Tortured Sinner by Tessa James

Johnny - 20

How am I going to make this work?

I’ve been doing everything I can to avoid her, and now I’m quite literally being forced to be around her.

I’m going to ruin everything.

Each time I look at her, my hand twitches in its attempt to reach out to tuck her dark brown hair behind her ear. My gaze trails from her eyes down her delicate jawline, onto her perfectly plush lips. I don’t allow myself to go any lower, her body is enough to make my heart pound out of my chest.

It’s only a couple months.

I’ve done crazier things in my life, what’s one more?

“Okay, then. We should make a schedule.” She flips open her notebook and pulls out a pen. “Coordinate when we’ll be meeting.”

How can I possibly give her my availability when I have no fucking clue when Franklin will be requiring my services? He doesn’t exactly give me much notice, and if I keep him waiting, there is always a punishment of some kind.

But what’s the penalty with Claire? She already thinks I hate her, and I can only imagine she feels something similar toward me.

It’s one thing to ignore her and treat her badly, but wrecking whatever plans she has with her education would be the nail in my coffin.

“I’m free whenever.” The words that leave my mouth are both true and a lie, but only time will tell which one it is.

She stops writing and glares at me. “Let’s take this day by day then.” Claire sighs and bites at her lip. “This evening? Six-ish? Are you free?”

My phone hasn’t gone off all day, and as of right now, I don’t foresee any issues with then. Things are always subject to change, though. I had planned on doing some recon on my package location situation, but that can wait.

It’s not the brightest idea to blow off this impossible quest Franklin has thrown at me, but I can forfeit sleep to do that later. I’ll figure out a way to do everything, even if it spreads me super fucking thin.

“Yeah, that works.”

She nods. “Okay. We’ll meet in the courtyard, deal?”

For some stupid fucking reason, I extend my hand.

Even more surprising, she takes it into hers.

“Deal,” I say while I battle the distracting yet incredible softness of her skin against mine.

* * *

The rest of the day goes by in a blur, my mind shifting in and out of the many things I need to be doing. I have homework to complete and a package to find, but everything seems unimportant compared to this six o’clock study date.

Why am I nervous? Why do I care? She already hates me. And honestly, that’s a good thing. Then maybe she won’t start to feel the way I do about her, and we’ll be able to maintain distance from each other outside of our obligations. She’ll be safe that way. From me, my world, and whatever danger comes with being a part of my life.

I have self-control! Why am I struggling so fucking much with this?

It’s just studying. Tutoring. Whatever you want to call it. She’s doing a job. And together, we’re completing an assignment that everyone else in the class has to.

“You all right, kid?” Bram nudges my shoulder.

I blink and take in the bright fluorescent lighting in his café. “Yeah.”

“You going to order anything?” He stands there waiting for me to stop being such an idiot.

“Coffee, to go. And um…”

“Did you bump your head too hard last time?” He places his hands on the counter and stares at me.

“No, I mean maybe. I don’t know.” I run my fingers through my hair. “I’ve got this study thing with Claire.” I let out a breath. “What does she usually get?”

A wide grin spreads across Bram’s old wrinkly face. “I’ve got you covered.”

Thankfully she comes in here enough that Bram probably has a decent grasp on the kind of stuff she likes. He’s thorough that way, paying attention to what his regulars order.

He pulls two paper cups out and fills them to the top, putting a dash of cinnamon into each of them. He strolls over to the bakery area and grabs two blueberry old-fashioned donuts from the case.

“You’re kidding me?” I find myself sure that Bram is playing a trick on me.

He shakes his head. “Nope. Trust me, I was just as shocked as you.”

The memory of Bram’s food showing up on my doorstep comes crashing in. It wasn’t that she had guessed my order correctly, it was that she mixed up mine with hers. She probably had ordered for herself, too, and gotten mine plain, but swapped them on accident.

It shouldn’t matter that we share such a very simple thing in common, but somehow, it makes me feel that much closer to this fascinating girl I can’t seem to get out of my head.

It’s hard to believe that she wasn’t put in my path for some higher reason.

But it’s all for nothing, because I can’t pursue her. I can’t entertain a reality where I selfishly go after something I truly want. I’d be risking too much, and that wouldn’t be fair to her.

“On the house, I insist.” Bram shoves the rolled-up takeout bag toward me. “She’s a special one, don’t mess it up.”

“It’s not like that. It’s strictly professional.”

“Then why are you nervous?” Bram’s never been the type of guy to sugar-coat shit or beat around the bush.

He’s the closest thing to family that I have, and I’m not sure I would have made it this far in life without him. He’s aware I’ve gotten myself tangled into a dangerous mess, but he somehow still has faith that I’ll find a way out of it. It kills me that I have to keep secrets from him, but the less he knows, the better. I wouldn’t put it past him to storm over to Franklin’s place of business and give him an earful. People like Franklin can’t be reasoned with though, not the way Bram would expect, and attempting to do so would only put Bram’s life in danger.

I keep him in the dark to protect him.

Right now, though, he can see straight through my smokescreen.

I roll my eyes and grab the coffees from the counter. “See you later, old man.” I make my way toward the exit.

He calls out across the moderately busy crowd. “I want an invite to the wedding.”

I keep walking, not entertaining his antics anymore.

Claire may be absolutely perfect in my eyes, but I’m a broken shell of a man and I would never allow myself to ruin her with my tortured soul.

She deserves someone kind and thoughtful and chivalrous, someone who is there for her at all times, who treats her with every single ounce of respect and never lets her down. Someone who appreciates her beauty and handles her with the utmost admiration.

Not someone like me. Not an unreliable, hotheaded asshole. Not me.

I belong in hell, and she belongs in heaven.

I punch in the code to gain access to our complex and stroll across the courtyard, approaching her from behind.

She has her back to me, headphones covering her ears, completely lost in whatever she’s writing down frantically onto her notebook. She’s this piece of art that shouldn’t be touched.

She’s everything and I am nothing.

The moment expires when my shadow casts over her shoulder, distracting her from what she’s doing.

She tugs the headphones down and quickly snaps her book shut. “Hey.” Her gaze falls on the stuff in my hands.

I hold one of the cups out to her. “Here.” I motion to the spot next to her. “Do you mind?”

“No, of course not.” She pops the lid to let some of the heat from her coffee escape. “Is that…?” Claire stares at the floating specks in her drink.

A sudden rush of panic courses through me. Did Bram set me up? Did he give me the wrong order on purpose to make a fool of me? Was that his plan all along?

How would that make any sense? I’m being an irrational idiot.

“How’d you know?” She glances over at me.

“Bram.” I plop the bag between us on the table. “I hope he got it right.”

Claire opens the sack and peers inside. “You like these, too?”

“Mmhm.”

“Interesting.” She hesitates before pulling one out. “Thanks.” She takes a bite and covers her mouth while she chews.

I stare like a fucking idiot and have to force myself to look away. How can someone make a normal function so attractive?

I distract myself with the other donut, focusing my attention on anything except how pretty she is up close. What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm a teenager all over again, smitten with this girl who's way too good for me.

“Have you had a chance to read the assignment requirements yet? I figure we should start there before we get into the whole tutoring thing.” She fumbles through her backpack to pull out the packet our teacher had given us earlier.

“Uh.”

"I'm not surprised. Here." She holds it out to me. "It's a three-part opinion piece. Basically, we read the text, then write a discussion paper on what we think the author meant, how we interpreted it, and then compare and contrast between the viewpoints. It's incredibly straightforward but will require you to actually pick up a book and put in a little effort."

A part of me takes offense to her last statement, but considering my track record, she’s well within her rights to make these kinds of assumptions about me.

I've only shown up for two of the classes I have with her, and I was late both times. I'm not exactly setting a model student example.

Old Johnny would be disappointed in new me.

But old me was the one who decided to sign me up for this fucking nightmare I'm currently living. He's not allowed to hold judgment based on the mess he got me roped into.

“That’s fair.”

“I’ve already read this book, so I’ll be doing a re-read. Do you want to get yours done on your own or together?” Claire’s bright blue eyes burn a hole through me.

Of course, I should do it alone, without her. Far, far, far away from where she is. Keeping as much distance as humanly possible between us. I should only be around her when it’s absolutely necessary. When there is no other choice.

At least, that’s what my brain is urging me to do.

But somehow, my mouth opens and something else entirely comes out. “Together works for me.” The self-control I thought I had fails me completely.

“Okay.” She slides the book across the table. “Here. It’s a fairly quick one. You can go ahead and get started while I finish something else. Read the first three chapters and then we can discuss once you’re done.” She pauses. “Unless you’re in a hurry.”

I shake my head, reaching out to latch onto the book but accidentally landing on her hand instead. “Not at all.”

Her phone buzzes on the table, and when I glance down, I settle my sights on a text message from Griffin. The same name from the nightmare she had in my bed, where she was begging him to leave her alone. The one I saw on her phone the next morning when she had charged it in my kitchen. Could that also be the person who was screaming at her over the phone not too long ago?

She pushes the button on the side and the screen turns black. Not even two seconds later, it lights up again. Three more alerts this time.

“You need to get that?” I ask her, trying to keep my voice calm.

It’s clear this person isn’t a welcomed part of her life with how she keeps blowing them off.

“No.”

The device goes off again, this time a guy’s face appears across the whole thing. He gave up on texting and is now calling her.

She hits the ignore button twice, but he keeps at it.

“I’ll be right back.” She hops up from the table and rushes a few feet away.

I shouldn’t impose, but I can’t help listening in to the conversation, at least the one side of it that I can make out.

“Griffin, you have to leave me alone. Seriously. This isn’t healthy.” She stands with her back to me, her shoulders tense and her entire body rigid.

How can one person have this effect on her over the phone?

“Suicide isn’t something to joke about.” She sounds annoyed. “The next time you mention it I’m calling the cops to do a welfare check on you.”

I continue to watch her shift her weight back and forth nervously.

“Stop calling me. I’m trying to move on with my life here, you should do the same.” She doesn’t bother waiting for a response, she simply ends the call and flicks the button on the side to silence anything else that may come through.

Claire takes a steadying breath before turning toward me.

I shift my own attention to the book in my hand to avoid coming across like a total creep. “Everything okay?”

She forces a toothless smile. “Yep.”

“Was that your boyfriend?” I shouldn’t ask, but my mind and mouth seem to have a communication issue I’m struggling to deal with.

Claire’s jaw tightens. “Ex.”

I let out a puff of air I didn’t realize I was holding. Why would it matter either way? She’s out of my league regardless of her relationship status.

“Does he live around here?” I continue to probe where I obviously shouldn’t. It’s none of my business, but I’d like to know if some psycho is going to show up and cause trouble.

This guy doesn’t seem to understand boundaries.

“No.” She puts her phone face down on the table. “He’s back home.”

“Where’s that?” Why can’t I just shut up?

“East Coast.”

Oh. He’s really far away then. Which means she is, too.

“What brought you out here?” I have this strong overwhelming desire to know every single detail about her.

“Life changes.” She tilts her head to glance at me and then shifts back to the blank page in front of her. “Long story short, my dad got an unexpected new job, and I couldn’t continue to stay there…financial reasons. So now I'm here, living at my mom's, two thousand miles away from where I grew up, basically starting completely over."

“Wait, Beth is your mom?”

“By birth, yeah. I guess so.” She faces me again, this time, curiosity filling her features. “You know her?”

"Not well, but a decent amount. She's always been nice to me. Pretty sure she was already here when I moved in. And that was ten years ago. She and a few of the other residents are flight attendants. They come and go randomly, often leaving for weeks at a time."

She lets out a sort of sad laugh. “Wow, well, you officially have a better relationship with her than I do.”

“I’m sorry.” The two words slip out like everything else I can’t seem to keep contained. It’s one of the many apologies she deserves from me but the only one I’m willing to give her right now. There’s still the need to keep up a wedge shoved between us to eliminate any danger I might pose.

“It’s fine.” She’s not very good at lying.

“When was the last time you saw her?”

Claire picks at the eraser on her pencil. “Eighteen years ago.”

“How old are you?” The math suddenly adds up in my head.

“Almost nineteen.” The tone of her voice sends a knife through my heart.

I'm not sure about her story, or why her mom made the choice to leave her daughter behind, but I do understand the impact losing a mother can have on a person.

I want to tell her this, to share that I can comprehend a bit of what she’s going through. But doing so would open up an injury that I’ve still never properly recovered from, and I’m not in a position to spiral out of control once I dive back down that rabbit hole.

“Anyway. Enough about me.” She taps the book. “Read.”