The Young & the Sinner: An Age-Gap Romance (The Entangled Past Series)

by V. T. Do

  He nodded. “Yes.” He reached over me for the lamp on the bedside table and clicked it off, bathing the room in darkness. “Go to sleep, Olivia. I’ll be here with you the whole night. Nothing can hurt you.”

  I snuggled in close to him. I didn’t care if it was inappropriate that I was here. I didn’t care that Mason may not think of me that way. I didn’t care about anything but being here for the rest of the night. He would keep me safe. He would keep the monster at bay. There wasn’t a doubt in my mind.

  I was somewhere between asleep and awake when I heard voices. They didn’t sound angry, but they didn’t sound happy either.

  “This wasn’t a good idea, Mason. You shouldn’t have allowed her to stay with you last night.”

  “What would you have me do? Turn her away with everything that happened yesterday? She needed to feel safe, and she obviously didn’t feel safe in her own room.”

  “Then you should have woken me up.”

  “Do you really think she would be safer with you than with me? You really think I would take advantage of her like that?” Mason sounded angry then, and I had to remind myself to stay still.

  Max didn’t say anything for a while. Then, “No, I don’t think you would have taken advantage of her. I just don’t want Olivia’s feelings for you to develop any deeper than they already have. We both know she’s infatuated with you. I can’t have you hurting her feeling in the end when you don’t return the sentiment. Because you can’t.” Max said the last part a little more forcefully.

  I wished I could go back to sleep. I wished I had gone back to sleep before Max had said that. Even with everything that had happened yesterday, I could still feel my cheeks warming because both Max and Mason knew I had feelings for Mason.

  My reaction told me that Lorenzo didn’t break my spirit like he promised he would. I would have smiled at the thought if I wasn’t feeling so horrified.

  “It won’t get that far. But I can’t just leave her alone now. I know what she’s feeling. I just want to make sure she’s okay.”

  There was a meaningful pause before Max spoke again. And when he did, I could tell he was trying to keep his emotions in check. “I get why you want to do this. I do. And I know you wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt her.”

  “Good.”

  “But can’t you see why I’m worried about her?”

  “Yes. You really do love her, don’t you?”

  “More than anything else in the world. Grace might have left her and me behind, but I don’t feel her loss as strongly as I thought I would, and it’s because Olivia is here. Taking her in and taking care of her have given me a new perspective in life. One that I was blinded to before.”

  “I know. She’ll be a part of our family forever. I won’t do anything to hurt her. I promise.”

  Max sounded resigned when he said, “Good. See that you don’t. When she wakes, can you make sure she comes down for breakfast? I’m making all of her favorites and it’s important to me that she doesn’t stay holed up in her room all day.”

  “I’ll try my best.”

  Max left, and then the room was bathed in silence. There wasn’t any way for me to go back to sleep now, but waking so soon after Max and Mason’s conversation might give me away. I stayed where I was, and then I felt Mason’s touch on my face.

  He moved a piece of hair away from my face before running a calloused finger across my cheek. And then he climbed off the bed and walked out the door.

  I opened my eyes and took in my surrounding. There was something surreal about waking up in a bed that smelled like Mason.

  I realized as I laid there that I had lied to him last night.

  He asked me not to change. He wanted me to stay as I was before Lorenzo tainted my first sexual experience with violence.

  I said I would. But I lied.

  I had changed. Everything had changed.

  The weeks following that horrible day were some of the most eventful of my life. As promised, Mason took care of all the legal issues that came along with pressing criminal charges against the son of a millionaire. Vincent Vitelli was willing to go to great lengths to protect his son.

  But Max was a powerful man who had connections all across the globe. That was one of the reasons we were able to reach a resolution so quickly. We were also able to keep this out of the media, and Mason worked his magic on everyone involved, whether it meant dealing with the cutthroat lawyers Mr. Vitelli hired to pressing charges and making sure that even with a plea deal, Lorenzo still got the terrible end of the stick.

  Unfortunately, he was only serving less than two years at a state prison, with the chance of early release for good behavior, but per the agreement drawn up, Lorenzo would be transferred to a correctional facility six hours away. I was also told he had to stay at least 250 yards away from me for the next five years and register as a sex offender for the rest of his life. Yale revoked his acceptance when Mason emailed them to inform them of what Lorenzo had done, so who knew where he would end up when he was finally released.

  Lizzie didn’t think he was punished sufficiently enough, but I was ready to put this whole thing behind me. I didn’t want to deal with Lorenzo anymore, and if I never had to see him again, I would call that a divine blessing.

  Mason had wanted to keep fighting. He thought we could make Lorenzo pay even more than he already had if we kept dragging it out in court. Max, even though he wasn’t entirely happy with the result, didn’t want to prolong the process. He didn’t want me to have to relive the worst moments of my life in front of a whole bunch of strangers.

  I was grateful for that, even if it was only a small reprieve.

  Lorenzo might be gone, but the things he did to me still occupied my mind, no matter how many times I talked about it with Dr Greene. I knew it wasn’t my fault. I knew I didn’t “ask for it,” and I knew there was something seriously wrong with Lorenzo, but it still didn’t stop making me feel dirty.

  I had been wet when he had his fingers inside of me. But I didn’t want to be, I knew that much. Dr Greene said my body’s physiological response was not the same as my psychological one. It was a natural response my body had due to the stimulation, I supposed. Still, shame coated me like a second skin, and no matter how my showers I took, it was still there.

  The bruises on my skin had faded, and I didn’t even have a physical scar to show for it, but the wound inside was still there and still very much present. And I wasn’t the only one who still felt the aftereffects of all that had happened.

  That first morning when I came down for breakfast, I made the mistake of not covering the hickey on my neck with makeup. Max had taken one look at it and almost broke down. There were times after that, where he’d looked at me with a haunted look in his eyes, and I didn’t know how to make it go away. If I thought he was overprotective before, that was nothing compared to how he was now. Max didn’t want to let me out of his sight. He took two weeks off of work to stay with me and would have continued to do so had I not urged him to go back.

  My eighteenth birthday passed by in a blur. I couldn’t even remember it, but I was told Max made my favorite meals and that there had been cake. Cake that hardly anyone touched and that we had to throw out a week later.

  Lizzie started hanging out at my house more, because I knew Max felt anxious every time I left, though I thought it was ironic, considering my assault happened right here in the living room. Not wanting to make this any harder on him then it had been, Lizzie and I spent the summer mostly at home.

  Then there was Mason.

  He always seemed to know when things had become too much for me. He was always there. And he was the one I thought about when I could feel myself slipping into that dark place.

  Max wasn’t wrong to be worried. If my attraction toward Mason was considered deep before, I don’t even have the words to describe it now. I knew a part of it was just me reacting to this traumatic event, yet another part of me realized how inevitable it was for me to fall
in deeper with Mason with each day that passed, trauma or no trauma.

  K.H. Knight’s painting came five days after the incident, and I still haven’t given it to Mason. I haven’t even opened it. But now that everything was behind us, now that we could work toward building a semi-normal existence, I wanted to give it to Mason. I wanted him to hang it proudly in his apartment. And I wanted to be there when he did.

  Summer was ending, and with only two weeks left before school started back up again, I didn’t want what had happened to be the only thing that happened to me all summer.

  It was time I took control of my life again, starting with Mason Kade.

  19

  Olivia

  I texted Mason early Sunday morning.

  Me: Hey, are you busy today?

  I felt brave just sending that text. Although we texted occasionally, it was mostly Mason who initiated the conversation, and it was mostly about him wanting to know how I felt that day. I saw him almost every day, and he still felt the need to check up on me every morning. The action was sweet, but I couldn’t tell if it meant anything more.

  It didn’t take him long to respond. The three dots showed up almost instantly, indicating that he was typing.

  Mason: No, why?

  I took a deep breath.

  Me: Can you come over? I have something to give you. And Max isn’t home. I’d much rather not spend any Sundays at home by myself.

  That was the truth. Sundays were when the memories of being held down became the strongest for me. I was assaulted on a Sunday, and though it had been bearable so far, it was only because Max was usually home with me. Today, he had to meet his assistant for a late lunch to discuss some big meeting they had early tomorrow morning.

  I didn’t tell Max how his leaving an hour ago had nearly given me a panic attack. We had been doing so well, and things were on their way to getting back to normal. I couldn’t tell him anything that might set us back.

  I looked down at my phone and realized Mason still hadn’t texted back. I sat down on the couch and tried to get over the sting of his rejection. Perhaps I was too forward. I shouldn’t have said anything. I could have given Mason the painting when he came over to visit, and now there was a chance I would have to face him after he tells me no.

  I groaned and buried my face in my palms just as my phone chimed with an incoming message.

  I peeked at the screen with one eye, and when the words finally came through, I opened my eyes and read it a second time.

  Mason: I’ll be there soon.

  Soon. He would be here soon. But how soon was soon, and did I have time to make myself look presentable?

  I hadn’t put any effort into my looks since the incident, mostly because every time I picked up a lipstick or mascara, I got the unreasonable feeling that by looking pretty, I was asking to be assaulted again. I hated that feeling more than anything else in the world. It wasn’t like I had asked Lorenzo to assault me that Sunday, when I was wearing boyfriend jeans and one of Max’s old t-shirts. And even if I had been wearing something provocative, it still wouldn’t be an invitation to be assaulted. No one had ever asked to be assaulted.

  It wasn’t my fault. I knew that. I wrote down the mantra at least twenty times each night before bed to get it through in my head, yet I still felt sick whenever I attempted to put on any makeup.

  But perhaps wanting to look pretty for Mason would be all the encouragement I needed to put that feeling behind me. After all, I got the feeling that I could prance around naked in front of Mason and he would still be a gentleman about it.

  I ran up the stairs and opened my closet. A quick glace out the window told me the sun was gone and it would rain soon, so a dress was out of the question. I put on some fitted jeans and a thin long-sleeved white t-shirt. It was casual and cute. And it didn’t make me look like I was putting in too much effort.

  By the time I got to my bathroom, my hands were trembling with nerves. I stalled by putting in some work on my long hair. Normally, I would either brush it out or pull it into a ponytail. My hair was straight enough that it didn’t require much work. But today I heated up the curling iron and started to section my hair off.

  By the time I was done, I had the soft wispy effect going, with the ends curled. I thought I looked feminine enough. And, most importantly, the whole process didn’t make me feel dirty.

  I grabbed my favorite shade of red lipstick from my makeup drawer, but I couldn’t bring myself to uncap it. My hands trembled as I stared down at the harmless little tube in my hand, only a little bigger than my thumb.

  What was I doing?

  It shouldn’t be this hard. Just uncap the lipstick and put some on. I didn’t even have to make it dark. Just a light dab here and there to give my lips some color.

  It took me three tries before I could uncap it. I caught my reflection in the mirror just as I brought the red wax to my lips.

  I frowned.

  I was crying.

  Wiping the tears away with my fingers, I let go of the tube and watched it clang into the porcelain sink, a smear of red following its trail.

  I couldn’t do it.

  I couldn’t put on makeup.

  Resigned, I grabbed the tube and threw it in the trash bin, closing my eyes and sitting down on the corner of the sink counter.

  I wasn’t sure how long I sat there. But then my phone chimed with an incoming text telling me Mason was here and my time was up. I couldn’t put on any makeup now even if I wanted to. And based on my stupid reaction to the lipstick, I knew couldn’t even if I tried.

  I checked myself in the mirror one last time to make sure my eyes were no longer red, and walked out of there. Grabbing the painting, I made my way downstairs.

  Rain splattered on the roof. I wasn’t even sure when it started raining, but it was getting even worse out than I expected.

  When I opened the front door, Mason was standing there, the hard rainfall making quite a backdrop. I indicated with my head for him to come in. When he made his way past me, I closed the door and locked it behind him.

  We were standing by the threshold of the front door, and something about going further into the house with him felt dangerous. Mason must have felt the same, because he remained standing where he was.

  “Hey,” I said, almost shyly. I wondered when I would ever be able to get rid of the shyness I always felt with him around.

  “Hey,” he answered back, his voice gruff. His blue eyes took me in, and I bit my lip, trying to stay as still as possible. He was in casual wear today, with dark jean that fitted him well, and a dark blue t-shirt that really brought out his tan skin. His dark hair was damp and messy from the rain, and I couldn’t stop staring. A strange craving stirred low in my belly, and I had the sudden desire to run my fingers through each strand of his hair.

  Would it be as soft as it looked? My fingers twitched.

  “What’s that?” He indicated toward the painting with his head.

  My smile widened. “It’s actually for you.”

  “Me?” He seemed surprised. I lifted the small painting, and he took it out of my hand. I was brimming with nerves. I shifted on my feet while he tore at the wrapping paper. When the painting came into view, the result was even more breathtaking in real life.

  “Wow,” I said. Mason shot me a weird look. I blushed and looked away. “Sorry, it’s just I hadn’t even looked at it yet. I left it unopened until now.”

  “I can see that. This is beautiful, Olivia. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. I wanted you to have some art in your apartment. I know you just got new furniture, and I wasn’t sure if you had any decorative pieces.” I shrugged, feeling my cheeks getting warm. “I bought this for you. K.H. Knight is actually my favorite local artist.”

  “Oh yeah? He’s pretty talented.”

  “Oh, we don’t know the artist’s gender. He could be a she.”

  Mason shrugged. “Well, whoever this is, they sure know their way around a brush.”
<
br />   “Do you really like it?”

  “Yes, I do, sweetheart. It’s beautiful. It’s the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me.”

  “Really?” He nodded, and I smiled wide, showing teeth and all. “I’m glad you like it.”

  Mason carefully placed the painting down on the leather recliner nearby and motioned with his head toward the kitchen. “Tea?”

  “Yeah. Tea sounds good.” Ever since that time he caught me outside Max’s door and made me tea, I couldn’t stop thinking about him whenever I made a cup.

  Mason led the way and I followed behind him. He stopped when he reached the kitchen, and I was too busy avoiding that one particular spot where Lorenzo had held me down on our way to notice.

  I bumped into his back.

  Mason turned to grab me before I could fall and I cringed, closing my eyes. “Sorry.”

  His smile was gentle when he said, “It’s alright. Come sit on the barstool. I’ll have the hot tea brewing in no time.”

  “Oh, okay.” I realized too late that it should be me making the tea, not him. I was the one who invited him over in the first place. And yet he was acting like the host. I sat there awkwardly for a second or two, debating on whether or not I should fight him for the kettle, then decided it would make the situation even more awkward than it was and relaxed a little back into my chair.

  Mason grabbed two mugs from the cabinet and placed the tea bags in them. He poured hot water in each cup, and I watched the swirl of smoke come out of them before he placed one mug in front of me. He took a seat next to me, bringing with him that unique scent of his, made even more noticeable because of the rainwater that still clung to him.

  “Thank you,” I said silently.

  “You’re welcome.”

  We sat in silence for a while, and even though I really wanted to say something to him— anything that might make me sound interesting and clever—nothing came to mind.

  Unlike me, Mason seemed quite comfortable with the silence, his broad shoulders were relaxed and his eyes focused outside through the window as the rain continued to fall.