I need you, Tatum,” he says, his voice low and rough, like he’s barely holding himself together. “I fucking need you with me, in this, in fucking everything.”

His words send a jolt of electricity through me, a spark that ignites something deep inside, something I didn’t even know was there. It terrifies me, but it also draws me in, pulls me closer to him, like I’m being dragged into the darkness by some invisible force. And maybe I am. Maybe that’s exactly what this is—an inevitable descent into something I can’t control, can’t escape.

But right now, I don’t want to escape. I don’t want to fight it. I want to lose myself in him, in this moment, in the twisted, fucked-up connection we share. Because even though it scares me, it’s also the only thing that feels real right now.

It’s the only thing I have left.

I don’t know who moves first. I don’t know if it’s him or me, but suddenly his lips are on mine, hot and demanding, and everything else falls away. It’s like a dam breaking, a flood of emotion and need that sweeps me under, drowning out everything but the feel of him, the taste of him, the way his hands grip my hips like he can’t get enough.

I respond without thinking, my hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper, as if I can somehow merge with him, become one with the darkness that’s been clawing at the edges of my mind. His kiss is rough, almost punishing, but I don’t care. I need this, need him, need to feel something other than the fear and grief that’s been eating away at me.

“Tatum,” he growls, his voice rough and low, sending a jolt of electricity straight through me. I shift, straddling him, the sheets falling away as I press my body against his. The cut on my arm stings with the movement, a sharp reminder of last night, but I don’t care. I break the kiss and lean down, my lips brushing against his ear, and I whisper, “I’m yours, Caius. Only yours.”

Something snaps in him, and suddenly, he’s on top of me, flipping us with a speed that leaves me breathless. His weight pins me down, his hands rough as they skim over my body, and I can feel the desperation in his touch.

His mouth is on mine, brutal and demanding, and I kiss him back with equal ferocity, needing him to feel what I’m feeling. Every nerve in my body is on fire, the coke amplifying everything. My hands find their way back to his hair, tugging, pulling, trying to ground myself as he presses me into the mattress, his body a solid, overwhelming presence above me.

When he breaks the kiss, he’s breathing hard, his eyes wild as they rake over me. “Why’d you do it?” he asks, his voice tight, almost choked. He’s looking at the bandage on my arm, his fingers tracing the edge, and there’s something in his gaze that makes my heart clench.

“You wanted me to,” I reply, my voice trembling but steady. “Because you’re all I have left. Because we only have each other,”

He doesn’t say anything, but I can see the storm brewing in his eyes, the conflict raging inside him. He’s angry—angry that I hurt myself, angry that he wanted it, angry that he wants me so much—and it all pours out in the way he moves, the way he claims me. Then, without warning, he’s kissing me again, harder this time, like he’s trying to erase the pain, the doubt, with his mouth. His hands are everywhere, rough and demanding, and I let him take what he needs, my body arching into his touch, desperate for the connection and release that only he can give me.

His hands slide under my shirt, rough and demanding, his touch searing against my skin, a soft moan escaping my lips. It’s too much and not enough all at once, a dizzying whirl of sensation that makes my head spin and my body tremble with a need I don’t fully understand.

He moves down my body, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake, and when he reaches my arm, he pauses, his breath hot against the bandage. For a moment, he just stares at it, but then he pulls it off, tossing it to the floor. His fingers hover over the cut softly, and then he presses his lips to it, a soft, almost reverent kiss that makes my heart stutter in my chest.

Then he’s back up, his mouth crashing into mine as he pushes into me, the suddenness of it stealing my breath. It’s rough, almost violent, but it’s exactly what I need, what we both need. There’s no gentleness, no holding back, just raw, unfiltered need driving us.

The pain from my arm mixes with the pleasure, creating a heady, intoxicating blend that makes my head spin. He reaches between us, pulling his cock from his boxers. He swirls the swollen head around my pussy, causing a soft moan to slip from my lips.

“Fuck, Tatum,” he growls against my lips, his voice raw, filled with a dark, dangerous hunger that sends shivers down my spine. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

I don’t answer, can’t answer, because his mouth is on mine again, devouring me like he’s starving, like I’m the only thing that can satisfy this insatiable hunger inside him. And maybe I am. Maybe we’re both trapped in this, bound by something dark and twisted that we can’t get enough of. With that, he slams into me. Hard and relentless, filling me with every inch of him.

“Oh, fuck!” I moan into Caius’s mouth. I wrap my legs around him, pulling him deeper, needing more, always needing more. We move together, fast and hard, the bed creaking beneath us, but nothing else exists outside of this moment, this primal, desperate need to be as close as possible.

“That's it, baby. Make those sweet sounds for me,” he groans as he slams into me again. He’s so thick. Stretching me to my limit as he pounds into me aggressively. It stings. Like he’s ripping me on the inside, but I don’t care. I want this. I need this. I need him.

His hand finds its way to my throat, and he grips it firmly as he lifts himself up to look down on me. “Look at mommy and daddy’s little princess. What would they think of you now? Hmm? How would they react if they knew their precious pride and joy was on her back, taking her big brother's cock like a good little slut?”

I don’t reply. I can’t. I can’t bring myself to think about them. Not now, not ever. All I want to think about is him. Us. And how good he makes me feel. I know to him it’s a game. I know to him this is his way of getting back at them for how they treated him, but I don’t care.

None of it matters.

“Come on my cock, Tatum,” he whispers as his grip on my throat tightens. “I want to feel your tight cunt squeezing me while I fill you with my load,”

When I finally shatter, it’s like a thousand volts of electricity surging through me, every nerve alight with the intensity of it.

“Caius─” I cry out, my nails digging into his back, and he follows right after, his body tensing above me before he collapses, spent and breathless, on top of me.

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes dark and wild, like he’s on the edge of losing control. And in that moment, I realize that I’m not just scared of him—I’m scared of what he makes me feel, scared of how much I want this, want him, even though I know it’s wrong.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl that sends a thrill of fear and excitement through me. “Tell me you belong to me.”

“I’m yours,” I whisper, the words tumbling out before I can stop them before I can think about what they mean. And the worst part is, I know it’s true. I am his. I’ve been his from the moment I let him pull me into his darkness, from the moment I made that first cut, drew that first drop of blood.

His eyes flash with something dark and triumphant, and he captures my lips in a bruising kiss, his hands gripping me tighter, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m too far gone, too deep in this to ever turn back. The line between fear and desire has blurred, and I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. All I know is that in this moment, with Caius’s hands on me, his lips claiming mine, I feel more alive than I ever have.

He’s pushing me further, drawing out something dark and twisted that’s been lurking inside me, and I’m powerless to resist. I don’t want to resist. I want to see how deep this goes, how far we can fall together. Because as terrifying as this is, it’s also intoxicating, like a drug I never knew I needed until now.

“I knew from the moment I met you that I’d be the one to ruin you. I knew you’d be mine.”

His words sink into me, carving themselves into my soul, and I know with a chilling certainty that he’s right. I am his—bound to him by the darkness we share, by the blood on our hands, by the twisted, fucked-up love that’s taken root in the depths of our broken hearts.

And as Caius leans in to claim my lips once more, I realize that I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about the fear, the guilt, the horror of what we’ve done. All I care about is this—this dark, all-consuming connection that we share, the way he makes me feel, the way he makes me forget everything else.

In this moment, I’m his. Completely and utterly his. And maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly where I’m meant to be.