Sloth: A Standalone Forbidden Romance
Ella James
Sloth
Ella James
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
“Sloth: A Sinful Secrets Story,” by Ella James.
©2015, Ella James. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of Ella James.
Contents
Sloth
Summary
Letters
October 2, 2011
October 17, 2011
October 31, 2011
November 11, 2011
November 23, 2011
December 1, 2011
December 19, 2011
December 26, 2011
January 8, 2012
January 20, 2012
February 2, 2012
February 15, 2012
March 1, 2012
March 11, 2012
April 26, 2012
May 24, 2012
June 16, 2012
October 7, 2012
November 3, 2012
January 10, 2013
April 1, 2013
May 30, 2013
August 7, 2013
September 4, 2013
November 21, 2013
December 16, 2013
January 25, 2014
March 9, 2014
April 1, 2014
April 28, 2014
July 10, 2014
April 9, 2014
Part I
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
Part II
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
Part III
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
SIXTEEN
SEVENTEEN
EIGHTEEN
NINETEEN
TWENTY
TWENTY-ONE
TWENTY-TWO
TWENTY-THREE
TWENTY-FOUR
TWENTY-FIVE
TWENTY-SIX
TWENTY-SEVEN
TWENTY-EIGHT
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Sloth Bonus Scene
Follow Me
Also by Ella James
Sloth
This book is the first stand-alone in a collection of books, each inspired by a sin and centered on a huge secret.
sloth: disinclination to action or labor; indolence;
spiritual apathy and inactivity
Summary
Dear A. –
I am writing to express my gratitude for your gift. There are no sufficient words, but please accept my sincerest thank you.
Yours,
R.
She writes me back.
I didn’t expect that.
She tells me she’s a lover of chicken pizza and video games, a hot sorority girl with the nickname Sloth. She wants to know something about me in return. She says I owe her.
This is how she saves my life. She doesn’t even know it. We’ve never even seen each other. But I need a reason. Just one reason to continue. She becomes mine.
The anonymity is good. She doesn’t need to know me, but I need her kindness. We both live our lives: a letter here, a post card there. For three years, I escape my demons. And then one day I’m pulled back in.
I’ve resigned myself to what I know is coming. Until the girl I’m spanking gives her safe word: Sloth.
And then the lie I’m living starts to unravel.
To Jamie Davis–
For Much Slothing
Letters
October 2, 2011
Dear A. –
I am writing to express my gratitude for your gift. There are no sufficient words, but please accept my sincerest thank you.
Yours,
R.
October 17, 2011
Dear. R. ~
I hope you don’t mind me writing back. I don’t mean to be an asshole, but I guess I was a little…disappointed by your letter. I have accepted your sincere thank you and have folded it into an origami sparrow that I wear around my neck. Just kidding. I don’t wear anything around my neck except my trusty sloth necklace. Why a sloth? It’s my nickname. It suits me because I’m slow-moving, and I like to sleep. Also, sloths are fucking adorable and weird. What better combination? I promise I am not a stalker, at least not in my real life, but the truth is, I would love to hear a little bit about you.
~Sloth
October 31, 2011
Sloth -
Please don’t waste your time writing to me. I am not interested in befriending you. We are close enough already, don’t you think? In any event, have a wonderful life.
R.
November 11, 2011
R.,
Yeah, I guess so.
For what it’s worth, I’m a Georgia peach with a Final Fantasy obsession and a never-ending appetite for chicken pizza. (That’s pizza with chicken on it. FABULOUS.) I hope my Sloth-ly traits haven’t rubbed off on you too much.
Have a wonderful life yourself.
-S.
P.S. Are you male or female?
November 23, 2011
Sloth,
I am male. And surprised you had to ask.
-R.
December 1, 2011
R.-
I can’t believe you paid the postage on that. You must be a very interesting person. Interesting = weird. Remember, though, I like weird. Are you near my age? I’m 18. I turned 18 this past April, but I’m only a senior in high school. Weird, right? See…I have secrets too. I think I’ll hoard them until you cough up some of yours. You might say you owe me?
Too much?
Too soon?
Please don’t report me.
I swear, I’m not as weird as I seem on paper. I’m just bored and curious. And sealing this into an envelope now, so I don’t get tempted to throw it into the fire.
-Slothfully Yours
December 19, 2011
Sloth-
You have a fire in Georgia? Hmm. Are you anemic?
-R.
December 26, 2011
R. –
Are you inquiring about the quality of my blood? Believe me, if blood was money, I’d be king.
The fire was a bon fire. The night I wrote that letter, my friend Bentley and I went to a field party. It was cold, for here. I think like 43 degrees. Have you ever been to a field party? A kegger? A rave? I’d like to think so. Somehow I imagine you behind a desk, in a suit or something. Might I ask your age, sir?
-Sloth
P.S. Merry Christmas or Happy Hanukkah—or both!
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January 8, 2012
Sloth-
Why not a queen? You think a king is superior? How very un-feminist of you.
You might ask my age. If you did, I might or might not tell you.
Forty-five degrees is not cold. Where I am, it’s 9 today. I went outside and got icicles in my nose.
I don’t do suits. Try jeans, a ratty old jacket, and boots.
Age is just a number. My number isn’t far from yours.
I’ve been to a few house parties. Vaped a little. I don’t drink much but like vodka—top shelf.
Is that enough to pay my debt?
-R.
January 20, 2012
R. ~
Vape, you say? What is it to vape? Is it vaping? Vape-ing?
You owe me no debt. That was a rude thing for me to say. I’m sorry.
How not far from my number is yours? Are they side by side? Or a few seats away from each other? What do you do every day? Are you a wood-chopper? I am now picturing you in flannel and work boots. I think I kind of like that look.
Are you in New York? Somewhere else? Are you living with family?
I’ve got stalker tendencies, okay? So sue me.
I’m getting really tired of school. I can’t wait for college!
-Sloth
February 2, 2012
Sloth-
I am in New York state. How did you know?
This seems like the right time to reiterate my thanks. I’m sorry it was so…stiff originally. Yeah, I said stiff.
Vaping is something one does with marijuana. It’s like…smoking from a bong, but the impurities are removed via…some process. It involves a lot of heat. That’s all I know. It’s been a while.
I hope you had a good Christmas or Hanukkah and a nice New Year. Mine was…strange.
I don’t have a job right now. I’m doing what you might call regrouping. If I had a job, it wouldn’t be wood-chopping. Too tedious. I like a challenge.
R.
February 15, 2012
R.-
What does it stand for? It’s only been a few months, but I feel like I’ve known you a lot longer. I’m tired of writing to an initial. Does that make me weird?
This is not a good week for me. I probably shouldn’t be writing you at all. Bad things tend to happen to me Valentine’s week. Based on past luck, I will probably get run down by a runaway mailman after slipping this into the box.
Sigh.
Can you hear that?
It’s a loud one.
I’m going to the cemetery today. I should have gone yesterday, but I couldn’t. I don’t know why.
I hope you’re doing nothing tedious and everything challenging, and that life is shaping up the way you want.
Do you want to chat online sometime?
It’s okay if you don’t. I’m just being needy. At least that’s what my family says…
-S.
March 1, 2012
Madame Sloth-
I’m sending my letter back in time. I hope you receive it February 13, so you can utilize my expert instructions. If not, there’s always next year.
R. stands for Robert, if you insist on knowing. It’s not my favorite name, so I try not to use it often.
I heard your sigh. I thought, that sounded needy.
Kidding.
It sounded sad.
Why are you sad? I’m afraid I know the answer, and that brings me to my instructions. (I wish I didn’t know them…)
I recommend at least one shot of a top shelf vodka before getting in the car. It’s better if you have someone else to drive you. A friend, perhaps? If you’re not much of a vodka drinker, you could start with Snow Queen.
Yes, I realize you’re not “legal,” but I feel the situation should exempt you from the law. (I must insist you don’t drive yourself, though, unless you skip this step).
On the way there, be careful with your music. You have to have music of some kind. Silence isn’t recommended. Try something like The Strokes. The Stones would work, too. You want rock, and not the emo kind. Play it loud enough to drown out any thoughts. (If you drank enough Snow Queen, this will be less of an issue).
Don’t look out the windows. When I do, I feel like I’m in a music video. The kind of shit video that’s meant to be ironic when paired with a certain type of rock song. Your drive ride to the cemetery should not be imaginary music video fodder. Keep your eyes on the dash, or on the face of the person you’re with.
Wear regular clothes. Nothing dressy. This is not a funeral. (You already did that.)
If you can pick the date, go with a day that’s neither cloudy nor overly sunny. A cloudy day is just depressing, and a really sunny day seems like a slap in the face of the dead. Choose a day that’s a little sunny, with some clouds. If you can’t choose, and the day is extra sunny or rainy, consider adding another shot of vodka.
Do you have flowers or some other trinket? I should have mentioned earlier: put it in the back seat, in the floor. It’s not that important. They’ll never know you brought it. Whatever you do, don’t hold it in your arms like it’s a fucking baby.
Have your driver park you close to the grave. No walking. (The goal here is to minimize thinking time. Now that you don’t have The Strokes, you’ve got to hurry).
Get out whatever you brought, if anything, and don’t take your time walking over. Now is not the time to contemplate fate—neither yours nor that of the dead. (Note I didn’t say dead person. You are not visiting a person. You are visiting a piece of stone. Or a drawer).
Walk quickly, and put your trinket down as soon as you reach the place.
I know I just said you’re not visiting a person, but since I think you’ll want to say some words, and most people don’t talk to cement, pretend you are talking to that person on a SHIT day. You’re mad at each other. Pissed off over something stupid, like they kneed you in the— okay, not that. (They stole your favorite thong? Lost your hair brush? Blasted you in the face with hair spray? Or maybe they broke your fucking heart.)
Call them a bastard or a bitch, tell them whatever you need to say, and get going. There is no reason to stay. Trust me on this. Get out, and don’t look back.
When you make it back to the car, try to talk about whatever you were talking about on the ride over. (Hint: It needs to be everyday type of shit).
You may be tempted to go get some post-cemetery refreshments. I’d recommend against this. You don’t need to talk about what you just did.
Get back to your life. Be glad you’ve got your thong, or your heart, or whatever. Spend the afternoon or evening doing homework, or (better yet) going out somewhere. Concerts are a good choice. They’re loud, and most people are drunk. Clubs work, too. Don’t try a regular bar, but if you do, get a booth with friends. Don’t sit at the goddamned bar.
One more thing. When you go to sleep that night, be sure you’ve had some alcohol or even Xanax. If that’s not your scene, fall asleep…I don’t know. Reading. Or doing something else.
I think that’s about it.
-R.
March 11, 2012
R. –
Hot damn, that was a good list. I usually go once a month, and my once a month in March will be this week. I’m so doing all of that. Except maybe the Snow Queen. Holy expensive alcohol, batman. I want to go to your house party!
When I was ten and my sister was five, she got hit by a car while getting off the bus from school. February 14, sooo… I’m not a hearts and chocolate kind of girl.
I would gladly give her all my thongs, even if they would be way inappropriate for a thirteen-year-old. I would even take a daily hair spray blast to the face. I would give her my boyfriend (if I had one) and even give her Snow Queen vodka.
What a fabulous big sister I would be.
Seriously, though, I appreciate your list. So much.
I like the name Robert. It’s earnest.
Are you a college guy, Robert?
