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The Consumed Series

The Consumed Series

Author:Skyla Madi


General Romance

I knew Seth Marc was trouble the moment I laid eyes on him. His arresting presence rippled through me and I felt his chaos deep in my bones as our gazes met across the expanse of my father's gym. The alluring fighter wasn't my type with his athletic torso, long, ropy arms, and powerful fists built to destroy men weaker than him, but every fiber in my being was fixated on him. I craved him. And although I knew he was the kind of guy who left a trail of shattered hearts in his wake, I wanted him. I needed him. I had to have him. For the first time in my life, I decided to take a walk on the wild side, consequences be damned. "The Consumed Series" is created by Skyla Madi, an eGlobal Creative Publishing author.


Hey babe can't make dinner.

Going out with the boys. Don't wait up. X


I clench my phone in my fist and slide my teeth together. Great, just great. Opening my black handbag, I toss the phone inside and glance around the room, a defeated exhale on my lips. I blink, my eyes stinging with frustration. Pooling tears threaten to liquify my mascara as thick humiliation seeps through my veins. I hate him. I hate him so much.

"Excuse me, ma'am. Are you ready to order?"

I startle, my attention snapping to the young waiter at my side. He taps his pen against his notepad with his long, slender fingers, his impatience a symphony echoing in my ears. I blink at him, trying to pinpoint why his boyish face, crooked nose, and long, blond hair looks so familiar-oh. Dread hurtles through me, its sharp tendrils burrowing deep in my chest. I've seen him before. He's the waiter assigned to my table every time Blade has stood me up at this God-forsaken restaurant.

I must look pathetic doing this same old song and dance with him.

Clearing my throat, I peer down at my menu with a hum, letting the long, chocolate strands of my hair work as a curtain between us, hiding my sweltering cheeks. I make it halfway down the dinner column of the menu before my eyes blur over with unshed tears and I can no longer make out the tidy, printed words.

"Uh..." I don't blink in fear of a rogue tear dropping against the laminated paper and inhale through my nose. The blush in my cheeks burns and spreads like wildfire to the back of my neck. Clearing the heavy lump in my throat, I lift my head but avoid eye contact with the waiter. "Sorry...there's been a change of plans."

"Oh." He winces. "Again?"

My stomach plunges, but I manage a small nod. I rise to my feet and smooth my palms down the length of my short, black dress, silently praying the waiter doesn't ask me any questions. He doesn't do anything but stand there, watching, as I pull my matching black coat off the back of my chair and shrug it on over my shoulders.

Every second I spend adjusting myself to leave drags on for an eternity. God. All I want is to be invisible, so I don't have to feel his sympathetic stare on my skin.

Offering him a tight smile, I grab my handbag and walk quickly toward the exit, ignoring the mass of appraising stares as they follow me.

I suck in a sharp sip of air once I cross the threshold of the restaurant and saunter into the parking lot. The cold air is cool in my lungs and diminishes the heat of blush from my cheeks.

My slim, dark figure reflects in the paint of parked vehicles as I pass, and my heels tap in an even beat as I make my way across Salsas parking lot to my car. I hit the unlock button on my key fob with more aggression than necessary and the yellow lights on my blue sedan flash at me. With a growl, I yank the door open and slip inside.

"Damn it," I curse, slamming the door shut. "Such an asshole."

I throw my handbag into the passenger seat and grip the steering wheel with shaky hands. Tears burn in the corners of my eyes, but I don't dare let them fall. I'm not going to cry over him anymore. I refuse to.

I lean over the center console and hastily dig through the contents of my handbag until I locate my phone at the very bottom, hiding underneath a menu for the Brazilian Barbeque next door to my place of work. Unlocking my screen, I search for Blade's name in my contacts list and hit the little green phone symbol. It rings out-what a surprise-and I'm taunted by his voicemail.

"You've reached Blade. I'm not here right now, obviously. Call again later."

I don't leave a voicemail, but I do call again.

And again.

And again.

Every time I reach his voicemail, I grow angrier and angrier, until he finally picks up. I hear a lot within the first few seconds of him answering-club music, the clinking of glasses, and a sugary giggle. It's loud as if, whoever she is, is standing right beside me. I balk, my eyebrows shooting to my hairline.

"Shh. Shut up," he whispers. The giggling stops and my stomach drops like a stone in water. "Hey babe, what's up?"

What's up? His tone is calm and cool, as if the reason for my call is a casual chat and he's not about to get an ear-full from me. He threw our plans out the window at the last minute, leaving me waiting at the restaurant for him, like an idiot, for the third time in two months!

I grit my teeth against the flurry of insults at the back of my throat. If I attack him, he'll hang up and I'll never get to say my piece. "You stood me up again."

"I sent you a text."

A text. A pathetic breath of air falls from my lips and I drop my head to pinch the bridge of my nose. I'm at a loss. Why aren't I important to him? Why isn't our relationship important?


"It's not a big deal, Olivia," he cuts me off. "You and I hang out all the time."

I make a tight, offended noise in my throat. What kind of excuse is that? "And that gives you the right to stand me up?"

He huffs and I can see it now-him doing that stupid, smirky shoulder shrug he always does. "Something like that. I knew you'd understand. Love you, honey."

Blade hangs up, leaving me staring out the front windscreen. Anger boils my blood. It burns like hellfire in my veins, threatening to eat away my flesh and bone. The old me would've let it go, but I can't do that anymore. I'm done enabling his behavior. I'm done letting him think I'm always going to be here for him.

With trembling hands, I hit redial and it's immediately answered. I frown.

"Hello?" a husky, female answers, catching me off guard and sending my heart plummeting into my expensive heels.

I press a clammy palm to my painfully churning belly and stutter into the mouthpiece. I expect Blade to come to the phone and laugh, like it's a sick joke he's playing on me...

...but he doesn't.

"Who is this?" I ask, proud I manage to keep my voice calm and level.

"Georgina," she simply says, as if answering someone else's phone is the most normal thing in the world.

"Where's Blade?"

"Getting me a drink."

My nostrils flare, my chest rises and falls with a sudden, shallow breath. I clench my jaw until it aches, until my teeth threaten to shatter under the pressure. In the background, the club is raging with laughter and cheering, the music full of bass. I sit back against my seat as angry tears drip onto my cheeks. I'm glad he's out having a good time while I'm sitting alone in a dark parking lot. Finally, the veil has been lifted and I understand what everyone has been telling me since Blade and I started dating. He's not worth it. He doesn't deserve me.

"Shit. Olivia, it's not what you think," Blade blurts out, his voice coming through the earpiece in a panicked rush. "I have no idea who she is. She took my phone off the bar."

I roll my eyes, nodding my head at nothing. There's always an excuse.

"Do you think I'm dumb?" I bark into the phone.

A stupid question. Of course he does.

"No, not at all." I thin my eyes, picking up on the drunken slur in his voice. "I mean sometimes you do things that make me question-"

"Shut up!" I snap, slamming my closed fist against my car door. "I'm done with this-done with you!"

"Olivia, come on. Don't be stup-"

"I'm throwing your stuff out of my house. Collect it before the rain comes, or don't. I don't care."

"Olly, don't be like this," he pleads, calling me by the nickname my father coined the moment I was born. "You're fucking overreacting."

Huffing, I hang up and drop my hands into my lap. How's that for overreacting? I lean forward and rest my head on the steering wheel as a rogue and angry tear falls onto my bare thigh. I've been with Blade since I was seventeen. I'm twenty-three now. Twenty-three. That's six years of being miserable, feeling ashamed, and unwanted. The time I've sank into our relationship is the reason I've tried so hard to keep us together. The thought of all those wasted kills me.

It's my fault. I should've left him sooner. We were only two years into our relationship the first time he cheated on me. I was hurt and confused, but I knew what I had to do. Breaking up with him was supposed to be easy, but Blade was skilled in his repentance. He knew what to say and what to do. For a while, he twisted it and made me feel like it was my fault he strayed. I believed it wholeheartedly, until it happened again and again - even after I'd tried so hard to be the girl he wanted. I realized then it was never me. It's just who he was, who he is.

I've lost count of how many times he's betrayed me...and that makes me weak.

And pathetic.

I've clung to the fact Blade was the first boy I loved. He's all I know. I've never been with anyone else and the thought of not having him in my life terrifies me, but I know if he is in my life he'll keep destroying me, over and over, until I no longer recognize myself.

I don't want that. I don't want him.