Guilt

Chapter Three— guilt

Elle's POV

My phone buzzed late Sunday night as I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The room still smelled like stale booze from downstairs, even with the door shut. I grabbed it quick, heart racing. It was Jake. "It's done. Broke up with her over text. Told her I needed space or some bullshit. Happy now, psycho?"

I smirked in the dark, my thumb hovering over the reply. Fucker thought he could call me names after I had his balls in a vice? But I kept it cool. "Good. Delete those pics she sent you. All of them."

He typed back fast. "Already did. You think I'm stupid? Don't want that shit coming back on me."

Liar. But it didn't matter. I had my own copies saved—snapped quick when Roseanne wasn't looking. Tucked away in my cloud drive, password protected. For future purposes. Maybe to remind myself of how perfect her tits looked, pink nipples hard from the cool air. Or to jack off to when the craving hit hard, imagining my tongue flicking over them, making her squirm. Dark insurance, too—if Jake ever tried shit, I'd leak his cheating ass everywhere. But mostly, they were mine now. Her body, captured for my eyes only.

I expected her call after that. Tears, questions, needing her best friend to hold her. I'd rush over, wrap my arms around her, let my hands wander just enough to comfort-turn-to-heat. Press my thigh between her legs, feel her grind against me desperate for release. Whisper dirty promises in her ear: "I'll make you forget him, Rose. I'll fuck you so good you'll scream my name." But the phone stayed silent. No texts, no calls. Just the quiet hum of the fan and my pussy throbbing at the thought of her broken, ready for me to fix with my tongue buried in her wet folds.

Monday morning came too early. I woke at dawn, the house heavy with silence. Slipped out of bed and dressed like a stud—baggy jeans low on my hips, a tight black tee that hugged my small tits, no bra so my nipples poked through if it got cold. Leather jacket over it, hair slicked back. I looked tough, ready to claim what was mine. Downstairs, Mom was passed out on the couch, same as always. Her robe half-open, empty bottles scattered like fallen soldiers. One was shattered near her feet, glass glinting in the weak light. She snored soft, face puffy from the vodka binge.

I sighed, guilt twisting for a second—not for her, but for leaving her like this. But fuck, she chose the bottle over me after Dad left. I cleared the mess quiet, sweeping up the broken shards with a broom, dumping the empties in the recycle bin outside. Opened all the windows wide, letting the crisp morning air rush in, chasing out the stink of regret and cheap liquor. The house breathed a little easier, but I didn't. My mind was on Roseanne, wondering if she'd cried all night, if her pussy was still sore from thinking about Jake. No—today, I'd make her see me. Touch her in ways that'd make her drip for a girl.

School was the usual chaos—lockers slamming, kids yelling about the weekend. I leaned against mine, waiting for her. A group of girls from our class clustered nearby, chattering about the holiday coming up. "Thanksgiving's gonna be lit," one said, flipping her hair. "My family's doing a big turkey thing. You coming, Elle?"

I shrugged, eyes scanning the hall. "Maybe. Depends." My voice was low, distracted. Inside, dark thoughts brewed—picturing Roseanne at my table instead, under it, her mouth on my clit while the family ate upstairs. Sucking me off quiet, her tears from the breakup mixing with my cum on her lips.

Then she appeared. Roseanne shuffled down the hall, backpack slung low, head down. My heart clenched. She looked wrecked—dark bags under her eyes, lids swollen like she'd sobbed for hours. Her hair was messy, not her usual perfect waves, and her clothes hung loose, like she didn't care. Beat up, emotionally. Fuck, what had Jake said to shatter her like that? I felt a stab of guilt, sharp and unwanted. This was my doing—blackmailing him to dump her. But it was for her own good. To free her for me. To let me own her body, break her heart open and fill it with my dark love.

"Rose!" I called, pushing off the locker. She looked up, eyes red-rimmed, and forced a weak smile. The group of girls noticed, whispering, but I ignored them.

She reached me, dropping her bag with a thud. Silent. No hello, no nothing. Just stood there, staring at the floor.

"Hey, what happened?" I asked soft, stepping closer. My hand brushed her arm, skin warm under my fingers. I wanted to pull her into a hug, press her tits against mine, feel her nipples harden from my touch. Whisper filthy comforts: "Let me lick your tears away, baby. Then lick lower till you cum."

But she pulled back a little, shaking her head. Total silence. Her lips pressed tight, like words would break her more.

"Rose, talk to me." I tried again, voice pleading now. Guilt gnawed harder. Had Jake been cruel? Told her she was shit in bed or something? That fucker. I'd make him pay extra if he had. "Is it Jake? Did something happen?"

She swallowed hard, eyes filling up again. But still, nothing. Just a shrug, like the pain was too big for words.

The bell rang, kids rushing to class. I grabbed her hand, squeezing. "Come on, we can skip first period. Talk in the bathroom or something."

She shook her head, picking up her bag. "No," she whispered finally, voice cracked. "I just... need time."

Time? Fuck that. I needed her now, broken and mine. But I nodded, watching her walk away slow. Wondered how harsh Jake's words were to leave her this mute shell. Did he call her names? Say she wasn't hot enough? I'd show her different—tie her to my bed after school, tease her clit with feathers till she begged, then fuck her with my strap till she forgot his name.

As she disappeared into the crowd, guilt mixed with hunger. This was the start. I'd wait, but not long. Soon, she'd come to me. And when she did, I'd devour her whole.

"Rose, wait—" I called, but she didn't turn.