Those
We
Trust
Victoria Ellis
Cady Verdiramo
Copyright © 2019 Victoria Ellis, Cady Verdiramo
Cruel Ink Publishing
All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
For information please contact:
Cruel Ink Publishing, LLC
Or visit:
www.authorvictoriaellis.com
ISBN:
9781099387678
Cover Illustration by creativesoul31 of 99designs.com © 2019
DEDICATION
For the two teen girls who had big dreams but incredibly short attention spans. Look at you now!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
As always, thank you to our families and friends. The support you have shown us while writing this book is so incredibly appreciated.
YOU! The reader of this book. Thank you for giving Those We Trust a chance and for supporting our writing. We hope you enjoy this!
Thank you to our editor, Chris Rhatigan. You were both prompt and easy to work with. Sorry for all of the sex scenes.
A big thank you to all of the other indie authors out there on Facebook, Twitter, and IG for the support and all the sharing, tagging, etc.
To those of you who have “liked” our Facebook author pages...you rock. Thank you for the support and for engaging with us.
Lastly, thank you to anti-anxiety meds and coffee. We couldn’t have done this without either of you. Truly.
Those
We
Trust
Victoria Ellis
Cady Verdiramo
“The senses deceive from time to time, and it is prudent never to trust wholly those who have deceived us even once.”
-Rene Descartes
Chapter One
Mara
I was infatuated with him. His tousled dark hair curled up at the bottom, while little gray strands peeked through the sides. Rugged but refined, he had a face that could stop a girl in her tracks. The commanding way he spoke turned me on. His voice would quicken, his eyes sparkled, and I pathetically hung on every word. I loved watching him in his element.
He was older than me but I had always felt like an old soul. I was regularly surrounded by my parents’ friends while growing up, and it gave me an early insight to life and what was expected as you're thrown out into the real world. At first, my infatuation was just an innocent obsession. I left notes with comments about how intelligent he was and how sexy I find that quality in a man. I took it a little too far, though, when I followed him home one afternoon. After that first glimpse into his private life, I needed my fix almost daily. I enjoyed watching him live his life outside of our everyday environment. I knew when to expect his wife to pull into their driveway. I watched him dotingly meet her at her car every afternoon to help carry in her briefcase and the takeout she brought home four nights a week. While I judged that then, I don't anymore. Adulting is hard.
From what I gathered by watching them almost every single day, she was some kind of office clerk. I didn't really care to know more about her. Her wardrobe consisted of thrift store finds and cheap costume jewelry. I couldn't believe that he got off to that. I often waited around after they settled in each night, sitting in front of the television with their food, typically watching shitty sitcoms I knew he only watched for her. He was far too brilliant to enjoy the mundane story lines and synthetic family dramedies. The couple wasn’t very physical, at least from what I could see. She was too ordinary for him. I would sit in my car for hours imagining how I would interact with him if I were her. I sure as hell wouldn't bring him home fast food nightly. I would be woman enough to make him a home-cooked meal now and then. I would sit closer to him on the sofa, I wouldn't sit across the room in a recliner. I couldn't help but wonder what he saw in her. What did she have that I lacked? Even being younger than she was, I was better educated, prettier. She just looked dull. I doubt—with her fake boobs, spray tan and bleached blonde hair—that she would even be able to string together a coherent thought.
I would have done what it took to make him happy. She didn't appreciate having such perfect husband. I was everything she wasn't and I intended on making that known.
A few weeks after I had first followed him home, I was sitting in my usual spot. I always parked across the street and a house away as to not draw suspicion. My parents’ Ford Escape was black, a perfect color to blend in with the night sky, as I often stayed watching them long after the sun fell. That particular night I had let my guard down and flipped on the overhead light to look at my latest English assignment. We had to choose a historical nonfiction novel to read and review on paper. I chose Truman Capote's, In Cold Blood. To Kill a Mockingbird was one of my all-time favorites and I knew Capote worked with Harper Lee to bring this story to fruition. I bet his wife would have never chosen such an eloquently written title. She probably had never even read a historical fiction novel. She seemed like more of a daily devotional, self-help type of woman. My piece on In Cold Blood was perfect. I wrote and rewrote it five times just to be sure I was handing in the best possible analysis, as to get my point across. I truly believed Capote should have won a Pulitzer prize for this publication, and I incorporated this into my review. When I got the grade on my assignment back, I was devastated. I couldn't let it go. Sitting in my car with the light on, staring at the red ink that took up most of the second page, I was seething. My English teacher called my ideas trite. He said Capote strayed from the actual event that took place and didn't deserve to win such a prestigious award for bending the truth.
I was so consumed with how different our thought processes were on this topic that I didn't notice a man walking up to my window, a perplexed expression on his face. My heart instantly fell out my butt. I was staring straight into the eyes of the man I had been watching so intently for so long. I was faced with the decision of a lifetime: throw my car into drive and speed off or roll down my window and face the consequences. It was too late, too awkward, I'd been made. He seemed confused at first and I couldn't think fast enough or get the right words out. The first thing that came to my paralyzed mind was to say that my car stalled.
“I’m having car troubles,” I said, looking up into his dark brown eyes, trying not to hyperventilate.
“Is that so?” His voice went up an octave. I could tell he was suspicious. “I can grab my jumper cables, give me just a second. I’ll have you on your way in no time.” He turned on his heels and I felt my face grow warm with fear.
“No! It’s okay! I called my friend. He’s on his way.” I tried to steady my nervous heartbeat by taking a deep breath.
He looked down and saw my recently graded paper in my hands. That's when he asked, "Do you not agree with my grading process? You look upset." I was instantly mortified. This man was someone I so deeply admired; the only one who ever came close to meeting my high standards.
The one I had been pining over for months was, in fact, my English teacher.
He looked cocky in that moment. I wondered if he was onto my antics. But I couldn't read where the smirk on his face originated from. Did he know I was the one leaving notes for him? Had he been watching me watch him? I so desperately wanted to know what was going on inside his beautiful
mind. If he did know, he didn't let on. He told me if my friend had any complications to let him know and he would help. He pointed to his house, his wife now on the front porch looking at us, nosy and bewildered, and told me he would be home for the remainder of the night. That was that. He walked back up his driveway and the two of them retreated inside. I waited for what seemed like hours, until their house went dark and I drove off.
I felt strange. Like it had all been a dream and I would resume my normal schedule of following him home tomorrow. I went to bed that night and dreamed the two of us were in a cozy corner of our local used bookstore. I could even smell the old pages permeating the air. The dream felt so real. We were laughing, each with a book in hand. We sipped coffee and talked about our future together. We were both free. Free of his wife, free of school, free of age limits and parents. We were happy together in our own little world. It felt so good. Then, I woke up.
I was dreading my next interaction with him. I contemplated staying home sick. Too obvious. When I walked into fourth period English, I glanced over at him to see if I could gauge his thoughts, but all he did was greet me with his devastatingly perfect smile and "Good afternoon, Mara!"
The class, which typically held my attention more than any other, seemed to drag on, and I just wanted escape. When the long-awaited bell finally rang out, I was surprised that Ryan asked me to stay behind.
"What's up, Mr. Kent?" He was Ryan to me, but I didn't want to seem disrespectful in his presence.
"Did you get home safely last night?" He glanced down at his desk for a moment too long and I swore I saw him smile.
"I did, thank you so much. I had no idea you lived in that subdivision! I'm there quite often to hangout with Jason." I wanted to cover all my bases in case he was onto me, while also secretly hoping the name of a male friend would make him jealous, even if only a little bit.
"That's funny, Mara. I've never heard of a Jason in Birch Estates and I also didn't see anyone come jump your car. Is there something going on here?"
My heart skipped a beat. I felt my face getting hot and I was certain my embarrassment was showing. I was backed into a corner and I knew it was time to let my walls down with him.
Before I could say anything, he added, "I’ve been reading the notes you leave me. It wasn't until last night, but I finally realized it was you. Would you like to explain yourself or should we go talk to guidance counselor?" His words hurt me in a way I had never imagined words could break a person. Why would we go to a guidance counselor? He finally knew how I felt about him and I knew he could feel the same way about me. Maybe not now, but eventually he could. I’d thought about this so many times; he was a smart man. He could get over me being his student. The bond we shared was emotional, raw, and so special. We enjoyed history, intellectual conversations. I had seen his book collection, I knew what he read, knew what he liked, and I knew he knew love knows no bounds.
I didn't even know how to respond so I stared at him in disbelief, visibly hurt, my eyes stinging at the corners. Maybe I was wrong, maybe he was just too consumed with his work, a true professional. He was too good for me. I spun around on my heels and walked out, letting the door slam to emphasize my emotions. I walked down the empty hallway, everyone had already made it to their fifth period classes. I shoved my English book into my locker trying not to sob and just as I pulled out my books for the class I was late for, Ryan came up behind me and turned me around to face him.
"I wasn't meaning to be harsh with you, Mara. But this kind of thing could get out of hand. Your notes are so flattering and I am oddly happy it's you leaving them for me. I just didn't know how to express how I'm feeling. I know this isn't conventional but I am deeply fascinated by you."
His last comment sent me over the edge. I wanted him badly. I wanted to read books together, to discuss them, I wanted to talk literature over coffee before class, I wanted to share my innermost thoughts with him. I wanted to converse with a man on my level instead of boys my age. He leaned toward me and put his hand at the base of my neck. I wasn't ready for anything physical, that wasn't what I had in mind. Maybe after we formed our emotional bond, but I could fuck anyone I wanted. I just knew I wouldn't find the connection I had with Ryan with anyone else. Guys my age only wanted one thing and I wasn’t interested in giving it away so easily. I had always known I wanted, needed, for that to be a special moment in my life. The girls I went to school with were so proud of their sexual endeavors, flaunting around in their skin tight yoga pants and crop tops, telling everyone who they gave a blow job over the weekend and how many guys they had sex with, like they should win an award or something. I wasn’t into that.
That was the moment I had been patiently waiting for. A moment I was worried wouldn’t come after the debacle in front of his house the other night. But it was finally confirmed. He wanted it just as badly as I did, maybe even more. The way he looked at me sent shivers throughout my entire body. Jesus Christ, he was perfect. I took him in. His dark-eyed gaze staring back at me, his long legs, slender torso and slightly shaggy brown hair. He smelled like something I couldn’t put my finger on but it was enticing. Clean and sharp like a masculine bottle of aftershave. Of course I was physically attracted to him, but I longed just to be in his presence, to get to know the real Ryan, the Ryan that his wife got to be with each night. I craved getting a glimpse into his mind, what he liked, what he didn’t like, his future goals, ambitions, what made him tick. I wanted to know where he grew up, was he close with his parents? I just wanted him.
And he wanted me too.
He drew in closer to me, looking me up and down. I wondered what he was thinking but I couldn’t ask him. Someone came over the speaker system and I jumped and pushed him away just as another student rounded the corner. I could tell the girl, who started walking toward us, thought it was weird for the two of us to be alone together at my locker standing so closely. I couldn't handle this today. I had a test I was late for and if Ryan was who I thought he was, he would wait.
The next day came quickly. Once again after class, Ryan asked me to stay, and I could tell my classmates were catching on. Two of the girls exchanged a look as they walked out. I was worried someone would say something and that everything could be stopped before it even started. I couldn’t have Ryan messing this up for us—our future depended on the secret we shared together.
I approached Ryan's desk. He beckoned me to come closer, and I did. Just as I rounded the corner of his desk, he grabbed me around the waist with such force and pulled me onto his lap. He took my head in his hands and started kissing me. I immediately pulled away.
"Ryan, what are you doing?" I yelled, shocked that he thought it was okay to force himself on me.
"This is what you want isn't it? The notes, sitting outside my house, lying to me about your car breaking down, watching me. You want me. I want you. I will make sure no one finds out if you let me have you."
Let him have me? What the fuck was going on here? I was not something to be had. He sounded like the boys in class.
"Ryan, this isn't what I want. I thought you were different. It isn't always about fucking for Christ sake. Is this all you want me for? I thought we could have conversations, be adults, share our mutual interests and goals with each other.”
"You are such a fucking tease. Don't act like you don't want this."
But I didn’t want this. I wasn’t just acting like it. I knew I certainly did not want this. Would I have PTSD? How would I tell my friends, my parents? What if he raped me? I needed to get away from him. This was not the man I thought I was writing well-versed prose on cute stationary to. This man wasn’t a man. He was a monster. These thoughts circulated through my mind as I struggled to be free of his hands.
Ryan pushed me up against his desk, hands in my hair, tongue down my throat. I was trying to push him off of me, to get out of this nightmare I created myself, but I couldn't. He was too strong. He unzipped his pants and he was visibly aroused even though I was fighting
for him to let me go. In a weird way, I think this turned him on even more. I’ve read books about serial killers that get off on women being petrified, begging for their lives during their final moments. Just as he pushed my skirt up, the assistant principal walked in and Ryan shoved me backwards and screamed, "What are you doing, Mara?!"
I wanted to die and truthfully, I could have. The principal called the cops and my parents and Ryan was told to stay in his classroom for questioning while I was brought to the main office. The cops showed up at the same time my parents walked through the door. My father had a blank expression on his face, but I noticed his fists were clenched; my mother grabbed me, sobbing, asking what happened. I told them everything, every single tiny detail leading up to that final moment of being caught. Saying it all out loud made me sound fucking insane. Why was I sitting outside his house every single day? Why would I make assumptions about his wife and think I was better than her? I don’t even know the poor woman. Right at that moment, I certainly didn’t envy her. It was like Ryan was a drug and I was so damn high I couldn’t see straight. I didn’t even want to imagine what would have happened if the assistant principal hadn't walked in. That Ryan tried forcing himself inside of me showed me that I really had no idea who he truly was. I’m not proud to admit that I also blamed myself in those moments. Had I led him on? Was this my fault? I felt I was just an innocent admirer looking to be his companion, to share common interests. One truth sat deep in my stomach and made me so nauseous I was dizzy: if I had never wrote those notes and been stupid enough to get caught by him, we wouldn’t be in this mess.
I glanced out the window just in time to see two officers escorting Ryan out of the school in handcuffs.
Those We Trust Page 1
