Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4418531.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Kuroshitsuji_|_Black_Butler
  Relationship:
      Sebastian_Michaelis/Ciel_Phantomhive
  Character:
      Alois_Trancy, Claude_Faustus, Maurice_Cole
  Additional Tags:
      Father/Son_Incest, Bullying, Horror, Gore, So_Spooks, High_School, Drug
      Use, Alternate_Universe, Creepy
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-07-25 Updated: 2017-07-30 Chapters: 13/? Words: 151326
****** Connected by a Wire ******
by Ritsy, SebasuchansKitten
Summary
     Surviving comfortably in society is everyone's primary goal, and for
     Sebastian Michaelis, this is no different. He forces himself to
     attend his dreary office job in order to provide for himself and his
     son, Ciel, and though the bills are never-ending and the routine is
     dull, they live normal lives in an ordinary town. But in a spur of a
     moment, things begin to spiral into chaos. Suddenly, everyone close
     to Sebastian begins to disappear into thin air, or even worse, into
     the ground. His employment is hanging by a feeble thread, and his son
     is having strange, intense abandonment issues. All things are
     connected, however, and Sebastian discovers this fact soon enough.
Notes
     Good evening, everyone! I hope you all are having a pleasant day/
     night! ^-^ So, Ritsy-Roo and I decided to post another collab (we've
     apparently been having new-story fever as of late) and we're really
     excited for this one. We've been working on this for a while, and our
     anticipation was so great that we just had to post it. Like our other
     collaboration, he will be taking over Ciel's role, and I'll be
     managing Sebastian. We'll put their names in each chapter so you'll
     know who is speaking. So we hope you enjoy! ^-^
***** Strained Sebastian *****
                When I was in high school, I never imagined that I would have
this job.
                Sure, maybe I was going through my own little midlife crisis,
and perhaps my aged brain was stuck in the somber state of wondering what might
be and regretting all of the opportunities I missed out on, but after being the
star quarterback and recalling the stack of scholarships I had received at the
end of my secondary schooling, I would have never dreamt that I'd be stuck in
this dump.
                Multiple phones ringing at once echoed off the walls, along
with people answering and repeating the same monotone greeting over and over
again. The soft sound of clicking could be heard from each separate cubicle;
sometimes the never-ending typing was enough to drive someone mad. I found my
eyes flicking up to the wall in front of me frequently, only to be disappointed
to find that time wasn't passing as fast as I hoped.
                Mondays were the worst days, specifically because they were our
busiest days. After closing the office for the weekend, you could guarantee
there would be at least twenty fucknuts who could've called on Thursday or
Friday, but chose to wait until Monday because their oxygen-deprived brains
worked like that. And to add to my own and my coworkers' suffering, our boss
was always exceptionally pissed off and less tolerant on Mondays; probably due
to the fucknuts, so he made our lives a living hell on top of the hell we were
already experiencing.
                I suppose at this point, it would proper to introduce myself.
My name is Sebastian Michaelis; I’m a thirty-two year old male, and to sum my
life up in a few words, I’m stuck between juggling a job, a son, and a personal
life, something that I don’t really have anymore. I’m not very old – at least,
in my opinion I’m not – yet I no longer have as many friends as I used to, and
I’m lucky if I get time to relax. My family isn’t dirt poor, but we’re not
extremely well off, either, and, considering that my son is already in high
school and his hobbies are starting to broaden, it’s my responsibility to make
enough money for him to embrace his passions. Though, with all of the stress I
had been piling on myself, I hoped that grey hairs wouldn’t start sprouting
from my scalp; I dreaded the day when my inky hair was no longer natural,
rather, artificially dyed.
                My fingers rose to my collar and awkwardly adjusted the black
tie around my neck, a small cough sounding from my throat in response. Even
though I worked an office job, our dress code still had to be as proper as
possible, which for me consisted of black slacks, suit jacket, tie, and a white
shirt. Why we had to dress up like a monkey to answer phone calls and type
reports, I didn't know, but it bugged the shit out of me. As a man who enjoys
the outdoors and kicking back with a beer as often as I'm able, t-shirts and
jeans go as well together as peanut butter and jelly for me. I hated suits, I
hated ties, I hated loafers, and I definitely hated being on a computer and
phone all day when I could be hiking or playing basketball.
                I leaned back in my chair and huffed, my hands quickly rolling
up the cuffs on my shirt so my arms could breathe. They may make me wear a
ridiculous outfit to work, but they certainly couldn't stop me from getting
comfortable once I was in my cubicle, and I did exactly that. As soon as I got
to my office in the morning, the jacket came off and became a decoration for
the back of my chair, the long sleeves on my shirt got rolled up, and the
choking device around my throat was loosened until my lungs were able to suck
in a breath.
                The sudden sharp tone of my office phone ringing startled me,
and I cracked my knuckles before I picked up the receiver. "Good morning, you
have reached United Trust Insurance, this is Sebastian Michaelis speaking, and
how may I be of service?"
                "Yeah, I-I have a bone to pick with your company," an elderly
lady squeaked, and I rolled my eyes. I wished I could say that I didn't receive
these kinds of calls often, but I did, unfortunately. As someone who works with
and knows insurance companies well, I was fully aware that their only goal was
to screw people over and steal all the money that they could in the process.
Did I like fucking up somebody's life and snatching all their money away? No,
and I refused to do so. Whenever I answered calls like these, I let someone
else handle the issue so I didn't have to assume a money-grubbing savage
position. Did I wish I could stop insurance companies from being so corrupt? Of
course I did, and I hated working at this place; but something has to pay the
bills.
                "What seems to be the problem, Ma'am?"
                "I tell ya, I'm about sick and tired of waiting so long. I just
got in an accident four months ago, I'm still banged up and trying to figure
out what to do about my medical bills, and I asked if I'd have a change in
policy. You guys asked for a copy of the police report to figure out if my
policy is going to change, so I gave it to you bastards a month ago and I still
haven't gotten a call."
                Whoa,I thought, my eyes widening as I reclined back. Granny's
got guts. "I apologise for the wait, Ma'am. Unfortunately this isn't my area of
expertise, so I'm going to direct you to a customer service representative, all
right?"
                "Now, wait just a damn-"
                I heard a soft clickas I cut her off by putting her on hold,
and then I promptly dialed the three-digit extension that belonged to customer
service. As feisty as she was, I couldn't help but feel bad for the old hag. It
wasn't her fault that she got into an accident, (or maybe it was) but she sure
as hell didn't deserve to be fucked by the big scary insurance monsters,
especially after whatever injuries she acquired.
                Lacing my fingers together, I put my hands behind my head and
sighed. Why couldn't I have just gone to college?
                "Hey, hey, hey, it's Mr. Michae-lis," I heard a voice
enunciate, and I turned my head to see my friend Bardroy standing in the
doorway, a box of doughnuts in his hands. "I got the goods," he continued,
gesturing down at the pastries.
                "Raspberry filled?" I questioned, scooting my chair back to
give him some more room. He set the box down on my desk and flipped the lid
open, his hands immediately grabbing a glazed doughnut on top.
                "Of course," Bard said, his voice muffled as he took a huge
bite out of the sugary delight. "Wouldn't want to disappoint my favorite
cellmate."
                I chuckled at the comment and helped myself to one of the
treats, my eyelids closing and my ocular organs practically rolling back into
my skull from the sheer ecstasy of the raspberry cream hitting my desiccated
tongue.
                "This is the shit," I groaned pleasantly, my teeth going in for
another helping. "This is definitely the best part of working in this
hellhole."
                "Tell me about it," Bard agreed, scarfing down the last piece
of his doughnut before licking his fingers. "So, what are your plans tonight?
Wanna meet at the court and shoot some hoops? I wanted to play some football
but Eliot field isn't open yet."
                I shook my head, grabbing a napkin off the corner of my desk
and setting my half-eaten pastry down on its surface. "Can't. It's Monday. I'll
probably have to help Ciel with his homework."
                "Oh right," Bard hummed, leaning against the wall and crossing
one leg over the other. "How's the kid doing in school?"
                "Straight A's," I answered, slowly swiveling in my chair from
left to right in my usual bored fashion. "But he still needs help with his
homework from time to time. Now that he's in high school his teachers aren't as
forgiving as they used to be."
                "I remember being fresh meat," Bard sighed as he reminisced.
"Got beat up all the time, it really blew. But then again, I did a lot of ass
kicking when I was a senior, too."
                "I never got beat up as a freshman," I shrugged, and my friend
snorted.
                "That's because you had all the jocks licking your ass the
entire time you were in high school. Handsome, sporty, the star of the school
from ninth grade until twelfth, all the girls wanted you inside them, yet only
one girl managed to make that wish come true."
                I frowned at the comment, propping my elbow up on my armrest
and laying my head in my palm. "Those were the good days, eh?"
                "Good for you, better for me," Bard scoffed, and he walked over
to my desk and collected the box in his hands. "High school sucked, this job
sucks. You're lucky you have Ciel, he's a reason for you to keep carrying on."
                "Hey, you have a reason to carry on, too," I stated, wagging a
finger at him. "Who else would bring me doughnuts every morning?"
                My friend rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue. "Have a good
day, Sebastian."
                I watched him walk away with a solemn expression, and I could
hear his voice echo throughout other cubicles as he offered the rest of our
coworkers breakfast pastries. My heart went out to my long-term buddy, for I
had known him since we were young boys, and I could tell that he wasn't doing
so hot. His blond hair seemed to be shaggier than normal, and the scruffy
shadow on his face and his sunken eyes made him appear as if he hadn't slept
for days. Bardroy was a tall lad, but he looked shorter as of late because his
typical straight posture was now hunched over and crooked. To put it simply, he
was a mess.
                Like Bard, I had stayed with my high school sweetheart for
quite a while after school ended, but our relationship eventually crumbled. His
did not, however, and he and his girlfriend, Mey, had been together for over
ten years. Their bond was slowly starting to wear down, though, and it was
clearly taking its toll on my closest friend.
                A million thoughts swam through my head at once as I turned my
attention back to my computer, my fingers absent-mindedly typing while my stony
eyes stared at the screen. I knew what Bard was going through right now; the
pain was still fresh in my mind even though it had been over fourteen years. I
would never forget the shock, the betrayal, the late night fights and the
miserable screams in anguish. I could clearly remember the sound of shattering
plates and snapping picture frames, the loud crashas a lamp hit the floor, the
light bulb disintegrating and scattering into dozens of pieces.
                No, I wouldn't ever be able to wash those memories away, no
matter how hard I tried. It was amazing how the head cheerleader and the
quarterback, the famous homecoming king and queen, the perfect couple who were
expected to last forever, ended up so twisted and fragmented.
                I stopped typing and covered my face with my hands, exhaling in
an exasperated manner. Maybe I am going through a midlife crisis. Lately I
hadn't been able to get my mind off of the good old days, times when my only
concerns were throwing a perfect spiral at the big game. Nowadays, I have to
worry about food, clothing, bills, and trying to support Ciel's hobbies as best
as I can.
                "That reminds me, I need to pay Ciel's violin instructor," I
murmured to myself, my eyes darting up to look at the clock.
                Only a few more hours. Then I can leave this horrible place.
 
===============================================================================
 
                Striding up to the house, my suit jacket dangling from left
arm, I couldn't help but feel irritated and exhausted at the same time. It was
hell trying to sort all of the crazy antics that took place in my mind each
day, and it was even worse having to try to manage my thoughts while dealing
with other people's problems. When I reached the door, I promptly slid my key
into the keyhole, only to feel more frustration when the damn thing got stuck.
I ended up having to jiggle the key for a few minutes before the door finally
unlocked, and, cursing under my breath and making a quick mental note to get
the lock inspected, I pushed open the dastardly door and headed inside.
                I was greeted by the sight of my son playing his violin, his
fingers quickly moving across the instrument's neck while his other hand slid
his bow fluidly. As soon as he noticed my entry, he abruptly stopped practicing
and bounced over to me with a huge beam on his face.
                "Welcome home, Daddy."
                I smiled softly at him, raising a hand to ruffle up his smooth
locks. "Hey, Ciel." After the quick greeting, I trudged through the living room
and into the kitchen, making sure to throw my suit jacket onto the couch as I
stride past. "Your tone is starting to sound a lot better."
                Upon hearing the compliment, Ciel's grin seemed to grow wider,
and he traipsed after me, his violin still in hand. "Thanks! I've been
practicing harder than ever. I'm hoping to impress Madame."
                "I think she'll be very impressed," I assured, trudging over to
the counter and picking up the mail. I flipped through the envelopes quickly,
my eyes skimming over them all. I could feel my eyebrows twitch in slight
concern when I realised that the majority of them were bills, but, deciding
that it'd be best to not push my worries onto my son, I continued with our
casual conversation. "How was school?"
                Out of my peripheral vision, I could see him look down at the
ground, his fingers plucking his violin strings in a fidgety fashion while he
rocked back on his heels. "Uhm, it was okay." Before I could ask any further
questions, he hastily changed the subject. "Did you have a good day at work?"
                I raised an eyebrow, the sudden switch of topics spiking slight
suspicion in me. In the end, though, I chose not to comment; Ciel never liked
to talk about school anyway.  "It was okay." Other than the fact that I
couldn't stop thinking about the way your mother betrayed me and crushed my
world into a pathetic piece of rubbish. I yawned and stretched my arms to the
sky, rubbing one of my shoulders in fatigue. "What sounds good for dinner?"
                "Mm," Ciel hummed, tilting his head as he mulled over the
question. He was silent for several moments, before he plopped down into a
chair and began fiddling with tuning his violin, monotonely saying "fries."
                "Fries?" I repeated, chuckling and shaking my head. It wasn't a
surprise. Ciel liked anything that would rot his body from the inside out, and
though I tried and tried to convince him to eat his vegetables, he would only
settle for the most fattening, artery-clogging, cavity-inducing junk food. But,
hey, at least he eats something, right? Though, I was going to try to persuade
him to eat something a little more filling, even if I withered away from age
before he gave in. "You may be skinny, but that doesn't mean you're healthy. I
wouldn't be surprised if your cholesterol is through the roof."
                Speaking of cholesterol, I should probably make a check-up
appointment with Ciel's doctor to make sure he isn't dying from all of the
fatty food he eats,I thought as I treaded over to the refrigerator, opening the
door and scanning its contents. I frowned when I noticed how empty it was
getting, and I had to make another mental note to remember to go grocery
shopping this weekend. I rummaged through most of the half-eaten food, and
found that there was still some hamburger, cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes left.
"I could make tacos," I suggested, hoping he would take to the idea. He had to
eat his vegetables somehow, even if they were sprinkled over some greasy meat.
                Ciel jutted his bottom lip out in a juvenile pout. "But Daddy,
fries are my favorite." He kicked at the floor for a few minutes before he
sighed in defeat and grudgingly gave in. "I guess tacos are good, as long as we
have avocados." Sticking his lip out a bit more, he muttered to himself "I'd
still prefer fries."
                I bit the inside of my lip as I gathered all of the ingredients
in my arms and gently nudged the fridge door shut with my foot. "I'll make you
fries too, all right?" I said, hoping that when dinnertime came around, it
would suffice for the lack of avocados, and he'd suck it up and eat the tacos
anyway.
                He immediately perked up and smiled brightly, setting his
violin down on the table before he flew out of his seat and threw his arms
around me in a tight hug. "Thanks, Daddy! You're the best. I love you."
                I stumbled from the impact, the food threatening to fall out of
my hands unless I regained balance. We'll see if you still think that after you
find out there's no more avocados."I, uh, love you too, Ciel," I stuttered
while I focused on keeping a careful grip on the groceries. "You can go
practice while I'm making dinner."
                "Okay," he agreed, releasing me and prancing back off to the
living room, giving me one last look while he picked up his violin before he
left to play.
                When it was finally time to sit down and eat, Ciel
unfortunately was a little more stubborn than I had hoped. He only ate one half
of a taco, yet he consumed all the fries. I asked him multiple times to eat
more tacos, but to no avail, so I eventually gave up and allowed him to eat
what he wanted. I also attempted to make several light conversations, but he
was particularly quiet, especially when I prodded about school. After we
finished dinner, Ciel sat down to watch TV while I cleaned the dishes, and the
last time I checked before I went to my room, he was still downstairs in the
living room watching TV.
                Plopping down on my bed with an exhausted sigh, I opened up the
top drawer on my nightstand and pulled out a lighter and an already rolled
joint, placing it between my lips and lighting the opposite end. Even though I
was smart and sporty in school, I wasn't the most perfect kid, and I still had
my marijuana habit from when I was a teen. I didn't smoke it so I could ravage
an entire buffet, nor did I inhale it to get higher than the ozone layer, but I
did enjoy the relaxing effects it had on my body, and the way it made me more
sensitive to touch was a plus, too, especially when my sex-deprived self
decided to crank one out.
                I leisurely began to lie down until my back was firmly pressed
against my mattress, the joint still hanging from my mouth as I continued to
inhale and then exhale the remainder through my nose. This little "ritual" of
mine had been a routine for years, and it was a normal way to end a normal day.
                And then everything changed.
***** Conniving Ciel *****
Chapter Notes
     Well, it took me two nights to write this. I hope it's good. I am
     extremely excited about this story and where it's going to go. Me and
     Kit have been fleshing it out for a while now, and we could not
     resist the temptation to post it. We have high hopes for this story,
     and it might even be one of our best. If this is anything to go on,
     writing together was the best decision I could have ever made. Kit
     inspires me, motivates me, and altogether makes me a better writer
     (perhaps because I want to impress and enthrall her).
     ANYWAY, MY LITTLE DOVES AND SWEET KITTENS. I hope you enjoy this
     chapter~ I worked really fucking hard on it to shove as much
     detailing into it as I could, although I might have gotten a little
     lazy. Hopefully it isn't lacking. Enjoy~
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Every weekday morning began exactly as it had for the past three years. At six
in the morning, the annoying cacophony of a buzzing alarm clock would fill the
room, reverberating off of the walls. The silent tenebrosity of night would
slowly begin fading, the slivers between each blade of the shutters allowing a
gentle light to filter in, swallowing up aphotic shadows. Songbirds twittered,
chirping a cheerful tune from within the plush verdigris foliage resting just
outside of the old two-story house. The room itself was spotless; the carpeting
was freshly shampooed and vacuumed, the floor completely bare of stray articles
of clothing. Everything was properly organized, a suitable space for each item
the room held. A wooden desk sat pushed up against the wall, located exactly
next to the singular window, complete with a black leather computer chair
neatly tucked beneath it. Upon the surface sat a diminutive lamp, an ancient
yet reliable desktop computer, and an individual sterling silver picture frame.
A photograph of a smirking man with raven tresses, geranium eyes, and a pale
angular face stared out, lovingly cradled within its confines. A board of wood,
nailed to the wall two feet above the desk served as a bookshelf. Each tome was
arranged alphabetically by color, author, and size, in exactly that order; a
normal person would not have been able to decipher the correlation in which
they were placed. The wall parallel to the desk contained the entryway, a
large, masterfully crafted oak door with ornate, although tarnished, metal
doorknobs. The portal was currently locked, the brass key sitting comfortably
within its designated hole. Adjacent to the door, a small vintage dresser was
placed exactly four feet from the closet door, which was pulled shut, a black
backpack hanging from its handle. Directly in front of that, pushed up and
centered against the opposite wall, the full size mattress was raised above the
ground on a dark oak frame. The head and footboard were elegantly carved with
characters from children's nursery stories and thorny vines, roses blooming
sporadically along them. A foot away from the bed was a petite night table,
made from the exact same wood as everything else in the room. Atop it was the
alarm clock, angry cerise numbers flashing the time as the buzzing pulsated
from within its miniscule speakers.
My internal clock roused me from sleep before my alarm signified the time, as
it did each morning. I lifted my dainty hand from beneath the mink comforter,
directing it to the 'off' button on the side of the clock. As soon as my
slender digit pressed into it, the infernal buzz ceased, and the numbers
discontinued blinking, settling on displaying the time in a normal manner.
Sitting up, I allowed my glacial sapphire eyes to scan my bedroom once more,
establishing that each of my belongings was in its proper place. Satisfied, I
let my lips quirk into a sardonic smile. A systemized living space meant an
organized and peaceful mind. My orbs fell upon the shelf once more, my mouth
twisting into a displeased frown. I suppose that I was beginning to amass a few
too many books, as the wood was starting to buckle and bow beneath the weight
of them. I would have to somehow reinforce the plank; such a disappointment
that was. I had assumed that the board that I had meticulously selected was of
proper sturdiness and thickness, a careless mistake on my part. A tiny hole
just beneath it caught my eye, causing my memory to recall that when we had
first purchased the wooden fixture, my father had accidentally placed it
unevenly upon the ivory wall. I had had to fix it myself whilst he was at work,
for the slight diagonal placing of it began to grate on my nerves. I refused to
inform him of his mindless blunder, for I had found it entirely too endearing.
Though the circular hole was a flaw in my perfect room, I could not bring
myself to fill or fix it; it was a reminder of the person whom was most
important to me.
Glancing at the time, which read 6:05, caused my slightly unhappy frown to
develop into a full-fledged scowl. I had wasted 5 minutes of my precious time
staring at my room. Now I would have to rush to complete my morning routine on
schedule. Sliding off of my bed, I quickly yet carefully tucked the sheet
underneath the mattress, readjusting the comforter until it lay completely
smooth. Tiny hands fluffed down feather pillows, placing them precisely at the
top of the bed. After that was complete, I walked over to my bedroom door on
graceful legs, my feet barely indenting into the plush carpeting. With a swift
twist of my wrist, the locking mechanism clicked, and I withdrew the key from
its home. My hand found purchase on the knob of the door, turning and pulling
it open. Once I had exited the room, I locked the door once more, and padded
down the hallway toward the bathroom, key in hand. With the portal shut firmly
behind me, I stripped out of my sleepwear, turning the faucet to the hottest
temperature that my skin could bear. While I let the water run and heat up, I
approached the sink, washing my hands, careful to get beneath my nails. A pea-
sized glob of toothpaste was placed upon the bristled of my dampened
toothbrush, which was then brought to my mouth. I proceeded to vigorously brush
my pearly whites and tongue, making sure to remove every speck of bacteria from
my mouth. After I deemed the moist orifice properly cleansed, I placed my
toothbrush back into the holder and entered the shower, pulling the curtain
shut.
My face was the first to be thoroughly scrubbed, leaving my flawless visage
reddened. Lathering a quarter-sized amount of shampoo between my hands, I ran
my fingers through my blae locks, rubbing the soap into my scalp. I rinsed the
suds from my wet hair before washing once more. Next came conditioner, which I
let sit in my hair for precisely five minutes as I viciously cleansed every
inch and crevice of my person. Stepping back under the stream of steaming
water, I let the liquid wash away the residue of the body wash and conditioner.
Satisfied with my cleanliness, I turned the faucet off, stepped out of the
shower, and wrapped a plush white towel around myself. Opening the cabinet
beneath the sink, I selected a coconut oil-based lotion, a hair dryer, and a
vanilla scented moisturizer and toner. In the drawer farthest to the right,
which was for my belongings, lay a wet brush, an argan oil hair treatment, and
a variety of other products.
Wiping the condensed steam from the reflective surface of the mirror, I began
the third step of my routine by toning and then moisturizing my face. I
lotioned my body with a generous helping of the coconut oil lotion, removed the
excess moisture from my tresses before running the wet brush through it, and
proceeded to blow it dry. Afterwards, I applied a small amount of the argan oil
to my hands, rubbing them together before running them through my blae locks,
giving my kitten soft hair an overall healthy shine. I daren't use too much
product, as it would look greasy and make me feel like I needed another shower.
Satisfaction filled me as I checked the time; I had finished my second and
third steps in record time. It seemed as though I would maintain my carefully
constructed schedule. Gathering up my dirty clothing, as well as the soaked
towel, I exited the bathroom, key once again gripped in hand. I stopped at the
laundry shoot, pulling the small metal door open and tossing the sullied
fabrics down the hole, which led to the basement, and subsequently, the washer
and dryer. I had no qualms about walking through the hall in the nude, as my
father always started his day at 5 in the morning and was gone from the house
by 6.
I made my way back to my bedroom, unlocking and opening the door before walking
inside. Not bothering to shut the door when I would only be exiting once more,
I glided over to my closet, pulling it ajar and glancing inside. It was not a
very sizable space, although it held my articles of clothing just fine. My
shoes were all lined neatly in rows, separated by type and color, with my dress
shoes located against the back wall of the closet. I selected a pristinely
white button up shirt, a coal vest, and a large ebony scarf that was made of a
thin, breathable fabric. I took a few steps over to the oak dresser, pulling
open the top drawer, which contained my undergarments; I took out a pair of
black briefs. The second drawer down had a collection of white, black, and navy
socks, from which I picked up a pair of white ankle socks. The bottom two
drawers contained an array of jeans, and I took my time selecting the perfect
pair. I was debating upon a pair of straight leg dark blue jeans and the acid
washed skinny jeans, though I quickly settled on the latter. After my attire
had been properly selected, I carried everything over to my bed and laid it all
out on the mattress. I dressed myself, taking care to not wrinkle my clothing;
I detested wrinkles, and would often iron all of my father's clothes to
perfection, since the man could not seem to keep anything wrinkle-free and
clean.
Wrapping the scarf around my neck twice, leaving the ends uneven, though it
bothered me immensely, I recalled that I had yet to pick out a pair of shoes
for the day. I padded back over to my closet, grabbing my black converse. What
could I say? I liked for everything that I wore to match, or at least correlate
in some way. Honestly, I would have preferred not to wear such hipster attire,
but I could not. It was currently very popular at my school, and I wanted to
blend in. I put my shoes on, tying them tightly and tucking the laces in,
before grabbing hold of my backpack and finally leaving my room. After I heard
the locking mechanism click, I withdrew the key and slid it onto a chain, which
I placed around my neck, letting the cold metal rest against my chest beneath
the white cotton of my shirt. My feet led me back into the bathroom, which
contained a full length mirror, and allowed me to make sure that my appearance
was flawless. I began studying every minor detail of my visage. Not a single
hair on my head was out of place, everything was smooth, silky, and shiny; my
heart-shaped face was lacking in any sort of blemishes or scars, and my large
sapphire eyes stood out starkly against my pale skin, outlined in long, thick
coal lashes. My gaze slid a little further down, passing my pouty pink lips,
scanning over the unevenly wrapped scarf that covers my slender neck. I take in
the untucked white dress shirt, the black vest resting atop it, the silver
buttons not resting in their corresponding holes, but laying open. My tight
acid washed jeans rode low on my hips, clinging tightly and fitting my short
legs, showing off their shape. Overall, I thought I looked quite good, and that
I would fit in with my peers.
I did not eat breakfast, as was normal for me. Instead, I left the house,
making sure to lock the front door with my spare key. I was out by the bus stop
by 7:35, which was when the public transportation should have been arriving,
although I could not make the bus driver follow a strict time schedule. He
seemed to be increasingly late as the school year dragged on; it was honestly
one of the most annoying nuisances in my life, as it constricted my schedule
and made me have to rush to my first class of the day. I did not like receiving
tardies. The bus pulled up 3 minutes late, the doors swinging open to let
myself and the few other poor saps that could not get rides from their parents
on. My bag hung loosely on my shoulder as I walked up the three steps and filed
down the aisle, my eyes spotting a thankfully empty seat. I claimed it as my
own, placing my bag next to me as a ward to any who dared try to sit with me. I
absolutely detested public transportation; it was a filthy, germ-ridden metal
death machine on wheels. Who knows when it had last been cleaned, or even if -
- and I shuddered to even think this -- it had ever been cleaned? I could not
wait to get off of this dreaded contraption; I despised the fact that I had to
ride one every day. I made a mental note to befriend a student that possessed a
car, so that I could ride to and from school with them.
It only took around ten minutes for the bus to make it to the school, setting
us free from inside only to further imprison us in the large high school. It
was time to resign myself to another tedious day.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
The first part of my day seemed to drag on; being forced to sit through
classes, with "teachers" barely familiar with the subjects in which they were
supposed to instill in us, was becoming absolute agony. I was willing to bet
that I would have been a better instructor in all subjects. I was thankful when
first lunch rolled around, the bell ringing sharply and signifying that those
of us with first lunch were finally free for 45 minutes. I made my way to my
locker at an easy pace, planning on switching out my maths textbook for my
English 3 supplies, which included The Scarlet Letter, a 5 subject notebook,
and a single ballpoint pen. I had already finished reading the book, so I found
it highly annoying that we had to read aloud during class. Shutting my locker,
I turned towards the front of the building and moved with the crowd towards the
cafeteria. I had almost reached the lunchroom, the delicious scent of all
things fattening calling me forward, my mind already forming the plan to
purchase three trays of tater tots, when I felt someone slam into my back. As I
was shoved harshly forward, my class necessities flew out of my hands and
landed heavily on the floor; I lost my balance and fell to my knees, my hands
coming out to keep my face from hitting the ground.
"Watch where you're going, faggot," one of the gaping anuses with legs barked,
laughing like a deranged hyena.
I looked up, my eyes falling upon the sickeningly pretty face of Maurice Cole.
His lips were curled into a giddy snarl as his verdigris orbs looked down upon
me like I was trash beneath his feet. "Just how I like my toys," he purred. "On
their knees."
I considered retorting, ultimately deciding that a waste of space such as
himself was not worth squandering my breath, time, and energy on. I simply let
him think that he had won, as I did every day. Maurice Cole had been bullying
me all of my life; perhaps it was because he saw me as a threat. The male had
golden, wavy locks, a cherubic face, a slender body, and in the eyes of someone
else, I suppose he could be considered beautiful. I knew for a fact that the
waif of a boy was fucking the entirety of the football team; it was why Maurice
was constantly surrounded by the brainless oafs. If the blond tart thought that
I would ever let one of those steroid-pumped sub-humans touch my person, he was
sorely mistaken. I only desired the touch of one person, and one alone.
Just as I started to get to my feet and dust myself off, the whore once again
knocked me over. This time I fell flat on my back, the wind getting knocked out
of me. Maurice placed his booted foot upon my chest, holding me down. I could
feel rage begin to coil in my stomach, my blood burning with the seething
emotion. This impudent fuck had not only dirtied my outfit by knocking me onto
the filthy floor twice, but he had the gall to put his putrid shoe on me. If I
did not possess any semblance of control, I would have snapped his bony fucking
ankle. However, because this cum-guzzling, twat-sucking, ass-munching
Thundercunt had not pushed me past my breaking point, I remained in control of
myself. If I had not known the depths of my self-control, I would have been
amazed.
"Who said you could get up?" Maurice questioned in his grating soprano. "Did
you ask your master for permission?" This brought another round of thundering
laughter from his pack of collared dogs.
I could no longer hold my tongue; I was beginning to grow tired of this blond's
stupidity. I already had to deal with one bipolar blond bitch, I did not need
two.  "Perhaps the amount of dicks being sucked into your black hole of an
asshole has left your mind addled. Or have you suffered from full blown
retardation in recent years? No one tells me what to do.
"You are not my master; you are no one's master. You are merely a hole to be
fucked when the jocks become tired of using their hands." Pausing, I took in
the deliciously mortified look on Maurice Cole's face; it had become as twisted
and hideous as he was on the inside. Turning my attention to the football
players behind him, I quirked a brow, a haughty smirk curling my lips. "If you
don't learn how to keep your fuck toy on a leash and teach him to keep his
fucking mouth shut, I will not hesitate to air the video I have of each of you
taking turns on him during the morning announcements. Do we have an
understanding?"
The jocks, seething with hate yet not being able to do anything to me for fear
that I would hold up my promise, took several steps away. One brave one took
hold of Maurice's shoulder, whose cheeks were burning with embarrassment, and
tried to pull him away. Annoyingly, he would not budge.
I sighed, my patience wearing thinner by the minute. "If you would please
remove your STD-riddled appendage from my person..." I trailed off, my icy eyes
meeting his rage-filled ones. Tension filled the air, but after a few moments,
he slowly lifted his foot away.
"This isn't over," he muttered menacingly as he began to walk away. Funny how
his words seemed like that of a petulant child as he ran with his tail tucked
between his legs.
Sitting up, I glanced down at my shirt, frowning unhappily at the foot print
left there; I would have to thoroughly sanitize this shirt when I got home.
Actually, no, I could not, absolutely not go through the rest of school in this
filthy clothing. I got to my feet, collecting my scattered belongings, and
headed straight back to my locker. I gathered everything I would need for my
homework, tossed it into my backpack haphazardly, and stomped toward the main
office. Before entering, I schooled my expression, making myself appear to be
highly upset. It was times like this that I was thankful that I could cry at
will. Starting up my water works, tears began rolling down my face, and I
entered the office. The receptionist took one look at me and I could tell that
I had her in my clutches.
"Oh, sweetheart, what happened?" She asked, concern oozing from her every pore.
"I-I..." I stutter, sniffling, before bursting into uncontrollable sobs.
"There, there," she cooed, coming around her desk and patting my shoulder. I
resisted the urge to slap her hand away, instead crying inconsolably. "What can
I do to help?"
Taking stuttering breaths, I calm myself enough to whimper. "T-take me home."
That was all the convincing she needed. This woman was weak-minded, and putty
in my hands. A few tears and I could use anyone to my advantage. She
immediately led me outside to her car, helping me into the passenger seat like
I was disabled, and then drove me home after I gave her directions. Once home,
I locked myself up inside the house, immediately ripping my backpack open and
organizing everything. Perhaps it could have waited, but it had been bugging me
too much to ignore. As I climbed the stairs, I began shedding every layer of my
clothing, leaving only my boxers untouched. I launched them down the laundry
shoot, tore my key off of my neck, and flung my bedroom door open. Grabbing a
random pair of jeans and a normal black t-shirt, I redressed myself quickly. I
had no time to waste. I sprinted down the stairs, turned into a hallway and
walked straight to the basement door. I pushed it open and stomped down the
rickety wooden stairs, making my way over to the pile of clothes. I tossed all
of the whites into the washer, pouring in a diluted bleach so as not to ruin
the fabric, and my preferred detergent. Starting the washer, I felt my body
finally begin to loosen the coil of anxiety, and I relaxed.
I supposed that I could do my homework now, seeing as how I had quite a bit of
time before my father returned home. After exiting the basement, I slowly
trudged into the living room, sat on the soft couch, and pulled out my
assignments from back bag. This should only take a half hour.
After finishing that, the beeping of the answering machine caught my attention.
I hit the play button on the landline phone, the familiar voice of the
secretary meeting my ears.
"Hello, Mr. Michaelis. This is Miss Durless, the receptionist at Central High
School. Today I had to give your son a ride home; it seems that he is a victim
of bullying, although he would not give me any information. If you could get
him to talk about it, see if he'll open up to you about the student who is
bullying him, we would be happy to take care of such matters. Please feel free
to call back at any time." With a beep, the messaged ended.
I frowned, glaring at the phone as if it had personally insulted me. I deleted
the message; there was a reason I never talked about my schooling with my
father, and I sure as hell was not going to start talking about it now because
of some nosy redhead.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Bow sliding over strings produced a pleasing sound, filling the living room
with a lilting song. I had been meticulously practicing the violin for hours,
pausing only to finish the laundry. If my fingertips were not already calloused
from a year of playing, they would have probably been raw and bleeding. The
sound of my father's car pulling into the drive announced his arrival home from
work to me. I changed midsong to a piece I had yet to master and still
struggled with; waiting for him to enter the house. I could see him from my
periphery, standing in the entryway of the living room, watching me play. That
pleased me immensely, so I drew it out for as long as I could. Finally, I
paused in playing, looking over at him as though I had just noticed his
presence.
"Welcome home, Daddy," I called to him, a bright and childish smile on my face.
I pranced over to him, violin still in hand.
He brought a large hand down upon my head, ruffling up my perfect hair.  "Hey,
Ciel," he said in greeting before heading into the kitchen. I never minded when
he mussed my hair, even though imperfection was one of my pet peeves. I
followed after him, inwardly cringing as he tossed his suit jacket atop the
couch; it was sure to get wrinkles. "Your tone is starting to sound better."
I could feel the smile on my face growing into a full-fledged grin, his
compliment warming my heart and pleasing me immensely. I could only feel
genuine happiness when I was around my father. "Thanks! I've been practicing
harder than ever. I'm hoping to impress Madame."
"I think she'll be very impressed," my father said reassuringly. It wasn't like
I did not already know that; I was her favorite student, after all. He started
looking through the day's mail, his lips contorting into a frown. I figured the
majority of the envelopes contained bills, though he would never inform me of
such things. He probably didn't want to worry me, which was endearing. "How was
school?" He asked, still perusing the letters.
The one question I did not want to hear, he had to ask. It served only to bring
back memories of Maurice Cole and his lackeys. Like hell I would mention that I
was being bullied to my father. I avoided looking at him, instead fidgeting
with my violin, suddenly very interested in its mechanisms. My fingers plucked
at the strings as I rocked back on my heels, my head tilting slightly as I
answered as emotionlessly as I could, something I normally avoided doing with
my father. "Uhm, it was okay." As I glanced up at him, I could see questions
forming in his brain, and avoiding giving him a chance to ask them, I quickly
changed the subject. "Did you have a good day at work?"
He paused momentarily, as if trying to find holes in my question so that he
could return to talking about me and that hellhole I was forced to go to every
day. Instead, he thankfully decided to answer my inquiry. "It was okay." I
could tell that he was thinking about something unpleasant by the way a
slightly pained expression flashed across his face before it returned to
normal. I rarely missed the minute expressions that people could not control
that took over them for a fraction of a second; it was their true feelings
about something, and most people thought that their masks didn't drop. I knew
that everyone's masks had flaws, and I watched for them.
"What sounds good for dinner?" Father asked, drawing my thoughts away from the
subject of emotions.
"Mm," I hummed, as if in thought. I already knew what I would like to eat.
Today was 'Tater Tot Day' at school, and thanks to Maurice sullying my outfit,
I missed out on the delicious form of potatoes. Not that my father needed to
know all of that. I sat down in one of the dining chairs and tuned my violin.
The sound was very slightly off and it was bugging me. "Fries," I said, voice
monotonous, as if I expected there to be no argument.
"Fries?" he repeated. Did I stutter? You would think that he would know my
eating habits by now. I knew the repercussions of eating mainly unhealthy food,
what it would do to my body, and all of that, but I didn't care. It tasted
amazing, and I was a very picky eater. I disliked most vegetables, fruits, and
what have you. I had an insatiable love for all forms of potatoes, except for
scalloped, cheese, and all the sweets. "You may be skinny, but that doesn't
mean you're healthy. I wouldn't be surprised if your cholesterol is through the
roof."
I watched as he went over to the fridge, searching through our miniscule amount
of food. I could tell he was frustrated with the empty state our refrigerator
was in, probably planning to grocery shopping soon.
"I could make tacos."
I almost made a noise of annoyance. I didn't want tacos; I wanted French fries,
drenched in melted cheese and thoroughly salted. I let my bottom lip tremble
and stick out in a small pout, a whiny sigh leaving my mouth. "But Daddy, fries
are my favorite," I whimpered, wanting it to pull on his heartstrings and give
me what I wanted. When he continued to retrieve the ingredients for tacos, I
changed tactics. I kicked at the floor, looking down in defeat. "I guess tacos
are good, as long as we have avocados." I had to fight off a smirk; avocados
were the only vegetables that I liked, and as such, I had eaten the very last
one earlier for lunch. There were no avocados left. I knew that as a
consolation, I would get my fries. "I'd still prefer fries," I muttered to
myself, watching my father bite his lips from under my lashes.
"I'll make you fries too, all right?" He promised, making a grin break out onto
my face. It had turned out exactly how I wanted it to.
I set my violin down gently atop the table before flinging myself at my father,
who was still juggling the taco ingredients. "Thanks Daddy! You're the best. I
love you," I said in my most innocent tone.
He stumbled from the impact of my weight, almost dropping the foodstuffs. "I,
uh, love you too, Ciel." He was distracted by trying to keep his hold on
everything; otherwise it would have sounded more meaningful, I was sure. "You
can go practice while I'm making dinner."
"Okay," I agreed, releasing my hold on him and picking my violin up, skipping
back off into towards the living room. I paused though, before I left the
kitchen, and gave him a lingering look. I found that lately my eyes were drawn
to him more and more often. If I wasn't careful, I would be caught staring one
too many times. To avoid such a thing, I tore my eyes away and exited the room,
leaving him to cook.
Bow caressed strings as I picked up where I had left off, letting my eyes slide
shut and losing myself in practicing. I found that very few acts would bring my
trains of thought down to a minimum, quieting them, and playing the violin was
one of them. It was entirely too relaxing, and I relished in it. Time seemed to
fly by, and soon the house was filled with the aroma of cooked meat and fries.
Too soon, my father called me back into the kitchen to eat. Sighing, I put my
violin away in its case, and then made my way to the dining table. I served
myself a taco, although I wasn't planning on eating it. I loaded my plate with
still steaming fries, liberally covering them in cheese and salt. I ate every
last one in silence, my eyes rolling back at the sheer orgasmic deliciousness
of the greasy treat. Throughout the meal, my father pestered me, very
persistent that I eat at least one taco. Trying to appease him, I ate half of
it, although the texture disgusted me. If I was going to eat tacos, I preferred
Taco Bell.
I remained stubbornly silent the whole time we ate, my father asking me
questions about school, prying and trying to get me to communicate. If he had
wanted to engage me in conversation, he was going about it the wrong way. I
kept my lips tightly sealed, almost as if I had gone temporarily deaf.
Eventually, he gave up, and finished his meal. I rose from the table, heading
back into the living room and turning on the television to some random cartoon
which I paid no attention to. I listened to the sound of my father doing
dishes, my skin itching as I shifted my weight several times. When he finished,
he retired to his room and his bad habits, and I couldn't contain myself any
longer. I simply couldn't wait until he had fallen asleep; today's incident
with Maurice had left me feeling the need to clean. I headed back into the
kitchen, taking each dish out of the drying rack and washing them thoroughly
myself. It wasn't that I thought my father was incompetent, he just could not
clean them in a way that satisfied me. It was the same with everything that had
to be cleaned. I had to do it myself, or I would go mad, surrounded in germs
and filth. To avoid any conflict, I would always allow my father to do it
first, and then secretly do it myself afterwards.
After I was satisfied with the cleanliness of the dishes, I turned off all of
the electronics downstairs, and traipsed up the staircase. I had finished all
of the laundry earlier, which left me feeling quite accomplished. Tomorrow I
would deep clean the entire house; I hadn't done it today, and the buildup of
dust and microorganisms were going to make my skin itch if I didn't do
something about it soon. Instead, I went straight to the bathroom, hopping into
the shower and scalding my skin to wash off all traces of Maurice. After I
finished scrubbing a layer of my skin off, making it an angry red color, I
turned the shower off and cleared the mirror of condensation. I stared at my
reflection, my sapphire eyes dark as a storming sky. I hated that Maurice had
touched me; only my father would ever be allowed to do such a thing.
The one person in this world that I would ever want, whose touch I desired to
heat my frigid flesh; the one I wanted to taste, to have in me and around me;
who I wanted to be consumed in a burning flame by... was my father. I was
irrevocably attracted to the man who had brought me life, and while that should
disgust me... it only excited me. The taboo of it made me covet it that much
more. I would do any and every single thing in my power to make him mine.
Because I know that he wants me, too.
Chapter End Notes
     Well, what do y'all think? Do you love it? Do you hate it? What do
     you think of the characters? Do you have any suspicions? What do you
     think is going to happen? What can I do to improve? I would like your
     feedback. Although not receiving comments will never stop me from
     posting, getting them only motivates me to pump out chapters as fast
     as I can. And honestly, when I don't get comments, it makes me
     question whether or not I am good at writing. I know I'm a wonderful
     writer (as Kit never lets me forget), but I do get insecure. I am not
     always confident in my abilities. THAT'S WHERE Y'ALL COME IN. You can
     drop a comment, even if it's one word, even if it's criticism, it
     matters not. I want to improve, I want to smile and be happy when I
     read a comment, and most importantly, I want to respond. I want to
     talk to my readers, because YOU are what makes the stories I write
     possible. I want to connect with each and every one of you. You are
     ALL important, you all mean the world to me.
     Kisses and Love, Always Love, Ritsy
***** Sentimental Sebastian *****
Chapter Notes
     Hey, everyone! After days of working on this, I finally got it
     posted. So, hurray! Quick shoutout to IcyTwilight and PumpkinFabliaux
     for leaving the most gorgeous comments I've ever read. As thanks, I
     will give you good noodle stars. Thank you for being such good
     noodles!
     Enjoy! ^-^
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Little strips of sunlight shone through my blinds, the rays tickling my face
and trying to crawl underneath my sleepy eyelids. I let out a groan, thrashing
my head to the side wildly in attempt to shake the light away. My tight muscles
aching, I stretched my arms above my head, my bony knuckles slamming into my
wooden headboard when I extended them. “Ow,” I murmured, the slight pain
sending a tiny jolt through my system that served to shock my body into nearly
full consciousness. It didn’t matter what size of bed I purchased; my limbs
were still too damned long. I hadn’t a clue why I even left the headboard
there, for the only purpose it fulfilled was causing me pain in the mornings.
 Rolling over to my right side, my tired eyes fluttered open and regarded my
nightstand, studying the clock that rested on its surface. Steady, red numbers
glowed at me, precisely reading 10:04 AM. I let out a yawn, stretching my arms
again – more carefully, this time – and I slowly began to rise into a sitting
position. I loved the weekends, simply because I was allowed to sleep in as
long as I wanted, and I didn’t have to worry about dealing with the idiotic
callers at work. No, I wouldn’t even think about work today; it was bad enough
that the dangerous increase in bills forced me to put in overtime yesterday. I
worked so hard, and for so long that I didn't return home until eleven last
night, and even Ciel was in bed by then. I was hoping he'd stay up and wait for
me to come home like he usually did when I arrived late, but I figured that he
was used to being asleep before eleven on school nights, so his sleeping
schedule was probably set in stone by now.
 When I finally managed to force my lazy self out of bed, I treaded over to the
window, my hand tugging on the strings of my blinds, sending the shades flying
up and revealing the entirety of the gorgeous Saturday sun. The sky seemed to
be a deep, beautiful blue, with hardly a trace of a cloud. Looking down toward
the sidewalk, I noticed that little kids were already awake and playing, two
young siblings giggling cheerfully as they both circled around the neighborhood
on their bicycles. A small smile carved itself into my lips at the endearing
sight; I couldn’t lie, I was always a sucker for kids. Sometimes, I even wished
that Ciel was a young boy again, just so I could relive each milestone in his
life. Nothing could make me forget the joy I felt when he mastered tying his
shoes, the pride that gleamed within me when he finally managed to take off on
his bike without me there to hold onto the seat, and the glee that lit in me
like a dancing flame when he confidently played his violin for the first time.
All of the memories made me feel extremely old and a bit sad; it made my heart
ache to know that soon, my little boy would be all grown up, and making these
very same memories with his own kids.
 No, no, stop thinking about this, I ordered myself, my slender legs leisurely
floating through my room as I gathered my clothing for the day. It’s too early
for waterworks. 
 I carelessly plucked a random t-shirt and pair of jeans from my drawers, along
with some boxers and socks. I then made my way to the bathroom, clothes in
hand, and placed the garments on the countertop while I proceeded to strip
myself of my nightwear; which, in my case, only consisted of underwear. I
strode back into the hallway briefly, throwing the boxers down the laundry
chute before I hopped into the shower. I took my time while washing, letting
the warm droplets of water crawl down my back and slide down the contours of my
body. Soap suds soon joined the descending water as I cleansed my body and
hair, thankful that I didn’t have to rush through my morning routine like
usual.
 Once I was out of the shower, I patted myself dry and dressed in my outfit of
the day: a simple, plain red shirt and a pair of light blue jeans. I was
positive that I had owned the pants for at least six years, and the age
certainly showed on them through the various rips and tears on the legs. I
didn’t mind, though. The gaps weren’t large nor were they in awkward places;
besides, they made me feel comfortable, and that’s all that really mattered.
 I focused on brushing my teeth next. Squeezing a line of toothpaste onto the
bristles, I promptly shoved the brush in my mouth and began scrubbing. If there
was an activity I hated more than anything, it would be brushing my teeth. I
found it tedious, and I absolutely detested the taste of toothpaste, so every
day I rushed through the disgusting process as quickly as I could manage. This
time, though, I froze while I was in the middle of brushing, my eyes regarding
my figure in the mirror in distaste. Out of the corner of my eye, I had sensed
an odd movement on my facial features, and, sure enough, when I studied my
complexion, I could clearly see wrinkles beginning to form below my eyes and
above my upper lip.
 “God damn it,” I growled, my words slurring from the white foam that was
seeping from my mouth. I let my toothbrush dangle freely while my two hands
rose to my face, my digits pulling at the creased skin. The skin would stretch
into a tight, youthful appearance, but as soon as my fingers let go, it would
return to its slightly indented formation. “Damn it! I’m too young for this!”
 The discovery soured my mood, so I sped through the rest of my routine,
combing my messy locks out in just a few swipes and unbelievably shaving my
face at a quick rate without acquiring any nicks or cuts. As soon as I exited
the bathroom, I approached my son’s door, noticing that, like always, it was
shut tight. This never bothered me, for I knew Ciel was a growing boy, a boy
who was now in high school and was surely experiencing what all teenage boys
have to go through: the hell of having hormones. It wasn’t surprising that he
wanted his privacy, and I respected that completely. I never had any issues
with him doing drugs, – not like I’m one to talk – nor did he ever sneak in
booze or girls without my knowledge; in fact, Ciel never brought anyone home at
all. We were quite the opposite, he and I. I have always been a very open and
outgoing person, but Ciel seems to prefer to keep to himself, and he tends to
get very shy around strangers. Even so, he was a normal teenager, and I could
understand why he wouldn’t want me snooping through his belongings. I never
wanted my parents to find my porn underneath my bed as a kid, so I certainly
wouldn’t put him through the humiliation of realising that I discovered his.
 “Ciel?” I called quietly, knocking on the door as softly as I could. “Are you
awake? I need to run to the grocery store real quick, you can come if you
want.”
 I waited a while, even pressed my ear to the door in case he mumbled. After a
few minutes, however, I received no response, and I couldn’t hear any scuttling
inside, so I assumed he was still asleep. That was only natural. At his age, I
was sleeping until noon, and pissing my mother off each day I did so.
 I padded down the stairs, stopping by the kitchen to grab my keys off of the
counter and to retrieve a notepad. I hastily scribbled on the piece of paper,
my handwriting a bit messy due to my hurried behavior.
                                     Ciel
Went to go buy groceries. I’ll be playing basketball with Bard afterwards and I
won’t be home until later this afternoon. Food should be in the fridge, call if
you need anything.
                                   Love Dad
 I left the note sitting on the counter, exiting the house and being sure to
lock it before I strode toward my car. I climbed into my vehicle, sighing in
slight annoyance when the warm environment wrapped itself around me. The
weather sure had been getting hotter lately, and that only meant that the
temperature in cars would be boiling. It was this time of year when you’d see
the typical mindless morons leaving their dogs locked inside their vehicles,
practically left for dead in the scalding heat, and I could guarantee that I
would see at least one of those circumstances at the grocery store today.
 Boy, I couldn’t have been more right. As soon as I appropriately positioned my
car into a parking space, the sounds of a crying dog met my ears, and I turned
my head to the right, observing a tiny poodle that was in a green sedan next to
me, his front paws resting on the leather sill as he stared directly into my
eyes. He barked relentlessly, and I scowled at the sight, a vein nearly bulging
in my forehead when I observed that, of course, all four windows were rolled up
completely. His whines sounded desperate, a slight rasp echoing with each yelp
he gave off. Sliding out of my seat and slamming my door shut, I walked over
toward the poor thing, his body shaking, most likely in relief, when I came
closer. What a sickening display. If I knew that the security cameras in the
parking lot weren’t recording my every move right now, I would take the tire
iron out of my trunk and bust the window in myself, anything to give the
innocent animal some fucking air.
 “Don’t worry,” I said, my eyes looking into his through the glass barrier.
“I’ll get you out of there.”
 He barked maniacally, as if trying to persuade me to break into the vehicle at
that very moment. I couldn’t, though. No matter how much he wanted me to, I
couldn’t vandalize another person’s car. I walked away from the scene, his
cries screeching louder while he watched me leave, his dark eyes glaring at me
in an expression I could only describe as hurt from being betrayed.
 It’ll be okay, little guy. I will make sure that you’re rescued, just in a
more civil matter.
 I retrieved a shopping cart, and casually pushed the basket around while my
eyes scanned over the aisles. I wouldn’t let my thoughts focus on the
negativity out in the parking lot; for now, my main priority was gathering food
for my family. I instinctively went over to the produce section, my features
relaxing in a tranquil state at the sight of the various vegetables. I couldn’t
have been happier to have them so close within reach, since the emptiness of
our fridge forced Ciel and I to eat pizza for the rest of the week, and by now,
I started to get sick just thinking of it. I grabbed a few heads of lettuce,
hoping that I could convince my typically stubborn son to eat a small salad
sometime during the next week; a fruitless endeavor, I was sure, but it was
worth trying. I also picked up tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, celery, carrots,
and I definitely had to buy a few bags of potatoes, considering Ciel
practically lived on them. And no, that wasn’t an exaggeration. He could eat
potatoes every single meal for the rest of his life, there wasn’t a doubt in my
mind. As easygoing as I tried to be, that was one thing that I wouldn’t permit
him to do. Variety was the spice of life, and life certainly needed some extra
spice to keep things interesting.
 I wandered around the store, picking up multiple ingredients for possible meal
ideas in the future. So far, I had everything I needed in case I wanted to make
a salad, spaghetti, or chile. These were all meals that I was particularly fond
of, but Ciel, not so much. I wished that he had been able to tag along with me
this morning; it would certainly make the shopping trip easier. Plus, I felt a
little guilty about leaving him alone all day, especially since I hadn't been
able to say a word to him since Thursday night.
Ten minutes later, I had a basket full of groceries and a wallet trembling with
slight fear. Normally, I'd feel worried to spend a large chunk of cash on
groceries, but after working my ass off and putting in extra hours last night,
I simply gave no fucks.
Entering the checkout, I hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and grabbed a
chocolate bar for my last item. I was never a fan of the sugary treats, but I
knew how much Ciel loved sweets, and I wanted to make up for my sudden and
unexpected disappearance.
"I saw that," the cashier teased, her long nails resting against the counter
while she waited for me to unload my things. "Cheating on your diet, hm?"
My vermillion eyes traveled up to politely regard her, and a breath caught in
my throat when I glimpsed her appearance. She was a short girl, her height
seeming so miniature that it could be considered cute. Her hair, which was
composed of beautiful shades of different blondes, was tightly pulled into two
high pigtails, the ends of her locks tickling her shoulder blades. She had
gorgeous emerald eyes, but, unfortunately, my other head was thinking, and I
found it hard to focus on her orbs when my pupils discovered her body. She wore
a tight, formfitting v-neck, the hot pink fabric hugging her curves in all the
right ways. Her breasts, which were certainly no smaller than double d's,
pressed against the thin cotton of her shirt, causing her cleavage to be lifted
over the edge of the top slightly.
"I," I began, my voice coming out shaky as I tried to speak. I forced myself to
turn my attention on my groceries, and my fumbling fingers hurriedly began to
move the food from the cart to the counter. "I guess I can't help it. One of my
guilty pleasures."
"Guilty pleasures," she repeated, the words coming out as a giggle. "And I'll
have you know, I saw that too."
My movements slowed down, and I swallowed as my pupils floated back to her.
"Saw what?"
"Your staring," she said bluntly, her dainty hands scanning my items. "You
weren't necessarily secretive about it."
"Oh, I," I stuttered, completely taken aback by her straightforwardness. She
was right, I didn't hide my oogling. But by the looks of her, I needed to be
careful; you never knew when a girl could be underage these days. "I'm sorry,
Miss. I wasn't trying to offend you, I just- you're really beautiful."
She clucked her tongue, a smile spreading across her lips. "Nice try. Just
admit it, you like my tits."
"W-what?" I blurted out, the whites of my eyes nearly bulging out of my head
from surprise.
"I'm sure you think I'm beautiful, but that's not why you were staring. You
were gawking because you like my tits."
"Well," I shrugged, pulling my wallet out of my back pocket and scratching my
head awkwardly. "I think it's a bit of both."
Amused giggles burst from her lips, a pale pink blush dusting the apples of her
cheeks. "You're funny. I like you. You can call me Lizzie."
"Lizzie?"
"Duh," she snorted, her pink fingernail tapping against the plastic nametag
that was clipped onto her shirt. "What else is short for Elizabeth?"
My stupidity came crashing down on me and filled me with humiliation; I hadn't
even thought to look at her nametag. "I, well-"
She giggled again, scanning another product. "That's okay, I know you didn't
read it, so I read it for you. My name's Elizabeth, but you can call me
Lizzie."
"Sebastian," I stated, my lips curving upwards. "Nice to meet you."
"It's nice to meet you, Sebastian," she said sweetly, various beeps going off
as she picked up the pace. "Such a prim and proper name for someone who's so
dirty-minded."
"I could say the same for you."
"Me?" She asked playfully, her green eyes widening when she feigned innocence.
"Why, I never think inappropriate thoughts."
We both chuckled together at the faux profession, and her lengthy nails tapped
against the counter once she finished scanning and bagging everything.
"Your total is $137.32."
"Ooh, steep price," I mumbled, pulling out my credit card and handing it to
her. "You're not really going to make me pay that much, are you?"
"Careful," she warned, typing a few codes into the register before she swiped
the card. "I have your credit card. I may just hold it for ransom."
I laughed quietly, picking up my newly bagged groceries and setting them into
the cart as I played along. "And what would the ransom consist of?"
"A date."
"A date?" I repeated, my eyes once again growing in shock. She nodded
childishly, another giggle escaping her lips.
"Yes, a date. Why? Is the idea of taking me out to dinner so horrible that you
can't even consider it?"
"I- No! No, that's not it at all!" I blurted out, my sudden panic making her
laugh even more. A blush washed over my face. I was embarrassing myself. "I
mean, I'd love to go on a date with you, but you just look a little youn-"
"I'm not underage," she interrupted, reading my thoughts like a book. "I'm
twenty-two. And before you tell me that I'm still too young, I like older men."
She finished with a seductive wink, one powerful enough to send a spark
straight to my groin.
"I would love to go on a date with you, then," I stated smoothly, the level of
composure in my voice surprising me.
"Great!" She giggled, handing me my card back. She then tore off my receipt and
scribbled on it before she gave that back to me, as well. "Here's my number.
Don't stand me up, or I'll be forced to steal your credit card." Another wink.
"Don't worry," I assured with a grin as I studied the digits transcribed in
blue ink. "I definitely won't stand you up."
Elizabeth gave me a genuine smile. "Have a good day, Sebastian."
"You too, Lizzie." I began to push the cart, and I nearly made it outside
before something dawned on me. I dashed back inside the market, leaving my cart
behind while I sprinted back to the counter. "Oh! Elizabeth, I need you to do a
favor for me."
"Already?" She asked sarcastically, crossing her arms over her breasts and
jutting her hip out sassily, though her giddy demeanor hadn't faded a bit. "You
haven't even taken me out to dinner yet."
"I know, I know. But I promise I'll bring you extra flowers when I do. There's
a green sedan out in the parking lot, three rows to the right and five lanes
down from the entrance doors. A dog is locked inside with the windows rolled
up, and in this heat, he won't last long. Do you think you can call your
manager so he can do something about it?"
She stared at me for a moment, before she smirked and shook her head, her hand
reaching for the phone beside the counter. "So you're an animal lover, huh?"
"I guess you could say that," I smiled sheepishly.
"Go on," She waved at me. "I got this handled."
"Thanks, Lizzie." I said sincerely, and I jogged away once again, grabbing my
cart and pulling it behind me, strolling toward the exit that would lead me
back to the parking lot. The automatic doors opened for me and air whooshed
past as I started to exit.
"Sebastian!"
I froze, taking a few steps backward and leaning back into the grocery store,
my eyes regarding Elizabeth. "Yeah?"
Lizzie smiled mischeviously. "I like daisies."
I grinned, but said nothing more, and continued to make my way outside. When I
approached my car, the dog in the vehicle next to mine began whining again, the
nails on his paws clacking while he scratched down the windows, desperate to
escape his heated prison.
"I hope they'll find you a better home," I murmured as I unloaded my groceries
into the backseat. "And I hope you'll never have to experience this again."
Driving out of the parking lot, I gazed into my rearview mirror and smiled when
I saw Lizzie and an older man approach the car, the man looking around as he
cradled a cell phone to his ear. It would be all right. The dog would be safe
in the end.
I turned left, pulling out onto the highway. My hair swayed and danced from the
breeze that flew into my open window, and I couldn't help but smirk like a
moron when I let the situation at the store replay in my head. I hadn't went on
a real date since I was a teenager, and I hadn't even looked at another woman
since my son was born. Why had Elizabeth been different? I refused to think
that her cleavage was the culprit for my feelings.
No, this wasn't just plain sexual excitement. This was pure happiness. The way
she smiled at me, her cute laughter and her gorgeous, glowing green eyes
captivated me in a way I hadn't thought would ever be possible again. She was
endearing, playful, sour but in an intensely sweet way. The chemistry we had
was clearly thick in the air; the hidden passion undeniable. 
"I sound like a sap from one of those soap operas," I muttered in irritation,
but I couldn't help it. I knew that even though I was a simple man, with a
strongly perverse mind and an easy to please nature, I did have a coil of
sensitivity that nestled inside of me. The possibility that someone could come
into my life, fill me with bliss and mend my heart that had yet to heal made
the risk of dating completely worth it. After being alone all these years, I
could certainly use some company, and my hand could use a break.
I was getting ahead of myself. I had just met this girl, knew nothing about her
besides her name, and hell, she could've given me a phony number for all I had
known. But I didn't want to believe that. There had only been one woman who
managed to steal my heart, and after all these years, she still has it. Then,
out of the blue, another girl comes along, and has somehow seemed to have
captured a portion of my cardiovascular organ without it even being in its
little niche inside my chest. It was lost, and had been lost for so many years,
yet somehow, she found it.
Maybe life was finally working out in my favor. Maybe it wasn't too late for me
to find my own piece of heaven, and turn my reality around in a better
direction, a better future.
Maybe, just maybe, that little spark inside of me, which was so close to
fizzling out, would reignite into a hot, burning flame. 
Maybe I would finally be happy.
 
===============================================================================
 
The car came to a halt as I put it in park, and I pulled my keys out of the
ignition. I threw my door open, hopping out and striding toward the house. I
let myself whistle as I happily stepped along; it was going to be a fucking
fabulous day.
"Afternoon, Mr. Michaelis!"
I stopped walking and turned around, a beam lighting up my face when I regarded
the speaker behind me: a little boy on his tricycle. I crouched down to his
level, my hand raising to my forehead as I shielded my eyes from the bright
sun. "Well, hey there, Jimmy. How're you today?"
"I'm good," he said, his little lips curling into a smile. "My birthday is
coming up soon!"
"Really? How old are you going to be this year?"
"I'm gonna be four years old!" He stated proudly, holding up four stubby
fingers to prove it.
I chuckled at the cute remark; what I wouldn't give to rewind back to when Ciel
was four. "Four years old? Wow! You're really getting up there."
"Don't tell Mom that; she's afraid I'm going to steal her car," he whispered,
and I laughed again at his words. This kid was just too cute. "You guys are
going to come to my birthday party, right?"
I smiled at him, patting his shoulder lightly. "We wouldn't miss it for the
world, Jimmy."
"Kay," he confirmed happily, his little feet going around as he began to pedal
away. "Make sure you bring Ciel! Have a good day, Mr. Michaelis!"
"You too, Jimmy!" I called to him, a permanent grin practically stretching
across my entire face. Children had to be the greatest gift anyone could ask
for.
My focus returning, I unlocked the front door to the house, leaving it wide
open while I carried in bags of groceries. I made sure to pack the vegetables
into the fridge immediately; wouldn't want good food to waste from the heat. In
a bottom cupboard, I stored the three huge bags of potatoes that I had picked
up for Ciel. No doubt in my mind, they wouldn't last a week. I also put away
the few boxes of pasta I bought and the other less important ingredients that I
happened to purchase, as well. 
Once I was done, I glanced around the kitchen. I wasn't used to the house being
this quiet. Ciel hadn't been in the living room, and, taking a glimpse up the
stairwell, it looked like his door was still closed. I brought my arm up, my
eyes scanning the watch on my wrist. 12:02 PM. And Ciel was still asleep?
"It's definitely not like him to snooze this late," I discussed to myself, my
hand digging inside the last grocery bag. "But he probably had a late night."
I pulled out the chocolate bar from the crinkled plastic, setting the sweet
down on the counter next to my untouched note that I had left this morning. I
hoped that the warm temperature didn't completely melt the treat inside the
wrapper, but that would be Ciel's problem to deal with.
I sighed, leisurely trudging my way into the living room. "Hopefully that's a
good enough apology for being so distant."
My eyes drifted across the room, flying past the couch that I had had in my
possession for years, floating over the TV that hung on the wall in front of
it, darting past the coffee table whose wood was chipped and stained from years
of use. My pupils finally landed on a picture frame on the wall, feet acting
upon their own and moving closer to it while I studied every little detail of
the portrait that rested inside the glass. It was a picture of my son and I,
taken in the front yard when he had first moved in with me. I was kneeling, one
of my knees pressed into the soil of the earth while my other was used as an
armrest for my right arm. My left arm was curled around Ciel in a loving
fashion, my smile couldn't have been brighter as I held my little one close to
me and posed for the camera. Ciel's juvenile grin made the picture pop with
endearment, his tiny teeth flashing for the camera and his blue eyes gleaming
with the joy that only small children experience. My fingers came up to the
picture, fingers smudging against the glass as I was deep in reminiscing. It
felt like it was only yesterday when I was filling the empty room upstairs with
my son's personal belongings, when we raced down the stairs as quickly as
possible, his little legs curled around my waist and his chest pressed against
my back while I gave him a piggyback ride.
"I'm not ready for you to grow up, Ciel," I whispered to myself, my slightly
watery eyes staring the boy down in the picture as if I was speaking to him.
"I'm not ready to be all alone again."
I didn't care what anyone thought; I wasn't overreacting. This house used to be
so empty, so cold, and then my little bundle of joy moved in and gave me hope,
gave me something worth living for. Now, he was already a freshman in high
school. He'd be finding new hobbies, going out with girls, driving cars. I
didn't want to hold my son back. No, I wouldn't hold my son back. I could
clearly remember how choked up my mother would get when I started going out
more in high school, and I would never understand. Now, I comprehended exactly
what she was feeling and thinking. I wasn't going to stop Ciel for being
himself. He needed to be a teenager, needed to blossom and flourish without his
father being there every waking moment. I knew that. It would be good for him
to prepare to live in the real world on his own, but god damn, if it wasn't a
hard piece of reality to swallow.
I shook my head, wiping the tiny tear away that had gathered in the corner of
my eye. I needed to go unwind.
 
===============================================================================
 
"Hey! Watch it, asshole!"
"Sorry," I called back, though it wasn't apologetic in the slightest. "Maybe
you should work on your footing." My arm extended upward fully, my hand curving
as the ball gracefully left my fingertips and dove into the net.
"Or maybe you could stop being such a dick," Bard mumbled in annoyance, his
hands swatting dirt off of his ass while he stood to his feet. "No wonder Ciel
never wants to play with you."
"That's not why," I argued, catching the ball and twirling it around in my
hands. My mind was tempted to wander back to thoughts of my miniature break
down today, but I wouldn't allow it to. "He doesn't like sports."
"What teenage boy doesn't like sports?" He questioned, holding his hands up and
gesturing for the ball. "You should have had him come with you today. I'm sure
I could've convinced him to play."
"He's never been a fan of any physical activity. Besides, I haven't even seen
him today. When I stopped by the house for a few minutes to drop the groceries
off, he wasn't downstairs." I tossed the ball to him, my hands raking back my
drenched hair, droplets of sweat gathering in my palms. I reached for my water
bottle, and I guzzled the cold water as if it was a delicacy.
Bard dribbled the ball absent-mindedly, his chest rising and falling as he
tried to catch his breath. "So tell me more about this girl you met today. I
want to know the details. Is she hot?"
"Smoking," I confirmed, crouching down and tilting my head side-to-side.
"Young, blonde, green eyes."
"Huge tits? Please tell me she has huge tits."
"Biggest boobs you'll ever see."
"You fucker!" He yelled playfully, chucking the ball at me. "You always get the
hottest chicks!"
I leaned to the right, luckily dodging the flying object. "Hey, I wasn't
looking for her. She was just kind of there. You have Mey, anyway."
"Hardly," Bard snorted, snatching his bottle up and chugging his water. "I had
to sleep on the couch last night. Again."
"Ooh. Tough break. What'd you do this time?"
"It's just stupid shit," he mumbled, signifying that he didn't want to talk
about it. "Anyway, about this girl. A hot blonde? With huge titties? Sounds
like you really scored."
"I'm not so sure," I said, anxiously rubbing the back of my neck. "I was really
stumbling over my words today when I was speaking to her, and that's never
happened before."
"You haven't dated in fourteen years," he exclaimed, his hand slapping my
shoulder. "Of course you're going to be rusty. But it's about time you pushed
that bitch Rachel out of your mind."
"No one will replace Rachel, Bard," I stated, my eyes glaring into his
dangerously. "There's just something about this girl... I don't know. She makes
me feel like I'm young again, even though she technically called me an old
man."
"You are an old man," Bard agreed, much to my displeasure. "But you still need
your dick sucked."
I rolled my eyes while I stood up straight, arching my back until my spine
popped and jiggling my hands to keep them loose and limber. I knew I wouldn't
be able to talk about Elizabeth with my best buddy. He was a good guy, and he
meant well, but he still hadn't gotten out of the sex-crazed stage yet. Hell,
maybe he never would. "Can we get back to the game, please?"
Bard scoffed at my attempt to end the conversation, but he grabbed the ball,
nevertheless, and stared me down challengingly. "Fine. But you really need to
get over Rachel, Sebastian, and this girl is the best way to do that."
I slid toward him expertly, but he dodged, gripping the ball tightly between
his hands. "Getting my dick sucked is not the solution to getting over Rachel,
Bardroy."
My friend wrinkled his nose at the sound of his full name, and he tried to dash
right, but I was quick enough to block him. "Have the best of both worlds,
Sebastian. Maybe she'll be a great girl in person and in bed." Bard slightly
moved left, before he faked and fled right again, catching me off guard this
time. He managed to move past me and he threw the ball as hard as he could. I
jumped, holding my arms up and desperately hoping that I'd block it, but the
ball swished into the basket, making him cry out victoriously. He turned back
toward me, a lop-sided grin plastered to his lips. "Besides, Sebastian, she's a
blonde. She'll be great at giving head."
 
===============================================================================
 
My legs felt like they were made of pure lead, my feet dragging as I slowly
made my way into the living room. I let the front door slam shut, for I was way
too lazy to shut it gently myself. A faint glow radiated from the room, and I
noticed that the TV was on, yet Ciel was nowhere in sight.
I flopped down onto the couch, groaning when my sore body sank into the
cushions. I glanced up at the clock on the wall, noting that it was already
five. I had been playing basketball with Bard for hours, and, though I loved
working out, I knew I was going to regret it tomorrow.
My eyes flickered up to the bright screen when a flash of dark blue and red
pixels lit the entire TV up, along with some familiar, dull music. A camera
panned in and revealed a woman wearing a formal, navy suit. Her earrings were
the same color and they barely glittered through her golden blonde hair. Her
brown eyes stared into the camera with a sense of emotionless composure.
"Good evening, everyone, I'm Kimberly Johnson, and welcome to the five o' clock
news."
I clucked my tongue, adjusting my uncomfortable position on the couch and
whining when my muscles contracted violently. "Bring back Donna Summers," I
complained absent-mindedly, drowning out her blabber as I spoke. "She was a lot
more engaging."
"...We begin today with some breaking news; a gruesome scene on the east side
of town..."
I perked up, my eyes widening and I sat up straighter, immediately grasping a
hold of the remote and turning the volume up.
"...Todd, can you explain what happened?"
The setting transferred and a man clad in slacks and an olive green windbreaker
stood in the middle of the scene, a microphone in his hand. He seemed to be
standing in a deserted field, his jacket flapping in the slight wind and
multiple flashing lights behind him. I squinted, trying to see what was going
on, and behind various strips of caution tape I could see at least three police
cars, which seemed to be surrounding an old, beat up white car. "Thanks
Kimberly. Police made the shocking discovery of two teen bodies today when a
deputy making his routine patrol found what he thought was an abandoned
vehicle, when really, it was the final resting place for two adolescent boys."
"Teenagers?" I wondered aloud, pupils dialating in shock. "It's been forever
since a teenager-"
"...McMillan and Maurice Cole..."
Upon hearing the names, my entire train of thought crumbled and turned to dust.
Maurice Cole? Maurice Cole? I was sure it wasn't a coincidence; Maurice wasn't
exactly a popular name. The Cole family only lived a few streets down, and,
though I was never close with them, Maurice and Ciel had often played together
when they were little kids.
"After some further investigation, police have ruled this to be a double
suicide."
My straight posture wavered, and my back slammed against the couch, shoulders
hunching and eyelids drooping as I tried to soak in the news. Maurice had been
Ciel's closest friend. And now he was dead? He committed suicide, just like
that? I didn't know much about the kid, and hadn't heard Ciel use his name for
years, but knowing that someone so close to my son killed themselves, when he
had his whole life ahead of him, just made my heart ache. The reporter
continued to spill more details about the incident, but I promptly shut the TV
off, finding comfort in the newly black screen and the silence. I didn't want
to indulge in a story about two kids taking their own lives, especially not
someone who was near and dear to Ciel. Maurice was practically family.
"The world is wicked," I sighed to myself, my hands covering my face. I
couldn't imagine what the boys' parents were going through right now. You never
know how fragile life is until one morning you wake up, and your son is no
longer there.
That thought sprung me into action. I hadn't spoken to Ciel in almost two days,
and it was time I fixed that. Screw work, screw dating, screw friends. My own
blood came before anything, and I'd rather awaken to find that Ciel had moved
out and grown up than to find him dead.
I leaned up the stairwell, stretching my neck as far as I could while I yelled.
"Ciel, come down here! It's time for dinner!"
Pure relief flooded through me when I saw my son pad down the hallway, his
innocent eyes gleaming and his voice hopeful. "Are we having pizza again,
Daddy?"
I chuckled, shaking my head and moving out of the way as he came downstairs.
"No, not this time. Anything but pizza."
Ciel nodded and giggled, the youthful sound warming my heart. "Well, then what
are we having? You went grocery shopping, right? What did you make?"
"Nothing yet," I sighed, though I knew I should have. All day I had been
flirting with a girl and messing around with a friend, yet I apparently didn't
have enough time to figure out what was for dinner. What kind of father was I?
"What sounds good?" I asked, opening the refrigerator and taking a peek inside,
observing that the candy was missing off of the counter from the corner of my
eye. "I noticed you found the chocolate bar I left for you."
"It was delicious," he confirmed, climbing onto the counter and dangling his
legs off of the side, kicking them as he sat from his perch. "I want loaded
mashed potatoes with lots of cheese and butter."
Why wasn't I surprised. I could've figured that Ciel would want anything that
had to do with potatoes, but hell, it had been a while since I had a proper
conversation with Ciel; it couldn't hurt to play with his obsession a bit.
"Erm," I started, closing the refrigerator and pressing my back up against the
cool door. I shot my son a small grin. "I didn't buy any potatoes. What about a
salad?"
My son jolted from my confession, the action nearly making me lose my composure
at once. His eyes grew as big as saucers, and he gave me a stricken look.
"You... You didn't get any potatoes?"
"Not a one," I informed, winking at him playfully. By now, I couldn't hold my
genuine smirk in, and I opened up the bottom cupboard, pulling out one of the
large bags. "You should know me better than that. I was hoping we could have a
salad, but I guess I owe you since I've barely been home."
I was sure that he probably knew I was joking, yet he still clutched his heart,
giving me a childish pout. My son, the over dramatic actor. "Don't scare me
like that, Daddy." He scolded, his arms extending out as he reached for me, his
fingers grasping at the air as he tried to hug me without leaving the counter.
"I guess we could have a salad with the potatoes."
At times like this, I was thankful that my son still hadn't lost his lovable
side, and replaced it with the rebellious streak that all teenagers acquire. I
knew that his cuteness would fade eventually, but I would cherish it while it
was still here; there was no time like the present, and one never knew when the
breath they take could be their last.
I went over to my son, giving him a bear hug and lifting him completely off of
the counter. I spun him around in my arms playfully, my fatigued muscles
straining and making me groan as I did so. Ciel clung onto me, wrapping his
legs around my waist and letting out soft, breathless laughs. The sound
couldn't have made me happier, and I was in utter bliss knowing that even
though we had gotten older, we could still make the same joyous memories. I
pulled back so I could look into his eyes, and I lovingly ruffled his hair.
"Phew, you've packed on a few pounds since the last time I did that, buddy. I
guess you're not as little as you used to be." The words were hard to say, but
I managed to speak with a smile as I set him down on the floor. "But I'm glad
you've matured enough to compromise."
His legs dropped and stood on their own, his lips curling into a faux frown.
"Are you calling me fat?" He pouted, but a smile soon took its place and he
hugged me once more. "I just want to make Daddy happy."
I chuckled and patted his shoulders tenderly while he hugged me. "You're just
getting older, I'm afraid." My tone was wistful, and I let go of my son to
travel back over to the fridge. "So potatoes and salad, then?"
"I don't want to be older," Ciel whined, hopping back onto the counter and
nodding. "Yep, that's what I want."
My expression fell into one of sorrow, and I was thankful that my back was to
my son when I murmured under my breath. "You and me both."
I couldn't lie, I was very taken aback when Ciel calmly agreed to having salad
with the potatoes, but I figured that he'd simply leave it untouched. He ended
up surprising me, for he did end up piling a small portion of salad onto his
plate, and he was leisurely chewing his way through it. I sat across from him,
my eyes scanning my son up and down while he ate, as I tried to find the right
words to say. He seemed like he was perfectly fine, but I couldn't take the
risk. I coughed awkwardly, wiping my mouth with a napkin before I spoke. "Ciel,
I'd like to talk to you about something."
Ciel paused his consumption of his dinner, skewered salad held just beyond his
lips, his expression twisting into confusion. "About what? Am I in trouble?"
"No, no, no," I denied quickly, smiling at him reassuringly. The last thing I
needed was his nerves to spike from the possibility of a scolding. "I just-
well..." My words drifted off, and I coughed again, my son waiting patiently
for me to continue. "You do remember Maurice Cole, right? That boy you used to
always play with when you were little?"
He tightened his grip on his fork, lowering his hand and his gaze dropping down
to his plate as he bit into his bottom lip. Had he already heard about it?
"What about him?"
"He was on the news today," I said smoothly, slowly setting my fork down onto
my saucer and watching him closely. I was afraid that he'd completely freak
from the news; teenagers were ticking time bombs. "He killed himself, in a
double suicide. Did you hear about that?"
"I-I," his words came out as a stutter, and he tilted his head down until his
hair completely concealed his face, his eating utensil slipping from his
fingers and clattering onto the floor. His shoulders trembled violently and he
sucked in a shaking breath, miserable sobs rising from his throat.
I jumped to my feet in an instant, knocking my chair over in the process as I
ran to his side, crouching down and wrapping a protective arm around his
shoulders. "Ciel, Ciel it's okay," I coaxed. "I know how close you two were,
but he's in a better place now."
Ciel hiccuped, choking on the low whines that he was trying to hold in and his
entire body shook like a leaf, his hands coming up to cover his face as he
whimpered. "D-Daddy."
I pulled him close to me, encasing him in my arms and slightly rocking him in a
comforting manner. It killed me to see my son torn up like this. No parent ever
wanted to see their child cry, to hear their sobs in despair as they dealt with
their own grief, and it took all I had to keep myself from shedding tears.
"Shh, it's okay, it's okay." I ran my hand in his hair, massaging his scalp and
dividing his soft strands.
Ciel slid his arms around me, his tremoring fingers grasping onto the back of
my shirt and his nails digging into the fabric. He pressed his body closer to
mine, and I secured my grip on him, rubbing his back tenderly. "I'll send
flowers to his parents," I whispered in his ear. "If it'd make you feel better,
you can sign the card with me."
He nodded his head, and leaned it against my shoulder, sniffling. He rubbed his
face against my shirt, wiping his tears away, and I could feel the tiny damp
droplets seeping in. I frowned, chewing the inside of my mouth worriedly. He
didn't deserve to suffer through this, not at his age. He was too young to
experience such a deep loss.
"How about we watch a movie together tonight?" I asked excitedly, hoping that I
could cheer him up. I moved my hands down to his sides, my fingers curling as I
gently tickled him. "Any movie you want."
He shivered, his body jerking at the tickling and he mumbled against my shirt.
"Okay."
I chuckled, feeling victorious from convincing him. I leaned back, letting my
index finger playfully tap against his nose. "I'll make the popcorn."
I ended up pushing our half-eaten dinners aside; typically, I would've been
bothered by the wasted food, but tonight was an exception. Dealing with losing
someone had to be the most difficult process anyone could ever go through in
life, and if a fatty bowl of popcorn and a tub of ice cream could help the
process go more smoothly, who was I to deny my son of that?
So, we settled on the couch, salty, buttery popcorn in front of us along with
two bowls that were filled with hearty helpings of ice cream. We decided to
watch a slasher movie, one where the actors played mindless idiots who were
practically begging to be slaughtered. The blood was clearly fake and watered
down, and the screams of the victims were so dragged on that I would've been
glad to kill them myself just to shut them up. But Ciel enjoyed it, and he even
jumped and hid himself in my chest a few times from fright, which made me
chuckle. In the middle of our third movie, Ciel dozed off in my lap, tranquil
breaths sliding past his parted lips and his tired eyelids sealed tightly shut.
I ended up shutting the TV off, and I carefully slid out from under Ciel,
leaving him to sleep on the couch, but not before I covered him with a blanket
and placed a pillow beneath his head.
I quietly left the living room, scaling up the stairs and finding relief once I
was safe in my own bedroom. Shutting the door securely behind me, I flopped
down onto my bed, digging into my pant's pocket to find the crumpled up paper.
I unfolded it and stared at the wrinkled surface, the blue numbers staring back
at me. We had just met today, it would seem a little desperate if I called her
now, wouldn't it? Especially now, I thought as I looked at my clock. It's
already midnight.
I debated in my head, my nervous fingers running over the receipt while I
pondered. Most guys say that there's a three day rule, and that if you call
before three days, you're obviously desperate. But I'm thirty. I don't have
time to play immature mind games. Besides, if you liked someone, you should
have every right to call them, right? Who cares if you just met?
My hands quickly fumbled for my cell phone, and I punched the correct numbers
into the dial pad before pushing 'call'. I was shaking, butterflies soaring in
my stomach while I listened to the ringing. It had been so long since I felt
this anxious about calling someone.
"Hi, you've reached Elizabeth. I'm not available right now, but leave a message
and I'll get back with you."
My hopes were crushed, and I was a bit disappointed that I couldn't speak with
her. Then again, it was late, so I couldn't expect her to be awake and alert as
she waited for my call. The voicemail beeped, and I shook my thoughts away,
trying to find the right words to say. "Hey, Eliza- erm, Lizzie. This is
Sebastian. I- uh. I just wanted to talk to you. I know we just met today, so
it's probably weird to call this soon, but... I guess I just really wanted to
hear your voice. I've had you on my mind all day, and I thought that maybe we
could talk for a while..."
Jesus Christ, you're rambling like a moron. Get to the point already!
"B-but you're probably busy, o-or asleep," I continued, closing my eyes and
shoving a finger to my temple. "Anyway, I'm just really glad that I met you. If
I haven't scared you away by now, call me whenever you want to meet up."
My phone beeped quietly when I ended the call, and I sighed, my eyes floating
up to the ceiling as I lost myself in thought. Other than the unexpected death
of Ciel's best friend, today was utterly flawless. I never thought that I could
feel as happy as I did today. Ciel had been in a decent mood, my body received
a vigorous workout, and I met a woman who didn't run away as soon as I opened
my mouth. I hated to say it, since things usually fell apart once I felt
comfortable, but things seemed to be finally falling into place.
I kicked my pants off, removed my shirt and threw them both onto the floor. I
put my phone back to its home on my nightstand, and I crawled under my
comforter, a small smile gracing my lips as I pulled the blanket close to me
and started to drift to sleep.
For the first time in years, I didn't feel the need to open my top drawer. 
Chapter End Notes
     The end! Of this chapter, anyway. Hopefully you enjoyed it, and feel
     free to leave comments! ^-^ XOXO <3
***** Cryptical Ciel *****
Chapter Notes
     A/N: Guess what, kittens and doves? It's an update! Aren't you all so
     ecstatic you're about to piss yourselves? No? Well, fine. ANYWAY~ It
     took me about a week to write this, which I'd say is pretty fucking
     good, because being a full time student leaves me with very little
     free time. You can all thank Kit for motivating me to get this
     finished (because I am desperate for her chapter), so lots of love
     for Kit! SIDE NOTE: According to my darling Kitten, when I am trying
     to laugh silently, I sound like the Undertaker. KEKEKEKE.
     Woooonderful.
     I'm done babbling for now, I want you to read this chapter and love
     it, and fill the world with a sea of cum. (Just kidding. Possibly.)
     Enjoy, kittens and doves!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The sound of graphite scratching on paper filled the otherwise quiet room. Grey
markings were left behind on the pristine white sheet as I crossed off wrong
answers and circled the correct ones. I found it to be quite comical that the
teacher thought of this as a challenging test; it was laughable to think that
there would be students who failed. After going through the small packet, I
began filling in the corresponding circles on the scantron sheet, being careful
to mark the right spots. It had only taken me all of five minutes to complete
the test, yet I waited patiently for one of my peers to stand and turn theirs
in. I was not going to draw attention to myself by being the first to complete
it, especially with as fast as I had done. I had to make it seem as though this
little quiz had proved to be somewhat of a challenge for me; I couldn't have a
teacher become a nuisance and inform my father that I was an excellent student
and required no help. The days that he helped me to study were precious and
prized, though he was not all that intelligent. It was the time spent together
that meant so much to me.
The class period seemed to drag on as my fellow students took forever to
complete their tests. I found it highly annoying that they could not finish
within a reasonable amount of time. Still, I was a bit thankful to their
stupidity, as it meant that I did not have to pretend to listen to the
instructor blather on about things he knew nothing about. When the bell rang,
signifying that it was first lunch, I quickly gathered my belongings and fled
the classroom, looking forward to lunch. They were serving cheese stuffed
sticks with marinara on the side, and though I'd eaten pizza consecutively for
the past week, I would never tire of it in its many forms. I would eat as many
as I could, because I knew that soon my father would go shopping and cut off my
supply of the cheesy goodness. As I approached the line, leading into the
little alcove where they served food, a boy snagged me by the arm, tugging me
into the line, and forcing me to cut in front of several students. Wanting to
vomit at being touched without permission, I turned my sapphire eyes up to
stare into the freckled face of a tall kid with wavy ginger hair. Pushing his
glasses up, he smiled down at me with dull brown eyes, opening his mouth to
speak. I wondered idly if he was a Weasley.
"Hey, Ciel... Phantomhive, right? I'm Johnathon," he said, flashing a toothy
grin at me.
"Johnathon Weasley?" I asked with a hopeful excitement in my voice, widening my
eyes and looking at him with faux innocence. The way his face twisted up into
confusion, I knew that he didn't get the reference. Fucking idiot. Suppressing
a sigh, I smiled sheepishly at him, allowing my cheeks to be tinged with pink.
"N-nevermind."
"Um. Anyway," Johnathon hesitated, clearing his throat. "I just, I saw how you
stood up to Maurice on Monday. I thought that was really cool; I'd never have
the courage to do that."
Johnathon was probably about two years older than me; that meant that he must
have had a car, or at least a license. I might have found the person that I
needed to befriend. Playing my cards right, I smiled brightly at him.
"Really? You seem pretty brave to me," I stated coyly, letting my cheeks flush
a deeper shade of pink. "And it was nothing. I just did what I thought was the
right thing to do." I looked down at the ground, my eyes glancing at my black
leather shoes. It was going to be a shame; I was quite fond of these shoes.
He put his pale hand on my shoulder, patting it comfortingly. "It was
something. I admire you for being able to stand up for yourself." I looked up
at him hopefully, clutching onto my backpack. "Say, would you like to hang out
after school today?"
"I'd love to!" I said, excitement coating my tongue. My face fell a second
later, a tiny pout curling my lips. "But... I have detention today..."
"I'll wait for you," he said, a little too quickly. I gave him another charming
smile. Of course he would wait; I wouldn't expect anything less.
"Well then, I guess it's a plan."
The conversation was short-lived. I wasn't going to let him monopolize my lunch
with mindless chatter. As soon as I got my tray full of food, I headed off to
my usual table, located outside in the courtyard. I generally sat alone, which
is exactly how I liked it. I did not want to waste time conversing with air-
headed teenagers, especially when I'd rather be alone with my thoughts, or
reading an engaging novel. I ate my pizza sticks in peace, thumbing through a
leather-bound journal, my eyes scanning the pages and taking in every single
detail, from the smudges of ink on aged paper, to the flow of the writing. I
followed every curve of each letter with my calculating gaze, noting the
punctuation, or lack thereof. I suppose it would be easy to recreate this.
After I had skimmed through the entirety of the book, I began studying its
construction. It seemed that it was quite old, with newer pages in the back,
and a sloppily applied glue holding it together. Deducing that it had been
written in for many years, with groups of blank paper added when necessary, I
assumed that it had to have been a gift, of a sizable slip of leather. The
first chunk of pages had been neatly glued in, leading me to believe that
someone had made this journal by hand for another person, who was not quite as
experienced with gluing in pages but had successfully bound them nonetheless,
if a little messily. Finishing my lunch, I returned the plastic tray to the
cafeteria, and headed into the bathroom, checking the time on my phone. It was
12:32, meaning that I had enough time to slip the journal back into its home
inside the very first pocket of a backpack, before the owner returned. I
entered a stall, taking my belongings with me, and peeled the prosthetic skin
from my hands, tossing them into the toilet and subsequently flushing them
away. I proceeded to thoroughly wash my hands, then exited the restroom and
headed toward my next class.
Today promised to be much more interesting than the previous three combined.
===============================================================================
The library proved to be a place of solace for me; it smelt of old, musty
tomes, and the deafening silence was most welcome. I slowly perused shelf after
shelf, pulling random books from their homes that caught my eye. Every so
often, I glanced at my phone to check the time. Detention normally lasted about
an hour and a half, and by then the school was almost completely abandoned by
students, and very few instructors remained. The librarian always stuck around
until quite late in the evening, welcoming novel-hungry youth into the comforts
of the innumerable books. The only other personnel that remained would be the
instructor that was assigned detention duty. Luckily, no one had been assigned
to the correctional period this Friday, which suited my needs just fine.
With 15 minutes remaining, I approached the main desk to check out my
selections. I would most likely be returning the 5 books I had chosen on
Tuesday, as I would not be taking them home with me this weekend, as sad as
that was. There was just not enough room in my bag for such a thing. I left the
library, heading to my locker to store the novels for the weekend. After I had
shut the metal door, I quickly entered the nearest bathroom, pulling out
everything I would need to apply prosthetic skin. They fit my hands like
gloves, snuggly conforming to every indentation of bone. I had prepared these
earlier in the week, the desired fingerprints already imprinted on the
fingertips. I easily applied liquid latex to the free edges of the gloves as
well as to where they met my skin, securing them in place. After it had dried,
I applied an even coat of foundation, blending the latex into my skin and the
false skin of the prosthetics.
I studied the prosthetics, looking for any flaws. Once I was completely
satisfied that they were perfect, I left the bathroom, and headed towards the
front of the building to meet Johnathon. As promised, he was waiting for me
right outside, leaning against the side of the building, staring off at the
parking lot. I approached him cautiously, allowing an easy smile to slip onto
my face.
"Sorry for making you wait, Johnathon," I said, making my voice sound quite
contrite. When he didn't respond, I tilted my head to the side and quirked a
brow. "Um, Johnathon?"
He seemed to jolt, his head snapping in my direction, his eyes slightly clouded
with confusion. "Oh, Ciel. Sorry, I was lost in thought." He gave me a sheepish
smile and rubbed the back of his neck nervously.
I shrugged my shoulders and followed after him as he led me to his car; it was
white, with several areas rusting away, and it looked beat up, as if it had
seen its fair share of accidents. He unlocked the rust bucket, and I opened the
passenger door, sliding in and clutching my backpack in my lap. After Johnathon
got in the car and it roared to life, he drove off, taking us to some unknown
location to hang out.
10 minutes had passed with no signs of us stopping anywhere; he took random
turns, passing a rundown gas station, driving on a long stretch of road,
heading toward the middle of nowhere. I stared out of the window, my eyes
lazily watching the passing scenery.
"Oh, I forgot," I suddenly spoke up, turning to glance at Johnathon, a shy
smile curling my lips. "I bought a drink for you, as an apology for making you
wait so long." Unzipping a pocket of my bag, I pulled out a bottle of Coke and
passed it to him. He took it graciously and took a large chug from it, upending
the bottle. As I watched his Adam's apple bob up and down, a slow, satisfied
smile spread over my lips.
After he drank about half the bottle, he pulled it away from his lips and gave
it a startled look. "These are sweeter than I remembered." Johnathan licked his
lips, and then swallowed his saliva. "I guess I'm really thirsty," he said,
surprise coloring his voice. He finished off the rest of the soda pop, giving a
contented sigh. "That really hit the spot."
I hummed, my catlike smile not leaving my lips. "I'm glad you think so." My
reply was saccharine sweet.
Silence once again fell, and I settled back into my seat, going back to
watching the scenery. We took a sudden turn down a barely visible dirt "road",
if you could call it that: it was basically two lines worn from tires, tall
grass hiding it from sight. One would easily miss it if they weren't actively
looking for it. Johnathan gave a loud, unexpected belch; my eyes rolled over to
look at him, a single brow quirked as he muttered an embarrassed 'scuse me. I
suppose that I should have expected that. It did not, however, make it any less
disgusting. Such an unbearable imbecile. What kind of person has so low self-
control that they cannot stop themselves from downing an entire Coke in a
matter of seconds-not to mention all of that sugar and caffeine-and then belch
like a swine afterwards? Despicable. I was thoroughly repulsed, and it took a
sizable amount of my willpower to keep the abhorrence out of my expression,
instead forcing an easy smile in its place.
"No need to be embarrassed. It's a natural occurrence," I said placidly, though
I really wanted to call him a vile subhuman cretin. I held my tongue, biting
into it as I turned my eyes back to what lie ahead of us.
There was a field several yards away; though I was short and we were quite a
bit away from it, I could still see the clearing. Tall, yellow grass surrounded
it in an almost perfect circle, and I could tell that the ground was hard pact
dirt. It was drought season, after all. As we slowed, approaching ever closer,
I checked the time on my phone. I think it had been long enough. As if to prove
my point, we swerved a few times, my body falling into the door of the car.
"How are you feeling, McMillan?" I asked smoothly, my face falling back into
its naturally blank state.
"I... My head feels fuzzy, and my whole body feels numb and tingly," he slurred
slowly. I turned my head to stare at him, and I delighted in watching as his
features morphed from confused to shocked panic. I could practically see the
cogs in his head slowly producing the thought that I called him by his last
name, a name I should not have known.
But of course I knew. I knew the name of every single student and staff that
attended or worked at our school. I knew that he was Johnathon McMillan, but
that he went by his last name, and was a member of the soccer team. All of the
jocks seemed to flock to Maurice, sticking their filthy fingers into his
overused pie.
"F-fuck," he muttered, slowly turning to look at me, his eyes widening in fear.
"Keep your eyes on the fucking road, you moronic toad," I hissed, and he
quickly looked back through the windshield. "You must be missing half of your
fucking brain to think that you had me fooled. I know Maurice sent you to lure
me out here, I'm not an idiot. I was waiting for him to act, but I hadn't known
it would be through the star of the fucking soccer team, although that suits my
needs just fine. You must have had a brain aneurism if you thought that I would
not recognize the fiery pubes sprouting out of your vile head." I drew a
breath, letting it out in an annoyed sigh. "McMillan, McMillan, you have no
fucking idea what you just got yourself into.
"As I knew your plan ahead of time, I was able to prepare; I cannot allow two
taller, stronger men to overpower fragile, petite me. In fact, I drugged that
Coke. Did you mother never tell you not to consume something when the safety
seal is tampered with? You really are fucking retarded. So here's what I want
from you: I want you to stay the fuck out of my way while I deal with Maurice,
or you'll fucking regret it." My voice dropped several octaves, becoming
dangerously calm and smooth. I could smell the fear rolling off of him in
waves.
"I... please-"
"Turn the car off," I ordered, cutting him off cleanly, and though it took him
a few seconds for his cotton-filled brain to figure out how to do that, he did
as told. "Now get the fuck out."
I reached over, pulling the keys out of the ignition and pocketing them as
McMillan scrambled out of the vehicle; I wasn't going to chance him trying to
escape and ruining my plans. He leaned heavily against the door, which groaned
in protest under his weight, and I elegantly slid out of my seat, standing up
on the ground. I lifted a foot up, curiously looking to see if my shoes had
left an imprint. Luckily, the dirt was so hard that my shoes left behind no
evidence. How utterly perfect. The sound of grass being parted drew my
attention, and I looked toward the source of the noise. Maurice was walking
towards the field, clutching a sleek black 30 caliber pistol in his bony hand.
His face was twisted into a hideous sneer, like he thought that he had won
already.
"Newsflash bitch, this is your downfall!" Maurice called giddily by way of
greeting, his eye practically twitching.
Barely suppressed laughter rose up in my chest, and a few soft chuckles managed
to pass my lips. "Maurice, what an unpleasant surprise," I purred, tilting my
head to the side and giving him a scathing look.
Remaining unaware of my blatant sarcasm, he cackled like a hyena, throwing his
head back in his deranged state. "You really are stupid. I can't believe how
trusting you are! Allof the jocks are wrapped around my little finger! How do
you not know that by now?" His monologue was cut short by his insistent
giggling, his chartreuse eyes watering from the 'hilarity' of the situation.
Biting my tongue to stop myself from mentioning that it was he who was the one
who suffered from mental retardation, I perked a brow and merely stared at him
unamused. I could not wait to see the expression on his face when he realised
that he had lost. "Your makeup is coming off."
I watched in interest as he brought a hand towards his face, wiping the sweat
off of his brow. As he pulled his hand away, he spotted the foundation coating
his fingers. His face twisted into a rage that I had yet to witness from him;
in that moment, Maurice truly looked as ugly on the outside as he was on the
inside. "How dare you!?I have a natural beauty, you fucking faggot! McMillan,
grab him!" He screamed shrilly. I glanced over at McMillan, taking in his
ghostly complexion, his sweat-glistening skin. I mentally estimated how long it
had been since the drugs began taking effect. I could hear the outrage in
Maurice's voice as he continued to demand whiningly that McMillan do something.
"McMillan! McMillan?"
"By now his vital organs are shutting down. He cannot see, nor can he hear. He
is in the most excruciating pain; all of his muscles are tightening up, and he
cannot scream because his throat is closing off. It will be a most magnificent
death, don't you think?" My voice was eerily calm, my sharp eyes settling back
on the anger-blotched face of Maurice. His expression became confused. "I
drugged him, you see. I knew that you were planning something, and I acted
thusly. I'm no fool."
"You..?" he whimpered, his face twisting into absolute terror. "You're fucking
insane!" Maurice screamed, raising the gun in shaky hands, pointing it toward
me. I knew he wouldn't be able to pull the trigger until it was too late. I
leisurely approached him, letting my lips spread into a sinister smile. "S-stay
back!" He yelled, taking a few steps backwards. I did not slow my pace, and
soon enough I was a few inches away from him. He jabbed my chest with the
barrel of the gun, as if thinking that it would scare me away. My hand shot up,
gripping onto his hand and steadying his hold on the gun. I forced him to raise
it to his head, and tears began pouring down his cheeks, leaving trails in his
makeup. He struggled against me, trying with all of his might to point the gun
at anything except for himself, but it was all in vain. I was stronger than
him, and he realised it.
"Perhaps if you had given up, you would live to see another day." The cold tip
of the gun pressed into his temple, and he drew a hysterical breath, his knees
threatening to give out beneath him. "You lose," I said coldly, my finger
pressing down on his, making him pull the trigger. The sound of the shot echoed
around the field, blood and brain matter splattering me and the surrounding
earth. The slick crunching of his skull from the impact of the bullet was music
to my ears. "It's too bad," I murmured. "I would have loved to bathe in your
blood." His verdigris eyes lost their light, and his lifeless corpse collapsed
onto the ground. Blood dripped from the wound, pooling beneath his head and
mixing with the dry dirt. I released his hand as he fell, turning away from the
delightfully gruesome sight.
McMillan was still propped against the door of his car, his head hanging limply
over the top of it. I was certain that he was dead by now, but just to be
absolutely sure, I checked for a pulse in his wrist. Satisfied that there was
none, I slid him off of the door, letting his body hit the ground with a heavy
thud. I replaced the key within the ignition, removed the Coke bottle from the
car, and picked up a random scrap piece of paper, looking at his messy
handwriting. I tossed it back inside after memorising it. My next phase of
action was to locate Maurice's backpack. Seeing as how there was no other car
out here, my guess was that McMillan had dropped him off out here after school,
meaning that there would be witnesses to their being together. What perfection
this had turned out to be. Pushing the dry grass out of my way, I searched for
the hideous bag that contained the diary. It was hidden a few feet away from
where Maurice's body lay bleeding out. Securing the diary, I ruffled through my
own bag and took out a stack of pages. Carefully, I peeled the binding agent
away from the leather cover. Those were placed into my backpack once they had
been cleanly removed, before I began painstakingly gluing in sections of the
forged papers. As I bound them to the leather, I checked over my work. It had
been easy enough to locate aged pages, if you knew where to look. I knew that
the librarian never threw anything away because of her hoarding problem, and
she had some unique stacks of yellowed paper, that had a very similar
consistency to the kind that was originally in the leather journal. I had
matched his handwriting to a T, starting with his childish script that slowly
morphed into the flowing bubble letters it was today. After McMillan had
approached me, it had given me a wonderful idea on what to put into Maurice's
diary, while removing myself from its entirety. Poor, pitiful Maurice, stuck in
a conservative household where their homosexual love affair was forbidden. I
had come up with quite the heartbreaking story, if I did say so myself. The
very last line on the latest filled in page had mentions of a suicide pact
being the only way they could be together.
Setting that down gently to allow the glue to dry, I made my way back over to
the car, grabbing a pen and scrap paper from my pocket. I scribbled a simple
"He's right" in McMillan's handwriting, tossing it down upon the back seat. I
shut the car door, picked up my belongings, and looked around the clearing.
"Oh, I almost forgot," I said aloud to myself, adjusting my bag over my
shoulders before flipping McMillan onto his stomach. I took each of his arms in
either hand and lifted his torso up enough so that his face wouldn't drag on
the ground. Making it look as if he had crawled over to Maurice's corpse, I
dropped him unceremoniously into the dirt, wrapping his cold hand around the
other's before rigor mortice set in. The glue had finally dried, so I closed
the diary, wrapping a strip of leather around its entirety to keep it closed.
Sticking it back in the backpack, I tossed it unceremoniously into the
passenger side of the car, making it appear as if they had come here together
directly after school. I picked up a sizable chunk of brain matter from next to
Maurice, blood coating my fingertips as I had to stick my hand into the slowly
drying puddle to get the biggest piece. I cupped it in my hand, curling my
fingers over it protectively, and walked off, not sparing a single glance back.
I had too many things to do, and not a large time frame to work with.
Hopefully, I could make it home before my father did, so I could greet him as I
usually did. The prospect of seeing him tonight made a smile spread over my
lips, and each step I took had a spring to it.
===============================================================================
I approached the gas station, my legs protesting from all the walking I had
done, and my feet aching within my beautiful steel-toed shoes. I was positively
covered in dirt and blood, but luckily the sun was already starting to set, the
light fading into a deep orange and hiding the blood on my person from the view
of others. A lone payphone stood behind the building, and after slipping in
some change, I dialed a familiar number, one that I had memorised years before.
At the first ring, I heard him pick up the phone, and without giving him a
chance to speak, I muttered, "Come get me." I hung up just as fast, knowing
that he didn't need much time or any of my help to figure out my location. Sure
enough, his old black truck pulled in thirty minutes later, circling around
back and stopping a few feet away from me. I heard the locking mechanism click,
signifying that he had unlocked the door for me, and climbed into the passenger
seat, passing a small indiscriminate, orange pill bottle, which had originally
cradled the drugs that I had dissolved in the Coke in to his waiting hand. It
currently contained the salvaged chunk of brain matter that I had secured
specifically for this.
"I hope that this is suitable payment for the ride. Now take me to the woods.
Please," I tacked on as an afterthought. Silence filled the cab, and he drove
us easily even further away from the crime scene, taking the familiar route to
a small park. There, I thanked him for his service, exited the vehicle, and
headed into the forest. I had to walk carefully, avoiding disturbing the
underbrush any more than I already had to. I continuously changed up my route,
as I didn't want to start wearing a path and leading imbeciles directly to the
hidden clearing. It sat deep within the alcove of trees, far past any trails. I
had discovered it several years before, monitoring it with hidden cameras to
make sure that it was a secure area. Once I was certain that only I knew of it,
I began using it as needed. A stream ran directly through the center, and the
trees surrounding the clearing were close enough together that I wouldn't be
seen from the outside.
Slipping into the closed off area, I immediately set to work. I stripped out of
my soiled clothes, once again mourning the loss of my favored shoes. I removed
the prosthetics, dropping them onto the growing pile of evidence to be
destroyed. Quickly washing up in the stream, I sighed in annoyance. This would
only serve to remove the visibility of the blood. I would not be properly clean
until I was able to take a shower in my own home. After drying off with a small
towel that I procured from my bag, I added that to the pile as well; it would
do me no good to keep a towel that might have trace amounts of Maurice's DNA.
Father wouldn't realise that it was even missing. It was only a hand towel
anyway, and we had plenty of those.
I kept an old, rusted burning barrel within the clearing, as I never knew when
I would need it. The sun had already set, and darkness was the perfect cover
for the fire. No one would be able to see the smoke rising into the sky, so
there would be no pesky "good Samaritans" to call the fire department. I began
tossing everything into the barrel, clothing, shoes, the true pages of the
diary, the Coke bottle, anything that could be used against me if not properly
disposed of. I squirted a healthy amount of lighter fluid onto the various
items, coating them and ensuring a proper burning. I wanted only ash to remain.
The plastic bottle was completely empty by the time I was satisfied, so I
tossed that in as well. I lit a match, flicking it into the opening of the
barrel and watching the flames flare to life with a powerful whoosh. It would
be a few hours before the fire died down to nothing, and I could not risk
smothering it until I was sure that there was nothing left. The stench of
burning and melting plastic permeated the air, making my stomach roll
unpleasantly. Once it had faded away into the regular earthy scents of the
forest, I sat by the fire, digging out a spare change of clothing that I had
kept in my bag since Monday. My mind had already been set to get rid of
Maurice, as I knew he wouldn't be able to quietly and submissively obey my
command. His mindless dogs were lucky that they had backed off, or else they
might be in his shoes as well. McMillan had been a casualty. It was a pity that
he had to get involved, but it turned out to be a good thing. For all that
anyone knew, Maurice had had a good life. If it was a lone 'suicide', it would
be highly suspicious, and I didn't need the cops on my trail. Likewise, you
couldn't just make a teenager disappear without there being an intensive
investigation. It was better to avoid that entirely by feeding the media
exactly what they desired: a tragic love story.
As I waited, I began thinking about my father. I knew that he was working
overtime tonight, and though I would love to be home waiting to greet him after
a hard day's work, I had made my peace with not being there. It would be too
late in the evening by the time I made it home, all because I could not risk
there being any evidence of what I had done. If I were to get caught, I would
never be able to have him as my own; our love would never be able to come to
fruition. Hopefully he would not find my disappearance to be suspicious, and
would merely assume that I had gone to bed. I truly hated doing that to him,
but I had to do what must be done. It was for our own good, so that we could be
together. Nothing-and no one-would come between us.
I changed into my clothes at a leisurely pace, relishing in the heat of the
embers that were beginning to die down into nothing. It took a full four hours
for the fire to go out completely, annoyingly enough. I had to let the burning
barrel cool, because even though the fire had died, it was still scalding hot
to the touch, and I really did not want to suffer any burns or noticeable
wounds tonight. Once the barrel had cooled to a suitable temperature, I tilted
it forward, looking for any pieces of metal that had not been able to melt. I
collected the zipper of the pants, as well as several buttons, and the iron
plate and bolts that had been in my steel-toed shoes. What a loss that had
been. Sticking the metal into my jacket pocket, I dragged the barrel over to
the stream, pouring in a small amount of ash. I waited until it had dissipated
before I added in a little more, continuing that slow process until all of the
evidence had been dissolved or washed away by the water. I put the barrel back
in its designated spot, zipped my bag up and slung it over my shoulder, and
began picking my way through the woods. It took roughly 45 minutes to make it
back into the park, and the sight of his black truck, sitting silently in the
same place that he had dropped me off made my lips twist into a scowl. I had
not asked him to wait for me, I no longer needed his assistance. His fucking
rust bucket of a truck was far too loud for me to go home in. The damn thing
would probably wake the entire neighborhood, as well as my father. I needed a
perfect fucking alibi, and he was about to ruin it for me.
Stomping over to his vehicle, I yanked the passenger door open, glaring daggers
at him and hoping that my gaze was enough to kill him where he sat. It sadly
was no such thing. "What the fuck are you still doing here? I gave you your
payment, which was more than enough for a ride."
"Get in," he said, beckoning me with his finger. He was very lucky that I had
more self-control than a rabid dog, or else he would have lost that
condescending digit.
"I don't think so. I'm walking home. Have a lovely night," I hissed, venom
dripping from my tongue. I turned away, starting to shut the door, when his
chilling voice settled over me.
"Now." His tone left no room for argument, and with a long-suffering sigh, I
grudgingly obey.
Climbing into the passenger seat, I don't even bother to buckle my seatbelt,
crossing my arms over my chest in annoyance. He takes off at an insane speed,
almost making me reconsider my stance on the blasted seatbelt. It was a wonder
he never got pulled over. I have half a mind to jump from the moving vehicle
and take my chances with the road, but I ultimately know that I can do no such
thing; I can't go home covered in cuts and bruises, or else my father will be
worried and possibly take me to the hospital. He was oddly silent the entire
drive, which I found to be highly unusual, as he normally never shut the fuck
up, and would annoy me unrelentingly. Queerly enough, this was equally as
frustrating.
Color me shocked when he turns sharply, sending me flying into his frame, and I
am confronted with the sight of none other than the grocery store. He stopped
in front of the door, turning to look at me. "Your payment was inadequate.
Secure a pack of cigarettes for me, and we'll call it good, hmm?" No wonder he
was behaving unlike himself; he was probably lacking his normal amount of
nicotine.
I scoffed, quirking a brow at him. "And you can't purchase them yourself
because..?"
"I forgot my prosthetics," he said, flashing me a toothy grin.
If he had just gone home rather than wait four fucking hours for me to emerge,
he would have been able to apply his prosthetics and purchased his own
cigarettes. I really fucking hated him. Frowning in annoyance, I decided to
appease him, and gave a small nod. "All right. But you have to leave as soon as
they're in your hands." Sliding out of the truck, I slammed the door and walked
briskly inside of the store.
Deciding to make him wait for being such a fucking nuisance, I perused the
candy aisle for as long as I dared, selecting a large chocolate bar, a self-
given reward for a job well done. I approached the checkouts at the front of
the store, and found only one of them to be open. A woman with blonde curly
hair hanging loosely down her back. I found her face to be very plain, with
large emeralds for eyes. She gave me a generic smile, as she did for every
single customer that came through here. How utterly dull I found her to be.
Really, the only things she had going for her were her massive tits, and I
wasn't interested in those.
"Hey, can I get a pack of Marlboro Black Menthols, the talls?" I asked her
politely as I set the bar of chocolate on the counter.
"Do you have an ID?" She asked, equally as politely, although her gaze on me
was scrutinizing.
I flashed her a dazzling smile, pulling out my wallet. "Of course."
I reached into the soft leather, pulling out a pristine fake ID. It was fake
only in that the address, name and birthdate were not mine; everything else was
entirely real. It even had my picture on it. I handed it over to her, and she
barely glanced at it long enough to check the birthdate and compare my face to
the picture. After she gave it back to me, she retrieved a pack of his precious
cigarettes, and then rang me up. I handed her a ten dollar bill to pay for it,
piking my purchases up and leaving without taking the change. Once I reached
the truck, I tossed the cigarettes at him and took my backpack. Without even
bothering to say goodbye, I slammed the door once again and headed toward the
back of the store. Taking the main roads would be faster, and I would be able
to get home sooner, but I could not risk any more people seeing me than was
necessary. It was a good thing that I was smart enough to spot the cameras in
the grocery store and tilt my head in a way that my face would not be captured
on film. If I had known where we were going, I would have applied my
prosthetics and used the other ID. But he had to be a fucking mysterious mute.
Sometimes I wondered about him.
Taking the back roads was a pain, but it was necessary. I knew it would take
forever for me to get home because they led away from the direction of my house
before heading back to it. I began walking down the side of the road, watching
warily for the random car that might drive by. I couldn't have someone see me,
and I definitely wasn't in the mood for some do-gooders trying to force me into
their cars. Any time I heard a vehicle, I'd sprint out of view, hiding behind a
bush or a tree, whatever was available to me. There seemed to be an annoying
amount of people taking the back roads tonight; it would be a surprise if I
even made it home. I ate my chocolate as I walked, sating the rumbling hunger
in my stomach with the sweet, delicious candy.
===============================================================================
"I'm home," I moaned in relief, my entire body sore from my little escapade.
All that was left for me to do was take a nice, hot shower, and to curl up in
my bed and have a short coma.
I unlocked the front door with my skeleton key, silently letting myself in
before turning the lock. I tiptoed up the stairs, ditching my backpack outside
of my room; I would put it away later. My first stop was the shower, where I
could finally wash all of this filth off of my skin. After shutting the door, I
flicked on the light and immediately began stripping. I shed every article of
clothing, climbing into the shower and turning the water to scalding. It felt
so nice to have the hot water running over my body, and I let out a pleased
groan as my muscles began relaxing one by one. All the tension left my body,
the aching of overuse dissipating underneath the unrelenting heat. I stood
still with my eyes closed and head tilted back, letting the water spill over my
face and rush down my front. I had no idea how long I stood there, but I almost
didn't want to move. I could have fallen asleep with the water gently caressing
me. Sadly, I wouldn't become clean that way. With a drawn out sigh, I reached
for my shampoo, squirting a small dollop of it into my palm. Lathering it, I
ran it through my hair, scrubbing almost violently, as if trying to wash away
the memory of being splattered with Maurice's, most likely disease-infested,
blood. I washed my hair three more times before I was satisfied enough to move
on to conditioner. Coating every strand in the moisturizing concoction, I let
it soak into my soft locks while I cleansed my body until it was pink and
overly sensitive. I was sure I had probably scrubbed off a few layers of skin,
though that was probably for the best. I didn't want his fluids seeping into my
flesh. I shuddered at the thought, rinsing the conditioner out of my hair.
After washing my face, I turned the water off and stepped out into the steamy
bathroom. It was almost fog-like, and I could barely see a few feet in front of
me. I began drying myself, letting the towel suck the moisture out of my hair.
As the steam began to dissipate, my eyes were drawn to my clothing that lay
crumpled on the floor. I stared at a small stain with laser-focus; it was rusty
brown in color, almost the same shade as...
"No. NO. NO NO NO! FUCK!" A small droplet of Maurice's blood soaked into the
color of my otherwise pristine white shirt. "Shit! How could this happen?" I
whined, feeling myself rapidly descend into insanity. I had apparently missed a
spot when I had been cleaning myself in the stream, and it had transferred onto
my clothing.
I could feel panic coiling in my stomach, my chest tightening as my heart
seized within my ribcage. I had to get rid of it, I had to, I had to. Scooping
up the clothes, I fled the bathroom, practically sprinting down the stairs,
slipping and sliding on still-wet feet. Even in my panic I still seemed to be
as quiet as a church mouse, for which I was very thankful. I could not wake up
my father, not before I could destroy this evidence. I was in the basement
faster than I had thought possible, towel still barely hanging around my waist.
I threw the clothing into the washer, dumping a large amount of bleach in,
setting the temperature to cold. I waited, my skin tingling with the hateful
anxiety. I had to get that stain out, I had to. Every time the wash cycle
ended, I would start it up over again, pouring in more and more bleach. By the
time I was able to calm down, I had used the whole gallon of bleach, and sent
the clothing through 8 cycles. I could tell from the basement window that the
sun had come up a few hours ago. Cold was seeping into my bones, as I hadn't
left this spot to put any clothes on, lest I corrupt them with Maurice's DNA. I
had even thrown the white towel into the last cycle with the clothes, in case
anything had made its way onto that. The dryer took an hour to fully remove all
of the moisture from the clothing. Perhaps it would have been faster if we had
a newer dryer, but it still worked quite well, if a little time consuming, so
why replace something that wasn't broken?
The sound of fabric dropping down the laundry shoot made me start, and alerted
me that my father was awake. Walking over to the shoot, I pulled the metal door
down and peered inside; a lone pair of underwear sat there. So, that's how he
slept, was it? How interesting. The dryer gave a dull beep, and I went over,
pulling out the still warm clothing. I took my time folding everything before I
finally left the basement. Making a pit stop in the kitchen, I grabbed a heavy
duty garbage bag, shoving the clothes into it and tying it off. I headed
upstairs, dropping the towel off to the linen closet in the hall, making one
last stop before I would be able to go into my room. I reached up, grabbing on
the rope that would lower the staircase to the attic. I took each step
carefully, as the wood was prone to creaking, and this house was ancient. I'd
rather not fall through a step, break my ankle, and be caught red-handed. I
took the last step, fully entering the attic and looking around. It was musty,
dark, and full of random boxes and things that could probably be thrown away. I
hoped that my father wasn't turning into a hoarder, or else I'd have to hold an
intervention with him. I disturbed the dust as I walked further in, sending the
particles into the air. It tickled my nose, causing a small sneeze to echo in
the small space. I set the bag down next to some old boxes, figuring that it
would go unnoticed until I could properly dispose of it, as my father rarely
ever went into the attic. I exited, taking my time walking down the rickety
steps, before closing the attic off.
Picking up my backpack, I rummaged through a small pocket, clasping my key with
my fingers. I withdrew it and unlocked my bedroom door, stepping inside the
blessedly clean area. I shut and locked the door, heading toward my closet. In
my weary state, I tripped over my own feet, stumbling and losing my grip on the
backpack. A sudden knock at my door had my heart stopping, and my fingers
scrambled to once again get a hold on my back. I caught it just before it could
hit the ground with a heavy thud and froze. I held my breath, heard my father's
muffled voice through the door, though I couldn't focus on and decipher what he
was saying in my panicked state. I waited, still as the dead, until I heard his
footsteps fade down the hallway. I sucked in a deep, shaky breath, my body
trembling as I silently dropped to my knees. That had been too close.
I could hear his car pulling out of the driveway; perhaps he had been trying to
tell me that he was leaving. No matter, I still had things to do. Once I
regained my composure, I climbed to my feet, hanging my backpack on the closet
door handle. I searched through my drawers, selecting random clothing before
getting dressed. I had a long day of cleaning ahead of me, and I wasn't going
to waste it by sleeping.
"First thing's first," I said to myself as I left my room. "Coffee."
As I waited for the pot to brew, I rewashed all of the dishes, making sure to
remove every speck of filth. I refused to eat off of dishes that I suspected
might still be dirty. After that, I selected a mug, filling it with coffee,
cream, and sugar. Normally my father would only allow me to have one cup of
coffee a day, mostly because you could harldy call it coffee with the way I
made it, but because he wasn't here, I drank the entire pot. What he didn't
know wouldn't hurt him.
The first area I decided to clean was the basement, because it reeked of
bleach, and on the off-chance that my father decided to come down here, I
didn't want him questioning why it smelled so strongly of the chemical
concoction. I washed all of the laundry, using the proper amount of detergents
and separating the whites from the darks. While I waited for the washer to
finish its cycle, I swept and mopped the floor, cleaned the window, scrubbed
the surface of the washer and dryer, and cleaned the laundry shoot. Just
because dirty clothing was sent down it didn't mean it needed to be filthy as
well. I managed this by shimmying up the metal walls, using a towel wet with
hot water and soap, and washing every inch of it. I slowly slid back down,
exiting the shoot and closing the door. I put the freshly cleaned clothes into
the dryer before leaving the basement.
Although I had been planning to work my way up, I decided that I wanted to
clean the blasted attic right away; it was by far the most disgusting area in
the entire house, and knowing my father, it had probably never been cleaned. I
never usually went in there, which is why the level of dust and grime had
slipped by my notice. The idea that a part of my house had been so filthy for
so long made my skin itch. I collected the broom, mop and bucket, and several
other cleaning utensils before I made my way upstairs. I entered the attic,
setting everything down gently, and pulled on a pair of elbow length gloves. It
seemed that my decision to come up here had been a good one, because as soon as
I pulled the rope to close off the attic, I heard the loud rumbling of my
father pulling into the drive. Luck seemed to be on my side today, possibly to
make up for how much fate decided to shit on me last night. AS much as I wanted
to run down and hug the life out of him, I restrained myself. That could wait;
for now, I had to clean this fucking attic. The dust was coating my skin and
making me sneeze like I had allergies. Which I don't, for the record… but my
father does. The dust had to go. He left soon after, filling me with
disappointment at the same time it relieved me that he hadn't come searching
for me. Pushing my feelings away, I scrubbed the entire attic, cursing the fact
that my dad had gotten a feather duster rather than the Swiffer dusters that
dust would actually cling to. Feather dusters were fucking useless, sending the
dust flying into the air, the little floating particles mocking me. I fucking
hated dust.
With the attic finally clean, a sense of accomplishment swept through me.
Perhaps I could take a break from cleaning; I very well deserved it. I could
have gone to my room, but I was beginning to feel the lack of my father's
presence. It was suffocating. I walked straight into his bedroom like it was my
own, my feet leading me right over to the edge of his bed. I flopped down onto
it, taking deep, oxygen-deprived breaths of his scent. It surrounded me as I
crawled beneath his sheets. A small moan rumbled in my throat, a shiver working
its way up and down my spine. I could drown in this bed, surrounded by his
essence. It was almost orgasmic. I could feel the blood gathering in my lower
stomach, my body on fire, skin dancing with tingles. I normally never condoned
this behavior, but I couldn't help myself. I hadn't seen him in over 24 hours.
I couldn't take it. I needed some sort of relief; I was so wound up from the
night before, and he wasn't here to soothe my nerves. I needed my Daddy.
Slipping my hand into my pants, I pushed my underwear out of the way, my
fingers brushing over my already hard and throbbing dick. A small sigh got
stuck in my throat, another shiver wracking my body. I curled my hand around my
aching need, squeezing slightly and slowly sliding it down the length.
"Nn, fuck," I gasped breathily, my eyes lidding heavily and my breaths coming
in shallow pants.
Writhing around in his bed, I swallowed his scent, letting it send my senses
into overdrive. I slid my hand up and down, drawing soft, keening moans from my
lips. MY imagination began running wild; instead of my hand, it was his. He
trailed tiny kisses down my neck, sucking on my clavicle, tongue flicking over
my nipple teasingly. I wanted him to suck me off, my hips bucking sharply in
desperation. My hand gripped tighter, picking up the pace, thumb smearing
precum all around the head and down the length.
"Daddy, please," I moaned, begging to have him on me, in me. I wanted him on
top of me, thrusting as deep as he could. I imagined the gentle touches he gave
me becoming rough, possessive, and I nearly lost my mind. "Daddy," I mewled,
bucking my hips wildly into my hand, jerking faster. My pupils dilated, my
whole body trembling as the coil in my lower stomach snaps, and I cum all over
my fingers, spilling into my underwear. I gasp for breath, slowly milking my
dick to make sure everything's out. Laying there, I fill my sense with my
father's musk, the scent of his sweat. It's an intoxicating aroma, and if it
was the only thing that I could smell for the rest of my life, I would be
forever aroused.
Slowly, I dragged myself out of his bed, padding over to his closet and
grabbing one of his button-up shirts. I wrap myself in it, surrounding myself
in his essence until he comes home. After I clean myself up, I resignedly go
back to cleaning the house. "Only two floors left..."
===============================================================================
Cleaning may have been a tedious task, especially when I wasn't sure how I was
still awake, yet I could not deny the immense satisfaction it gave me. It
brought me a peace that very few things could ever give me, and I would spend
my whole life cleaning if I could. I had found the chocolate bar that my father
had left for me on the kitchen counter whilst I had been in the midst of
cleaning, and I stopped to devour it.
After another shower to get the grime and dust off of my person, it was time to
relax. I sat on the couch, turning on the television. It was set to the
mindless cartoons that I tended to watch when my father was around, though I
derived no enjoyment from them; I watched them only because kids my age loved
them. I found them to be mind-numbingly retarded, and I was sure that I lost
innumerable brain cells any time I indulged in them. I quickly changed the
channel to the news, a breaking news story catching my eye immediately. I
didn't get to watch it, though, because I heard the familiar rumbling of my
father returning home. I quickly sprinted upstairs, entering my room and
shutting the door behind me. Pulling out my cell phone, I checked a news site,
reading that two teenage boys had been found dead in a car, and that the police
had determined that they had committed suicide together. A manic smile spread
over my lips, and my eyes widened in excitement. This proved that I could get
away with it, without his help. Still, I wasn't too eager to cut ties with him,
as he had taught me a lot, and still had more to teach me; besides, I couldn't
trust him as far as I could throw him, and I knew I had to tread carefully.
"Ciel, come down here! It's time for dinner!" I heard my father call from
downstairs.
Controlling my expression and forcing it into neutrality, though I was sure
that my eyes were still sparkling with intense joy. I walked into the hallway,
looking down the stairs at my father's worried visage, watching it melt into
relief. So he had seen the news. How perfect. "Are we having pizza again,
Daddy?" I asked childishly, hope filling my voice.
He chuckled, shaking his head as I began to pad silently down the stairs. "No,
not this time. Anything but pizza."
I nodded, a tiny giggle rising in my throat. I was sure that he hated pizza by
now, but I could probably eat it for another month happily and without
complaint, never tiring of the greasy, cheesy goodness. "Well, then what are we
having? You went grocery shopping, right? What did you make?"
"Nothing yet," he said with a tired sigh. I could tell he was thinking that
dinner should have already been made, but in his worry for me over the loss of
my classmates, he hadn't exactly thought about it. I watched his expressions
change curiously; it looked as though he was mentally berating himself, making
my heart squeeze painfully for him. "What sounds good?" I walked with him to
the kitchen, and he immediately began rifling through the fridge. "I noticed
you found the chocolate bar I left for you."
"It was delicious," I confirmed, pulling myself up onto the countertop, where I
swang my legs idly. I leaned forward slightly, my hands clinging onto the edge
of the faux marble. "I want loaded mashed potatoes with lots of cheese and
butter," I answered his previous question a few moments later. He had
distracted me by mentioning the chocolate.
I watched as my father paused, shutting the refrigerator door and turning to
give me a sheepish look. "Erm," he said, leaning against the cold metal. "I
didn't buy any potatoes. How about a salad?"
A jolt of shock ran through me. How could he possibly forget potatoes when
that's all that I ate? I stared at him, my eyes widening as far as they could
go, though I was scrutinizing his every movement, every breath. He must have
been pulling my leg. "You... you didn't get any potatoes?" I asked softly, my
voice squeaking, as if he had just ripped my heart out and stomped on it.
Surely I could make him squirm a little if he was trying to play a horrible
trick on me. If he had actually forgotten potatoes, I would demand that he go
to the store right now and buy 5 bags' worth. I could throw a serious fucking
tantrum if I wanted to.
"Not a one," he said, tone serious, before a smile cracked his facade, and he
shot me a wink. What a cheeky father I had. He opened the cupboard where we
kept the delicious things, pulling out a massive bag. A man after my own heart;
I could have swooned. "You should know me better than that." Of course I did; I
saw right through him. I probably knew him better than he knew himself. "I was
hoping we could have a salad, but I guess I owe you since I've barely been
home."
As if having potatoes for dinner would make up for the withdrawals I had had
from being away from him so long. I clutched at my heart, still acting as
though he had given me a fright. "Don't scare me like that, Daddy," I scolded
lightly, a small pout forming on my lips. Reaching out for him, I leaned ever
father over the edge of the counter, not wanting to slide from my perch to
reach him, yet not caring if I fell; he would catch me. I wanted him to come to
me. "I guess we could have a salad with the potatoes," I said, trying to coax
him to come closer. I'd honestly much rather have him for dinner, but that was
neither here nor there.
Finally, finally, he strutted over to me, his arms curling tightly around me as
he lifted me from the counter. I let out a little squeak, instantly wrapping my
arms and legs around him as he spun me around. My heart sputtered and thundered
against my ribcage; I was lucky he couldn't see my face, because I could feel
the warmth of a soft blush spreading over my cheeks. How I utterly adored this
man. He groaned, and I felt his muscles quake, though I was quite light if I
said so myself. He had probably overworked himself again. I didn't want him to
let me go, not ever. He pulled back slightly, though I continued to cling onto
him for dear life, and his vermillion eyes met mine; there was nothing but love
for me in the depths of his stare, and I could feel it down to my very bones.
His hand came up and gently ruffled my hair, the only time I would allow a
single strand to be out of place, and I almost wanted to kiss him. Until he
called me fat, that is.
"Phew, you've packed on a few pounds since the last time I did that buddy. I
guess you're not as little as you used to be," he said breathlessly as he put
me down. What, you mean last month? Was I becoming a beached whale? I let my
feet fall, fighting off an offended scowl. He doesn't mean it that way, Ciel.
Or maybe he did. Maybe I was gaining weight. "But I'm glad you've matured
enough to compromise," he said warmly, pulling me out of my worrying thoughts.
I gave him a faux frown, turning my intense panic over my weight into a joke.
"Are you calling me fat?" I pouted for a moment longer before forcing my face
into a smile. I leaned into him, hugging him again to reassure myself. He loved
me. "I just want to make Daddy happy," I said softy, and I meant it. I'd give
anything for him, if I could make him happy.
He patted my shoulders, giving them a tender squeeze. "You're just getting
older, I'm afraid." His tone seemed a little saddened, and as much as I wanted
to keep hugging him, I let him go so he could go back to the fridge. "So
potatoes and salad, then?"
I climbed back onto the counter, my heart hurting at his wistful words. "I
don't want to be older," I whined. If he didn't want me to be older, then I
didn't want to be growing up either. I didn't want to have to leave in four
years. I refused. Clearing that out of my head, I nodded. "Yep, that's what I
want."
He mumbled something that I didn't catch, and though I was curious, I didn't
ask. I watched him prepare dinner, my stomach snarling ravenously at me. I had
only eaten two chocolate bars since yesterday, and the coffee had done nothing
for my hunger. My father boiled the potatoes into a soft enough state for them
to be mashed. Even though I was a huge fan of junk food, nothing tasted more
amazing than what he cooked. I would swear up and down that my father was the
best cook in the entire world, and though I was a picky eater, he still managed
to make things I didn't like taste palatable. With dinner prepared, we sat down
to eat. I served myself a massive spoonful of mashed potatoes, sprinkling salt
on them before I scooped a small portion of salad. Of course, the potatoes were
the first to go, but I did nibble on the salad, as promised. It wasn't all that
bad, but that wasn't surprising because my father had prepared it.
I had a forkful of it lifting to my lips, and I opened my mouth. Maybe I would
actually finish a vegetable that wasn't avocados or Brussel's sprouts for once
in my life. "Ciel, I'd like to talk to you about something." I froze; I had
known this would be coming, but I had to play dumb, and I had to do it
perfectly.
I twisted my face up in confusion, salad still inches from my mouth, just
begging to be eaten. "About what? Am I in trouble?" I asked, letting worry lace
my words.
"No, no, no," he answered quickly, giving me flashbacks to this morning, and
gave me a reassuring smile. "I just-well..." He trailed off, looking very
unsure of how to broach the subject. I waited, giving him time to organize his
thoughts. "You do remember Maurice Cole, right? That boy you used to always
play with when you were little?" If by play, he meant be horribly bullied by,
then yes. That was the one and only Maurice. Well, it had been.
I tightened my grasp on my fork, lowering my hand and dropping my head to stare
at my plate as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. Keep calm,
don't laugh. I bit my bottom lip in an effort to stop them from spreading into
a smile. "What about him?"
"He was on the news today." I heard the soft clink of metal on ceramic as he
presumably set his own cutlery down. Here it comes. "He killed himself, in a
double suicide. Did you hear about that?"
Hear about it? I was the one who made it look that way. But I had to keep my
composure; I couldn't allow myself to crack. "I-I," I stuttered, and I dropped
my chin onto my chest, hiding my face completely behind my fringe. It was so
hard, so fucking hard, not to burst into laughter. My lips twitched, the
corners tugging into a tight smirk. My body began trembling, and my fork
slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor and sending lettuce everywhere. If I
wasn't trying to focus solely on keeping control of myself, I would have cursed
my clumsy fingers for causing a mess. A small sound rose in my throat, and I
tried to cut off the bubbling laughter as best as I could.
The sound of his chair hitting the floor echoed around the room as he flew to
his feet, practically throwing himself at me. He yanked me into his arms,
holding me tightly. "Ciel, Ciel it's okay. I know how close you two were, but
he's in a better place now." Yeah; in hell.
I found the whole situation to be hysterical, and I shook even harder, choking
on the chuckles that threatened to burst through the thin wall of control I
still possessed. I hid my face in my hands, hoping he wouldn't try to look at
me. I kept the laughter down to slightly deranged hiccups, whimpering "D-
Daddy."
"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," he murmured, petting my head as he tried to soothe
me. IT honestly just made me want to laugh all the more. I slid my arms slowly
around him, my fingers digging into his back and possibly leaving bruises. I
pressed even closer to him, nuzzling my face into his shoulder. By now I was
silently laughing harder than I ever had, and amused tears were leaking from
the corners of my eyes. "I'll send flowers to his parents. If it would make you
feel better, you can sign the card with me," he whispered in my ear.
I didn't trust my voice, as I was still shaking with laughter, so I nodded in
agreement instead. He began rubbing the back of my neck, and I wiped my eyes on
his shirt as more tears of mirth spilled over.
"How about we watch a movie together tonight?" He asked, his voice morphing
into a light excitement. It was clear to me that he was still attempting to
cheer me up. How terribly adorable of him. "Any movie you want," he said, his
fingers brushing my sides and tickling me.
I shivered at the touch, my body jerking. I knew he was just trying to make me
laugh, which would be a mistake as I was still hysterical, but it only
succeeded in making warmth pool in my stomach. "Okay," I said softly, using the
last of my control to make my voice sound even.
"I'll make the popcorn," he said with a chuckle, tapping the end of my nose.
When he released me, I excused myself, heading upstairs to the bathroom. As
soon as the door fell shut behind me, my control collapsed, as did my legs
beneath me, and I fell to the floor in a heap of laughter. I managed to keep it
quiet, so my father wouldn't hear. My sides ached with the force of my mirth,
and soon it died down, leaving me gasping on the floor. I had never been so
deeply amused in my life. Once I was sufficiently calm, I returned to the lower
floor, heading into the living room, where my father waited for me, a huge tub
of ice cream and a bowl of popcorn resting upon the coffee table. I picked the
goriest, b-rated horror movie that we owned, settling in next to him, snuggling
into his side. Though the movie didn't scare me at all, I jumped in "fright" at
all the right places, hiding my face in my father's chest to secretly breathe
in his scent. The rumbling of his chuckle reverberated in my ear and made me
want to purr in response. I had no idea how many movies we watched before I
began to doze off. I was a notoriously light sleeper, although I don't think my
father realised that when he slowly slid out from beneath me, replacing his
warm body with a pillow that hardly compared. He shut the television off before
covering me with a throw blanket, and then headed up to his room.
I had a curious urge to follow him. Normally we both would fall asleep together
on the couch when we had a movie night. I wondered what was so important that
he would leave me down here by myself, not even bothering to carry me to my
bed. I stood from the couch, letting the blanket fall uselessly away, and
tiptoed up the stairs, stopping outside of his bedroom door. Turning the handle
slowly, I opened it as much as I dared, which was a crack barely large enough
to peek through. He stared at his cell phone before typing in a number and
lifting it to his ear.
"Hey Eliza-erm, Lizzie. This is Sebastian. I-uh. I just wanted to talk to you.
I know we just met today, so it's probably weird to call this soon but... I
guess I just really wanted to hear your voice. I've had you on my mind all day,
and I thought that maybe we could talk for a while. B-but you're probably busy,
o-or asleep. Anyway, I'm just really glad that I met you. If I haven't scared
you away by now, call me whenever you want to meet up."
Instant rage flashed through me, and I stormed off down the hall, going into my
own room and silently shutting the door. Who was this Elizabeth cow? And why
was my father so nervous? And beyond that, why was he even calling this bloody
tart? Meet up? Over my dead body. Or rather,her dead fucking body. Whoever she
was, this Lizzie, would regret ever setting her eyes on my father. I would
allow no woman to sink her claws into him ever again. My mother had already
done enough damage. All women were the same as her.
"You fucked with the wrong person," I said, my voice dripping with venom. "Once
I find you, it's lights out, you vile whore." I didn't care if I had to follow
my father's every footsteps, I would find her, and she would be dead as fucking
dust before the week was out. No one, and I meant no fucking one, would come
between us. I would be sure of that. "You've just signed your death warrant,
bitch."
Chapter End Notes
     E/N: FEED ME YOUR THOUGHTS. I hoped this chapter was as amazing for
     you guys to read as it was for me to write. I had much fun with it~
     Perhaps I'm a tad psychopathic, but I hear that it's hot to be a
     little murderous~. Thanks for reading, and do look forward to Kit's
     chapter, whenever it arrives.
     Kisses and Love, Always Love, Ritsy
***** Scarred Sebastian *****
Chapter Notes
     Oh my god, this chapter took FOREVER. I've been trying to publish it
     for a few days, but I just kept adding more and more. Forgive me, I
     was a little lazy on the editing since it seemed so long. Oh, and
     YOU'RE ALL WONDERFUL AND I LOVE YOU.
     Enjoy.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Jeremy Adamson: Fender bender.
 Luna Delrio: T-boned at an intersection.
 Patricia Banks: Car completely totaled in a hit-and-run incident.
 All of their situations were equally misfortunate, for none of them would
receive the compensation they deserved. Fuck, did I hate doing this. I hated
having to deny people of the settlements they deserved. They were all in
accidents; two of them ended up in the hospital. Hadn't they suffered enough?
 No, apparently not. Apparently, even though they were thrashed about in metal
death machines and raced to the ER in the back of a bumpy, noisy ambulance, not
to mention given the hefty bills that the hospitals charged, they still needed
to be crushed and thrown about more, with their wallets weeping and their bank
accounts most likely grieving.
 Why did the world have to be this way? Since when was money more important
than the feelings of others? Of course I knew that sympathy and feelings
wouldn't pay the bills; if I didn't have a job and I wasn't making money, my
son and I would starve. But that didn't mean that I was trying to crush others
in my endeavor to gather enough money to live. My job required me to do so, but
I didn't want to. If I was the owner of this company, I wouldn't deny people of
the payments they deserved. Some assholes trashed their cars, sent them to the
hospital, and one of the bastards even took off from the scene. And I was just
supposed to sit here, looking pretty, and type in the one little word that
could destroy them for the rest of their lives?
 Denied.
 Oh, my heart ached. My chest squeezed and my lungs heaved, my ribcage seemed
to crush my organs underneath its steel grasp. How could I do this. How could
anyone do this. How could I possibly say that I make a living off of this shit?
God, I was going to Hell.
 My bony fingers left my keyboard, my head turning in shame as I clicked the
left button on my mouse, submitting the report into the server and finalising
it. That was it. It was done. No changing it now. I did what I did, simply so I
could receive a lousy paycheck at the end of the month. If I didn't have a
child to worry about, I would live in a box on the street. At least that way I
couldn't hurt anyone. I wouldn't be damaging other people's lives.
 I rested my hands on my desk, letting out a stressed sigh while my back sank
into the cushion of my chair. My sanguine irises wandered away from the
computer screen; they'd prefer to stare at anything but the computer screen.
Taking in the sights of my office, I realised that my surroundings were quite
bare. Then again, one could only decorate and personalise their cubicle so much
before the company refused to allow any more changes. Like every other cubicle,
mine had a large desk pushed up against the right wall, with a fairly decent
sized desktop computer resting on its surface, along with a keyboard and mouse.
A clock that the company had furnished hung on the wall right above my
computer, as if it was constantly mocking me by informing me of how slow time
passed.
 Other than that, there wasn't much of anything else. The walls were grey, the
carpet was navy. A very plain landscape. I did, however, have a ficus sitting
in the corner of my office; a gift from the secretary when I first got the job,
and, surprisingly, I managed to keep the thing alive even though plants were
never my strong suit. I also had a single picture frame that sat adjacent to my
keyboard, allowing me to gaze at the portrait nestled inside whenever I chose
to do so; which, in my case, was now.
 Pupils lovingly gazed over the details, seeing the torn up bark on a single
tree and the green leaves that seemed to be waving to the side, signifying that
there was a breeze blowing at the time the picture was taken. Slate hair was
also swaying in the light wind, the locks shining in the soft rays of the
sunlight. His head was slightly turned to the side, since, at the time, he had
been facing forward when I asked him to pose for the camera, and he was
required to turn back for the picture. His hands gripped the black straps of
the bag that hung over his shoulders, and the faint yellow glow of a school bus
was in the background. At the time, he was irritated that I asked him for a
picture, yet his smile seemed so genuine in the photograph that one would never
know he was angry in the beginning. His smile flashed white, perfect teeth, and
if the sun had enhanced any of his features, it had to be his eyes.
 I had loved those eyes. I always would love those eyes. He had his mother's
eyes, deep as the ocean, sometimes showing the fierceness of an animal yet
always maintaining a cool, picturesque innocence. Those were, perhaps, the
physical trait I loved most about Rachel. They were the first thing I fell in
love with, and the last thing I saw before I was shattered.
 Then, I met my son. And to my excitement, yet dread, he had those eyes. It was
like Rachel was back, in a much smaller, obviously more masculine form. Ciel
didn't resemble Rachel much in my eyes, and he certainly didn't resemble me,
but for some reason, he was blessed with the very same orbs as his mother.
 In a way, that should be a blessing for him.
 But it was a curse for me.
 I loved looking into those eyes. I always would. But I would never associate
them with my son. Whenever I stared into his eyes, all I felt was the deep
longing and love that I still held for Rachel. If that wasn't pathetic, I
didn't know what was.
 I tore my eyes away from the picture. I hated how I was constantly feeling
bittersweet emotions whenever my child was around me. I loved him, more than
anything, for I truly believed that without my little boy, I probably still
wouldn't be here. But why, why did he have to possess the one trait that
pierced me like a voodoo doll? He could've had anything, her hair, nose, voice,
but no, he had to have those eyes.
 It would seem that I was in a dreary mood today, wallowing in gloom and
letting the stress walk all over me as if I were a doormat. On a typical basis,
pure happiness was all I felt whenever I thought about my son, embracing the
tone of his irises as a good thing. Not today, though. All I felt was hurt,
betrayal, sadness. All I saw was Rachel.
 And then it happened.
 It was very simple, a tiny vibration in my pant's pocket that told me I
received a text message. I would've never thought that something that was
usually so unimportant could turn my day around completely.
 Hey Sebastian! What are u doing? U better not be looking up pictures of other
girls! ;) Let's go out this weekend!
 It was a simple sentence, one with spelling errors, no less, yet it sent my
heart soaring into the sky. I had desperately called Elizabeth Saturday night,
and to my utter panic and distress, I hadn't heard a thing back from her. I was
certain that I scared her off, or that she couldn't care less about going on a
date with me, but now, on this Wednesday morning that had started out to be dim
and dull, I received a response from the person I wanted to speak with most,
and I couldn't be happier.
 I tugged on my tie, loosening the garment even more than it already was as I
read over the text message again and again; my face was red from excitement, I
was sure. The only problem was, I didn't know how to reply. I wanted to explain
how ecstatic I felt, but I would probably ramble and write a novel that
Shakespeare would be proud of, and in this day and age, that's not exactly a
proper mating call.
 "Yo, Sebastian," Bard called, sauntering in the room with the daily box of
doughnuts. "They didn't have raspberry filled, I tried to get the bastards to
make some but-"
 "She texted me!" I interrupted, darting out of my chair and sending my suit
jacket flying off of the back of it in the process. The dark fabric crumpled to
the floor lifelessly while I bolted over to my friend, shoving my phone in his
face and showing off the message proudly.
 "Let's go out this weekend," Bard read aloud, his eyes squinting as they
analyzed the message. "Cool," he shrugged, pushing past me and setting the box
of pastries on my desk. "Remember to buy condoms."
 "Condoms?" I repeated, my eyelids flying open in surprise and my expression
practically innocent, as if I hadn't a clue what the word meant.
 "Yes, condoms," he snorted. "You know, the little rubber balloon you put over
your cock before you go balls deep. It prevents broads from getting preg-"
 "I know what a condom is," I hissed, glaring at my idiotic companion. He
simply laughed at my expression, which made me all the more pissed off.
 "Good, then you'll remember to buy them."
 I glanced down at the phone, my eyes absentmindedly scanning over every little
letter in the text. "Why would I need them?"
 "Do you want her to have your kid?" Bard asked, an eyebrow raised and his lips
curled in disgust while he threw open the pastry box and snatched up a
doughnut. "I'm not sure Ciel will appreciate having a new little brother or
sister this soon."
 "This is our first date!" I exclaimed, bewildered. "I highly doubt we'll be
having sex."
 "Better to be safe than sorry," Bard said, his voice muffled from the doughnut
that was stuffed in his orifice. As he spoke, crumbs spewed from his mouth and
littered the carpet below. "Wouldn't want to cockblock yourself if she decides
to treat you to a scrumptious dessert."
 "Watch your tone, Bard," I growled, my blood pumping as my anger escalated.
Before I knew it, my temper took over, and I slammed my hand down onto the box
of doughnuts, crumpling and crushing the lid, as well as some of the pastries
inside. "She's a beautiful young woman, and I won't allow you to speak of her
like she's some whore."
 My friend swallowed his food immediately upon seeing the action, the lump
practically bulging from his throat as he choked it down, and he protectively
swiped the box up off of my desk. "Hey, hey, hey! Watch the doughnuts, man!
They didn't do anything."
 "Then learn how to keep your fucking mouth shut. I'm not like you, Bardroy; I
cherish the things that I have. Elizabeth isn't an object. I don't care if I'm
unable to touch her for a week, month, year, or ten years. I care about her for
who she is."
 "Sebastian, you're not thinking with your head, man," he stated softly, taking
a risk by gently laying his hand on my shoulder. "I get it, your goal isn't to
fuck her. That's great, but what you don't realise is that you don't even know
who she is. You just met her; she's a stranger. For all you know, maybe all she
wants is sex from you."
 I frowned at the comment, which Bard notices, but he continued his calm
explanation. "Maybe she's a great girl. Maybe, in a few years, you two will get
married and be together forever. But for now, you need to take this slow. This
isn't high school. It isn't easy to jump into a relationship and jump out of it
just as quickly anymore. And not every girl will be the love of your life; you
got lucky with Rachel. Instead of trying to fall in love like some desperate
damsel, just try to keep your mind open and have fun, yeah? Kiss, makeout,
fuck. Have a good time, you deserve it. You're not going to die tomorrow, so
just sit back and try to enjoy yourself."
 As grim as my expression was, I knew he was right. Clearly, I had been rushing
it. I was letting the excitement get to my head, and I failed to remember that
I still didn't even know a thing about Elizabeth. It killed the hopeless
romantic inside of me, but I had to remind myself that life wasn't a fairytale,
and not all females were princesses, just as well as not all males were
princes. Hell, hadn't I been a white knight for long enough? The woman I lost
my virginity to happened to be the only woman I had ever had sex with. Instead
of going on a road trip with my buddies to California so we could scope out the
hot chicks and get into the best colleges, I was getting engaged and trying to
find a job, all while throwing my scholarships into a paper shredder. Did I get
to party and enjoy my twenties like every other normal young adult? Heavens,
no. I had to raise a son, on my own. And now, I was still chasing after a
perfect love that most likely didn't exist, and I was trying to tie myself down
to some stranger, simply because that's all I was used to. How fucking pathetic
was that?
 "I'll buy glow in the darks," I said casually, my eyes floating up to regard
my friend. "That way she'll see what's pounding her with the lights off."
 "Attaboy, Sebastian!" Bard exclaimed, slapping my back happily. "Get your cock
wet!"
 "Uhm, excuse me," a little voice squeaked, and we both looked over to the
doorway, taking in the slightly flustered sight of our secretary. "I don't mean
to interrupt your conversation, but there's a meeting in the board room. Your
attendance is required."
 "Oh, I- uh..." I trailed off, my cheeks lighting up in an embarrassed blush
while I rubbed my neck awkwardly. How much of that did she hear? I hoped hardly
anything.
 "Aw, it's all right, Diane," Bard dismissed, flashing her a lop-sided grin as
he smacked my back once more. "We were just talking about dampening each
other's dicks."
 "Bard!" I shouted, my face red while I glared at him. The secretary's
complexion was equally as red; the poor, shy thing didn't know what to say.
"Shut the fuck up and let's get to the meeting."
 Before he could spurt any more nonsense, I dragged him out of my office, my
companion mumbling a "sorry, Diane" as he bumped into her on the way out. We
strode down the aisle, passing other cubicles with him being towed behind me
for a few minutes before he straightened up and matched my pace beside me.
 "What the hell were you thinking, saying that shit back there?" I snarled, my
facial structure still recovering from the embarassment. "Poor Diane looked
like she was about to have a stroke."
 He shrugged. "You know women and their fantasies. Broads can't resist a gay-
mance."
 "Except we're not gay!" I hissed, my eyes scanning the area to make sure no
one was around to hear. "And even if I did like men, you definitely wouldn't be
my type."
 "Yeah, right. You'd be a bottom for me in a heartbeat, and you know it."
 "You wish," I snorted. "You'd be the one begging for my dick."
 "In your dreams," he muttered.
 "Not in mine, but probably in yours."
 "Gentlemen," our boss greeted as we strolled into the room. He gave us a
smile, though it was clearly fake, and my posture stiffened at the sight of
him. He was a ruthless man; it was best to tread lightly around him.
 "Sir," Bard and I synchronized, our heads bobbing in acknowledgement.
 "Please, take a seat," he ordered, his arms spreading wide while he gestured
at the enormous table that practically took up the whole room, motioning at the
various chairs that were placed around it. Our fellow coworkers stared us down
while we found two chairs next to one another (thank god) and proceeded to sit
ourselves as quietly as possible. The eyes that had once been watching us now
turned back to observe our boss. We all patiently waited while he raked his
grey hair back with his hands, the gold band on left ring finger glinting in
the light while he did so. Was he as much of an asshole to his wife as he is to
us? I wondered. Surely not. No woman -- rather, no smart woman would put up
with that. And if she did, I was sure their sex life was down the drain.
 "Can't believe that crook's married," Bard whispered to me, as if reading my
thoughts. "His wife must be brain dead."
 "It has come to my attention that we have a problem," our boss began,
startling us and shutting all of the quiet chattering up instantly. "A big
problem." He paused, turning to us to watch our reactions. We simply glanced at
one another, clueless to what he was hinting at. "What makes for a good job
environment, ladies and gents?" He continued, pacing back and forth. "Well?"
 No one answered his inquiry. It wasn't a surprise; everyone was scared of the
bastard. If I had to compare him to anyone, he would be the perfect
personification of the Red Queen from Alice in Wonderland. Someone made a tiny
mistake? Off with their head. A person called in sick? Off with their head.
It's raining outside? Off with our heads. Yes, we were to blame for everything,
even though we painted all of his roses while he sat back like the lazy ass he
was. I absentmindedly created the mental image of my coworkers and I covered in
red paint, while he sat there watching in an absurdly poofy dress. The thought
made me inwardly snicker.
 "Apparently, there has been a lack of communication in the office. Customer
service representatives are doing agents' jobs, HR has been doing customer
services' job, ect. Everyone seems to be running around like lunatics with
their heads on backwards, clueless as to what they're supposed to do."
 Almost as if they were severed from their bodies? It was hard to hold my
chuckling in now.
  "That is why I've decided that we are all going out of town for a company
seminar this weekend."
 This statement caused a wave of shocked conversations to arise in the room,
and it made my eyes widen in surprise, as well. This certainly wasn't expected.
I glanced over at Bard, observing that his eyes were fixated on our boss, his
eyebrows furrowed. Uh oh. I knew that look well; he was getting ready to start
trouble.
 "By this weekend, do you mean...?" He spoke up, and the boss regarded him with
serious eyes as he answered.
 "You will all leave for your hotel Friday night, participate in company
activities Saturday and Sunday, and you should arrive home late Sunday
evening."
 "That's bullshit!" Bard exclaimed, making everyone in the room gasp.
 "Bard," I murmured in warning, but my friend refused to listen. He instead
stood to his feet, slamming his fists on the table in protest.
 "We can't just pack up and leave for this weekend; it's already Wednesday!
Some of us have plans and families to take care of! You expect us to simply
abandon them for stupid company activi-"
 "This is an essential company event, Bardroy," he interrupted, his pupils
searing right through the outspoken employee. "One that we apparently
desperately need, considering your little outburst. We all need to focus on
what's best for the future of UTI. Now please, sit back down or get the hell
out of my sight."
 Bard's face was contorted in rage, a vein pulsating in his forehead and his
lips twisting in a heated sneer. All eyes were on him, including mine, which
were silently begging him to back down and let it go. Bard hated our boss, -
- didn't we all -- but he normally wouldn't do something so rash. To my relief,
he sat in his chair, even though it was clear that he wanted to do anything but
that as he grumbled under his breath. 
 Our employer continued to explain that we would be performing communication
exercises on our trip, expressing our feelings and showing our trust for one
another. You would think that as a sensitive guy, I would be elated. But it was
quite the opposite. I wanted to hurl.
 "This is bullshit," Bard mumbled as we exited the building, both of us
dangling our suit jackets over our shoulders while we walked. Thankfully, it
was our lunch hour, and each of us desired to get as far away from our work as
possible. "'We all need to focus on what's best for the future of UTI,'" he
mocked in a higher pitched voice. "I don't give a shit about UTI! I hope
everyone who works there experiences burning when they piss!"
 "Why did you do that?" I asked, choosing to ignore his salty comment.
 "I did it for you, Sebastian," he muttered. "My buddy finally gets a fucking
break and can go out with a girl, and that dickwad decides that his company is
a wiser investment of time. Not to mention you'd have to abandon Ciel out of
the blue. I know he's old enough to take care of himself, but fuck. Some
fucking warning would be nice."
"Elizabeth!" I realised, my hand digging through my trouser pocket like there
was no tomorrow. "Fuck! I forgot to text her back!"
"Then what are you waiting for?" He snorted.
My fumbling fingers had finally managed to pull my phone out, my eyes once
again staring at her message that illuminated my screen, and I licked my lips
nervously. "What should I say?"
"Well you obviously can't tell her what she wants to hear, thanks to Mr. I-
have-a-steel-dildo-rammed-up-my-anus. Instead of this weekend, ask her if you
guys could do dinner tomorrow night."
"Tomorrow night?" I echoed, glancing at him. "But that's so soon. I have to
pick up flowers, and I'll have to tell Ciel that I have plans-"
"Ask her if you could meet tomorrow night," he repeated, his tone serious. "And
do not, do not tell her that you have a child."
"I-I shouldn't tell her that I'm a father?"
"Hell no! No girl her age wants to date a dad. You'll scare her off. Besides,
Ciel probably wouldn't appreciate the idea of the possibility of a new mummy."
That was for sure; Ciel wouldn't. We never discussed Rachel much, but that was
because she hurt us both too deeply. I didn't want to refresh the pain he may
have experienced, and I wouldn't want him to believe that it was easy for me to
throw his mother's memory away. I hadn't even planned on telling Ciel; not
until our relationship was serious, anyway, if it ever reached that point. It
would be unnecessary to inform Ciel of Elizabeth's presence when we weren't
even an official couple. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was different. As a
stranger trying to get to know another, I felt like she had every right to know
that I had a child. After all, what if we did become serious, and she moved in
with me? She would certainly know of Ciel's existence then, and at that point,
it would probably be too late to explain why I hid it; she'd be too upset that
I hid something that important. 
Then again, telling the truth may end up with a worse outcome. She could freak
out, saying that she's too young to be a mother, and stop talking to me before
light was even shed on the situation, before she even got to know the real me.
I didn't want that. This was the first potential love interest I had in
fourteen years; there was no way I was going to let it slip away that easily.
But what the fuck could I do?
Hey, Lizzie! This weekend's not so good; I was called in for work. How about
dinner tomorrow?
Upon Bard's insistence, I showed him the message, and only when I received his
nod of approval did I finally send it. Don't get me wrong, my friend is
certainly no love guru, but if it made him feel like he was good at something,
I'd let him have his moment.
In the middle of us eating lunch, a text message notified me of a reply.
Ur lucky I like you. :P Meet me at Rhonda's Place at 8. Dont forget the
flowers!! Xoxo ;*
"Wow," Bard breathed, the large cheeseburger that was gripped between his
fingers threatening to fall onto the plate beneath it while he read the
message. "She still hasn't gotten out of the 'middle school spelling and emoji'
age, eh?"
"Shut up," I scolded, though I was smiling from the truth in his words.
"Hey, don't feel bad," he comforted light-heartedly, speaking with a full mouth
as he crammed his burger past his lips. "If I met a chick with perfect tits, I
wouldn't mind being a cradle-robber either."
I rolled my eyes, but let the comment slide and chose to focus on my lunch, as
well. Fuck being a defending prince 24/7. I was perfectly fine with fantasizing
about her breasts.
 
===============================================================================
 
The rest of the day passed slowly, not like that was a surprise. I had spent my
time trying to review everything that I'd have to prepare for tomorrow; I had
to order the flowers, actually put effort into my attire, memorise the
directions to the restaurant so I wouldn't get lost, and if I had extra time,
I'd have to dig out my old suitcase so it was ready to use for the weekend.
"Fucking company seminar," I muttered to myself as I stalked up the walkway,
shoving the key into the front door in irritation. "I don't need to broaden my
communication skills; I speak English, that's good enough."
I entered my home, shutting the door quickly behind me and sighing. Finally,
peace and quiet to think clearly. First order of business would be flowers. I
strolled past the couch, whistling a soft tune and throwing my suit jacket
across the back of the sofa routinely, then heading for the kitchen.
I believe Emily's Floral Boutique is still in business. Shit, I haven't went in
there since high school. I can give them a call, order two dozen daisies, and I
should probably-
"Daddy?"
I paused for a brief moment, turning my head to look behind me. Ciel had begun
to stand from the couch, rising fully by the time I glanced at him. My eyebrows
arched in surprise; I hadn't even noticed him. Then again, my mind was racing
with a million thoughts, so it was understandable. "Oh, hey. Didn't see you
there."
I flipped around, showing my back to him while I continued whistling and
proceeding into the kitchen. What had I been thinking? Oh, flowers. Right.
Flowers. As far as I knew, Emily's hadn't closed down, which was great because
I was familiar with that shop. I figured two dozen daisies would suffice; I had
promised I'd bring extra flowers, after all.
I approached the refrigerator, throwing the door open and beginning to rummage
through its contents. Now, what would be the best attire for a date? I didn't
want to go full-out monkey suit, because she'd probably call me more old-
fashioned than I actually am, and I'd feel uncomfortable, as well. I couldn't
wear a simple t-shirt and jeans, though, because it'd seem like I cared about
the date as much as I cared about going to the grocery store, and that was
certainly no comparison.
"Um. Daddy, how was your day? You seem to be in a good mood." A voice squeaked,
right after the quick pattering of feet entered the kitchen. I ceased my
whistling, sighing quietly at the inquiry. I had so many thoughts swimming
around in my head, and work was not one of them. Eventually, yes, I would have
to focus on packing for the business trip, but I didn't want to focus on it
now.
"Mediocre at best," I finally responded, my tone low and level. My pupils
scanned over the multiple ingredients in the fridge, trying to figure out
something quick to make for dinner. I needed it to be fast and easy, for the
more time I had to prepare for tomorrow, the better. "I'll be leaving Friday
night for a company trip," I mentioned, since we were already on the subject of
work. "I won't be home until Sunday evening, but you'll have plenty of food to
eat while I'm gone." My hands reached out and snatched a package of raw
hamburger, along with some slices of cheese. This should be perfect. "I think
we'll have cheeseburgers for dinner tonight, all right?"
Ciel made a grunt of acknowledgement, his tone light and questioning while he
spoke. "What about fries?"
"Eh," I wrinkled my nose in slight displeasure. I didn't usually mind making
him the food that he loved most, but tonight, my time was compromised. Cleaning
and cutting the potatoes was always a lengthy process, not to mention warming
the oil in the deep frier and cleaning it out afterward. "Not tonight. They're
too much work."
"I-" Ciel began to speak, but he trailed off. He sat at the kitchen table,
seemingly making himself comfortable while I gathered a frying pan and a
spatula. I started to rip into the package of meat, my hands forming thick
patties. "You seem really happy. Did something good happen at work?"
"Mm, not really. I guess it was just a good day."
I fried the hamburgers as quickly as possible, though, unfortunately, the meat
didn't brown as fast as I had hoped. Nevertheless, I managed, and soon I served
two steaming burgers topped with melted cheese, shredded lettuce and diced
tomatoes. Ciel, still waiting at the table, watched as I set his plate down in
front of him, his eyes studying the meal. I set my saucer in my usual place
across from him, and as soon as I sat down, I ravenously tore into my dinner as
if I hadn't eaten in years.
Ciel took a hesitant bite, slowly chewing the burger and gulping it down before
he spoke. "You must be really hungry."
I couldn't deny it, I was pretty hungry, but I was certainly not starving. I
was simply devouring my meal as quickly as possible so I could start planning
for tomorrow; the flower shop would most likely be closing soon. I simply
nodded in reply to his question, for my mouth was too full to speak. I did
swallow the food, however, when I remembered that I needed to inform him that I
had things to do tomorrow. "Oh, Ciel, I won't be here tomorrow night. I
actually have plans with a friend, so I won't be home for dinner."
Please don't question it. I didn't want my son to be suspicious, but I was sure
that he probably was. I never went anywhere, and if I did, I always made sure
to be home for dinner. I didn't want to lie to him if he did choose to ask
about it, but I couldn't tell him about Elizabeth. I didn't want him to think
that I hid a secret lover from him, when really, Elizabeth was a mere stranger.
Ciel, to my relief, kept his eyes glued to his saucer, his fingers tearing
apart his burger and pushing the various pieces around absentmindedly. "I see.
Well, have fun." Though the sentence was simple, his voice was light and
cheerful; if he felt dubious, then he didn't show it, and for that, I was
grateful.
"I'm sure I will," I said, flashing him a quick, genuine grin. My eyes casually
flickered down to the watch on my wrist, noticing that it was already nearing
6:30. Shit. I was cutting my time too close. I crammed the rest of my food into
my mouth sloppily, shoving my chair back as I stood, and my teeth mashing my
meal up as fast as they could. "Can you do the dishes tonight, Ciel? I need to
take care of some stuff. Thanks!" I didn't leave him time to reply as I dashed
out of the kitchen, bolting up the stairs at the speed of light. I hated ending
our conversation like that, but there was only so much I could do. I wouldn't
be able to order the daisies tomorrow, and I didn't want to disappoint
Elizabeth by showing up empty handed.
Shutting my bedroom door tightly behind me, I pulled my cell out and started
dialing. If my memory served me right, and they hadn't changed their number,
then I still had it memorised by heart; yes, it had been years since I used it,
but when you're in a long, dedicated relationship with a girl, you won't
survive if you don't have the number to a flower shop memorised.
"Hello, this is Emily's Floral Boutique, Emily speaking, and how may I help
you?"
"Yes, hello, I'd like to order two dozen daises, please," I stated politely,
cradling the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I searched through my closet.
Now, what to wear...
"Would you like those in two separate bouquets?"
"Erm, actually, it'd be better if they were all combined into one." My fingers
danced over each garment, contemplating what would look best. A normal white
dress shirt should be fine.
"When do you need these, Sir? And can I get your name?"
"Sebastian, and tomorrow, preferably. I can swing by and pick them up at 7:30
tomorrow night."
"We'll have them ready for you then."
"Thank you very much, goodbye." I promptly hung up, and snatched the white
shirt out of my closet. Sure, I could just come home and take off my suit
jacket and tie from work and be good to go, but I wanted to take a shower
before the date, and I'd prefer to have fresh clothing on; dates are a rare,
special occasion.
I also chose a nice pair of light blue jeans, probably the only pair I owned
that had yet to acquire any holes. I didn't want to look too formal with a
button down shirt, and these jeans would solve that problem.
After my outfit for the date had been decided, I went into the bathroom to
shave my face. I couldn't count how many times I had waited to shave until the
last minute, and because of my rushing, I would slice up my flesh in ways
Edward Scissorhands would be proud of. No, I had learned my lesson, and I would
shave the night before, so if my time ended up getting compressed, I wouldn't
have to worry.
For the first time in forever, I took my time shaving, lathering my face with
cream and sliding the razor down as softly and slowly as possible. I couldn't
risk nicking my skin; I had to look my nicest for tomorrow.
"Goodness," I mumbled to myself as I splashed icy water onto my face. "That was
cold." With my eyes still closed, I reached out for the hand towel to dry
myself off, but my fingers met with a metal bar. My eyelids flew open, and I
noticed that even though a regular towel was folded over half of the bar, the
hand towel was nowhere to be found. That wasn't right. Ciel had recently done
the laundry, but the body towel was still there. Had I simply forgotten? It
wasn't usual for things to slip my mind like that, but then again, I've started
to get wrinkles; it wouldn't be long for my memory to crumble.
So I settled for patting my face off with the body towel, reminding myself that
I needed to replace the hand towel when I had time.
I spent the rest of my night cleaning out my car and ironing my clothes, two
things that I rarely ever did. I needed my vehicle to be pristine just in case
Elizabeth wanted a ride home, and I didn't want to appear lazy with wrinkles in
my clothing.
I wanted this date to be the first of many, and I would do everything in my
power to guarantee that.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
My fingers danced across the tabletop impatiently, my other hand gripping the
large bouquet of flowers. She wasn't late, rather, I was quite early, but the
possibility of getting stood up had me frightened.
I had put in a few hours of overtime since my schedule allowed it, then I raced
home, redressed in my button down shirt and jeans, and bolted to the flower
shop. While there, I made sure to place an order for a flower delivery to the
Coles' home, signing Ciel's name on the card, as well. By then, I was way ahead
of time, and now, as I sit in a booth in the restaurant, I was roughly twenty-
five minutes early.
I yawned boredly, my tired eyes wandering up the walls and studying the many
painted portraits. I hadn't slept much last night; I suppose my excitement and
nervousness kept me awake. It felt like I had waited forever for this day, and
now it was finally here. If the date went well, I was sure that I could get an
adequate amount of sleep tonight. I blinked slowly, my pupils darting from one
artistic piece to another. They all seemed to be scenery, one portrayed a
farmhouse sitting in a vast prairie, while another depicted snowy moutains. I
certainly couldn't do much better, but some of the portraits weren't as pretty
as the golden frames that encased them, and for that, I felt pity for the
artist.
"You're pretty early, just couldn't wait to see me, huh?"
I turned my head to the right, my eyes nearly bulging out of my sockets.
Elizabeth stood there, her pouty lips lined with a rosy gloss and her green
eyes large and innocent under her long lashes. She wore a white, lace skirt,
the fabric teasingly revealing a glimpse of her thighs, but not enough to be
considered scandalous. A matching lace tanktop with a miniature cardigan acted
as her shirt, and, contrary to her skirt, the top was a bit more unimaginative.
The cotton of it was so thin, her bra lines could clearly be seen, along with
the little diamond embellishments that adorned it. It was easy to tell where
the bra ended and the cleavage began, and what beautiful cleavage it was. Her
breasts practically shined in the dim lighting of the restaurant; she must have
lotioned her body right before she arrived. The thought made my mouth water.
"Elizabeth," my voice slightly cracked as I said her name in greeting, standing
to properly acknowledge her. She wrapped her arms around my neck in a hug,
standing on tiptoes to reach me. Her body molded to mine, and I could feel the
warm pressure on my chest as her breasts were crushed against me. An
intoxicating aroma of pure lavender filled my senses, and reassured me of my
suspicions. She had put on lotion recently. The thought of the oily residue
that graced her body rubbing off on me had my cock begging to get hard, but I
had to control myself. I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate being jabbed by a boner
this early.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come," she whispered softly, her warm breath
tickling the cartilage of my ear. Fuck, did that get me. If her breath against
my ear gave me shivers, I couldn't imagine her breathing against other
places...
Don't think about it, don't think about it, don't think about it... I
instructed myself, trying to keep a hold on the warmness pooling in my crotch.
I took shallow breaths out of my mouth to avoid taking in more of her scent,
and I focused my eyes on the wall paintings to keep my mind calm.
"Of course I came," I answered, daring to place a gentle hand on her back. "I
wouldn't miss this for the world."
She pulled back, and her eyes immediately lit up when she saw the flowers in my
hand. "Oh! You remembered my favorite flower!"
"Couldn't forget it," I said with a crooked grin, handing the bouquet to her.
"I remembered to buy extra flowers, too."
Elizabeth tilted her head down, nuzzling her nose into the daisies and sighing
happily from the smell. "You're too sweet."
Flowers in her arms, she sat down across from me, setting the daisies down on
the seat next to her. I settled back in my seat, taking a deep breath and
keeping my legs slightly open to prevent any kind of friction from getting to
my dick. I was already buzzing with a tiny urge of arousal, and I didn't need
it to get worse. My hand absentmindedly snuck into the pocket in my jeans,
fingers grazing over the plastic pouch that was nestled in there. At least, I
didn't need it to get worseyet.
"Have you ever eaten here before?" Elizabeth questioned casually.
"I don't believe so."
"Well, I know it's probably not as elegant as you're used to," she teased. "But
they do have decent food here."
I smiled. "I'm not hard to please. I'd actually prefer to eat at a dive than a
classy restaurant."
"Really? What a surprise."
We made casual conversation, while a waitress stopped by to take our drink
orders in the meantime. My heart was pounding in my chest with every new topic
of discussion, reminding me how long it had been since I tried to enthrall a
woman. So far, though, it had been going well, and by the time our dinner
arrived, I was positively starved. Elizabeth ordered a simple chef salad, and I
requested a medium rare steak; I planned on paying for the date anyway, and if
I wasn't set on making more food later, I needed something heavy to get me by
for the night.
"Do you like salad, Sebastian?" Elizabeth asked as she prodded her leafy meal
with her fork. "Or are you obsessed with meat like every other guy?"
Obsessed with meat like every other guy. Sounds like she's dated some real,
douchey winners. "I actually enjoy vegetables and salad. They're refreshing and
light on the stomach after workouts and physical activities."
Apparently I told her what she wanted to hear, for her orbs lit up and she
smirked. "Really? I've never met a man who likes salad. Here, you can have a
bite of mine." She stabbed a few pieces of lettuce, bringing her fork over to
me. I went to grab the utensil, but she swatted my hand away and winked. "Let
me do it."
Blinking from shock, I reluctantly opened my mouth, letting her slide her fork
inside. My lips closed around it and pulled the lettuce off, chewing it while
she giggled and removed it slowly. "Good?"
I nodded, swallowing and patting my lips with a napkin. "Very good."
"I'm actually not a huge fan of salad. I only eat it because I need to lose
weight."
I practically dropped my napkin. Uh oh. The weight card. Every woman threw this
at a man eventually, mainly because they wanted to be reassured that they were
still considered beautiful. Most men weren't aware of this, and, in result,
they'd blurt out something ridiculous and have to sleep on the couch for a
week. I had lived with a sociopath for many years, though, and had to learn how
to strategically answer these questions; hopefully my experience would pay off.
"Oh, Elizabeth, you certainly don't need to lose weight. What are you, ninety
pounds? I'm sure you don't even make a shadow."
"Ha," she clucked anxiously, a light blush tinting her cheeks. "I'm certainly
not ninety pounds. And I can assure you, I have a shadow."
"I think you're absolutely beautiful. You're the thinnest girl I've ever met,
and you could eat whatever you wanted without it affecting your shape in the
slightest."
Her emeralds glittered as she regarded me, the blush reddening and her tiny
lips curling up in a hopeful smile. "You really think so?"
I flashed her a genuine grin, reaching over the table and curling my fingers
around her hand. "I know so."
Her fingers laced with mine, soft skin and manicured nails gently scraping over
my flesh. She was beaming now, and her confident behavior started to resurface.
"Well, since you don't think I'm fat, would you mind if I try a bite of your
steak?"
"Of course." I happily pushed my plate toward her with my opposite hand, my
fingers gripping the edge of the ceramic saucer. She extended her arm, her fork
cradled between her digits, and as soon as it dangled above the meat, she
stabbed it.
But all I felt was pain.
I jerked back, letting go of her hand, my back slamming into the cushion of the
booth at the violent action. I removed my hand from the plate, the hand that
once held Elizabeth's coddling my pained knuckles. Heated liquid ran down my
digits and tickled my palm; I was sure that I was bleeding.
"Sebastian?" She asked worriedly, dropping her fork that was still piercing the
steak. "What's wrong?"
"I- You-" I stuttered, the throbbing in my knuckles seeming to get worse. I
looked down slowly, taking my left hand away from my right, and was shocked to
find that my fingers were just fine. There was no blood, and there was no pain.
It was all in my imagination.
"Sebastian? Sebastian?"
My eyes flickered back over to her, and I smiled sheepishly. "I-I'm sorry. I
think I just scared myself."
Elizabeth blinked a few times, before she broke out in a cute giggle. "I didn't
dig in that ravenously, did I? Maybe I shouldn't try it, after all."
"No, no," I dismissed, shoving the plate closer to her, only this time, I
removed my hand. "I want you to try it. I probably can't finish it by myself,
anyway."
After some prodding, I finally convinced Elizabeth to eat more than a single
bite, and I could tell that she was thankful by the way she scarfed it down.
Poor thing. I understood why women subjected themselves to intense dieting, but
at the same time, I didn't, because I was never held to high body standards.
They wanted to be beautiful, to be loved, to be accepted. I got that. But what
I wished they would realise, is that they were already beautiful, and no diet,
no body modifications, would change that.
On another note, I couldn't stop beating myself up over the freak out at
dinner. Where did that come from? For years, I dined with Ciel, and I never had
issues with him stealing food off of my plate. What was up with that? I was
sure Bard would chew my ass out and call me an idiot for it. I could
practically hear him now. Are you trying to scare her away or what? Get a hold
of yourself, Sebastian!
I wouldn't dwell on my friend's imminent rage, nor my own idiocy. For now, I
was enjoying the cool night air, the bright, full moon, the gleaming stars, and
the tender squeeze of Elizabeth's hand in mine as we walked through the parking
lot together. Oh, how I missed holding hands with another person. It was a
perfect way to end a marvelous dinner.
"I had a wonderful time, Sebastian," Elizabeth said sweetly, gesturing down at
the flowers in her arms. "Thank you so much for the daisies."
"It was nothing. Do you need a ride home?"
"Nah," she said, letting go of my hand and trotting over to a red convertible,
the vehicle beeping and flashing its lights when she unlocked it with the
remote. "I drove here."
"You drive this?" I asked in surprise, my eyes taking in the sleek paint job
and spotless interior. She drove a sports car? How? She works at a grocery
store! Elizabeth giggled, nodding as she opened up the drivers side door and
tossed the bouquet onto the passenger seat.
"I know what you're thinking; it was a gift from my parents. They're a lot
better off than I am."
"Oh," I sighed. It made sense. I never had parents that had extra change lying
around, so I couldn't relate, but I knew that on her salary, she wouldn't have
afforded it on her own. "I suppose getting help from your parents makes things
easier."
"They still treat me like I'm a little girl," she whined, wrinkling her nose.
She went around and sat on the hood of her car, her legs dangling off of the
front. "They believe that I don't have the means to be successful on my own,
but I think we just have differing terms of sucess."
"I know what that's like," I breathed, looking up at the star-speckled sky. "My
parents were always afraid that I'd be as poor as them my whole life, so they
pushed me to be as successful as possible. It's tough, trying to please
everyone. Especially your parents."
"Right. It sucks when no one believes in you."
I kicked at the ground absentmindedly, shoving my hands into my jean pockets.
My posture straightened, and I gave her a small smile. "Well, I should probably
let you get home. I had a great time, Elizabeth."
"It's Lizzie," she pouted, reaching her arms out toward me. "And don't I get a
hug goodbye?"
The action seemed familar, though at the moment, I couldn't pinpoint from
where. I approached her, however, my smile widening as I wrapped my arms around
her small frame. Her limbs intertwined around my neck, pulling me close, and
once again rubbing her breasts against my torso. This girl was going to drive
me wild. Stay calm, stay calm.
I pulled back, looking into her eyes as I spoke. "Have a good night, Liz-" My
words were cut off as she crushed her lips to mine, my voice getting muffled
and eventually trailing off all together. My arms gripped her body tighter, and
her arms tugged on the back of my neck, pulling me completely on top of her as
she laid down on the hood. She spread her legs, putting them on either side of
me, her skirt riding further up her thighs. My dick was completely hard by now,
and I grinded against her desperately, the warm underneath her skirt eagerly
greeting my clothed erection. A quiet moan echoed from her throat, her tongue
dancing with mine as she gyrated her body against me, her shirt slightly
pulling down. She grabbed my hands, placing them directly on her breasts while
she pulled the top down further, revealing her bra to my greedy eyes. My
fingers kneaded and squeezed her soft cleavage, the faint scent of lavender
once again filling my nostrils.
We continued the scandalous act for at least ten minutes, her hands sliding up
my shirt and over my chest while I caressed her thighs and stomach. It had been
years since I did something so sinful, but I couldn't give a fuck. Let the
world see us making out like animals. I didn't care. I needed this.
We finally parted, both of us panting and staring into each other's eyes.
Neither of us spoke, but I was all right with that. Nothing needed to be said.
Elizabeth adjusted her appearance, and attempted to fix her mussed up hair,
which made me smile. Nothing was cuter than a flustered female.
"That was... nice." She finally said, standing from the hood of the car and
walking over to the driver's side door.
"Yeah," I agreed, voice still breathless. Bard was smart to recommend bringing
a condom; although I didn't use it, I was glad I brought it just in case.
"I'm surprised no one saw us," she giggled nervously, and I shrugged.
"Probably wouldn't be the first time they saw a couple making out."
She smiled shyly. "I guess you're right. Anyway, sorry for teasing you," she
reached out bravely, her fingers rubbing and massaging my crotch with a wink.
"Next time I'll help you take care of this."
I gulped, silently crying in pain as my dick throbbed underneath her touch. "N-
next time?"
"Of course!" She exclaimed, removing her hand, much to my displeasure. "I'm
assuming you want there to be a next time, right?"
"Yes!" I confirmed, a little too suddenly. She giggled at my response.
"How about next week, then?"
"Next week sounds amazing," I nodded, and she kissed me passionately, her soft
hands caressing my face one last time.
"Good night, Sebastian."
I was higher than a kite. Driving recklessly down the road, screaming my lungs
out and going way over the speed limit, I didn't have a care in the world.
Sure, I'd have to use my hand again tonight, but that would probably be the
last time in a long while. I was going to get laid! This was magnificent. Best
of all, I didn't chase her away, and after my little episode, that was a great
sign.
"Bard said I was rushing it, what does he know?" I stated to myself, a goofy
beam lighting up my face. "Who knows, maybe I'll be introducing her to Ciel,
soon."
 
===============================================================================
 
 
I sighed, taking a deep breath and preparing for the worst. This was going to
be hell.
It had been years since I went into the attic, a mistake on my part. The dust
was probably knee deep in there, and I was sure that my allergies would go
insane. I didn't enjoy the clogged up and painful sinuses, nor did I like
sneezing like a maniac, but I hadn't a choice; my suitcase was in the attic,
and I needed it for my trip.
I regretted not retrieving it last night, but after the date, I was so mentally
fatigued that I crashed as soon as I got home. Another mistake on my part, for
now it was already Friday, and I was expected to leave for my hotel in an hour.
I bolted up the attic stairs, squeezing my eyes shut tight as I prepared to
sneeze. When I reached the top, however, I was surprised to find that I hadn't
an urge to sneeze at all, nor did my sinuses ache.
"Odd," I muttered to myself, making my way across the room. "I wonder if my
allergies are losing their potency."
Unfortunately, everything, except for a few pieces of furniture, was tightly
packed away in boxes, and I had to tear through quite a few of them to try to
find what I was looking for.
"Seventh box is the charm," I said bitterly, running my pocketknife over the
duct tape that sealed the box's folds. Cutting it open completely, I tore the
cardboard out of the way, peering inside at the belongings within. My eyes
widened, and I slowly removed the picture frame that had been sitting on top,
my fingers smudging the dust-coated glass to try to see the image. "No way," I
gasped, pupils dilating. "I still have this?"
I stared at the couple in the picture, barely recognizing my younger self. I
was in a suit, one that was an exact replica of the outfit I wore every day to
work. I was smiling brightly, showing my teeth and seeming as happy as ever. My
right arm was curled around a young woman's waist, the woman grinning equally
as cheerfully. She was in a satin, white gown, her blonde hair pulled back in a
gorgeous braid.
"Prom night," I choked out. I was so sure of the event, it was a bit scary. But
there was a bandage wrapped around the hand that clutched her hip, and that was
all the confirmation I needed. I would never forget that night.
I remembered sitting in the booth at the restaurant, a hearty steak taking up
my entire platter. It was a salivating sight, though, unfortunately, I hadn't
been able to finish it.
"Sebastian, what was that?"
My eyes left my saucer and rose to regard my girlfriend, my jaw chomping
furiously in hunger. "What was what, babe?"
"That," she repeated, her eyes narrowing and her voice getting dangerously low.
"You were flirting with the waitress."
I practically choked on my food, but I managed to swallow it whole before that
happened. "What? No I wasn't. I thanked her for bringing us our meal."
"You smiled at her. Am I not enough, Sebastian? Am I so undesirable that you
have to flirt with a white trash food server?"
"Rachel," I sighed, setting my fork down. Lately, she had been edgy, though on
prom night, I never would've expected her to pull this. "You know I don't want
anyone but you. Look at you, you're the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen. No
one could ever compare to you."
"Oh, is that so?" She asked, her pitch raising in an almost mad tone. She
hadn't gotten this bad in a while, but here and there, she'd break into a
little 'fit.' "Then what was that? I'm right here, Sebastian! I saw you undress
that whore with your eyes!"
The whole restaurant seemed to settle into an uncomfortable, frightened silence
when she screamed. Why was she doing this? I never once stared at the waitress
for more than a second. I needed to control her, calm her down. She couldn't
have a meltdown in public; who knows what she would do?
"Rachel-" I said softly, reaching my arm over so I could hold her hand. In one
swift movement, she brought her fork down with as much force as she could
muster, stabbing my hand brutally. I cried out as the metal punctured my flesh,
piercing the bones of my knuckles. Crimson spurted from my hand, and tears
welled up in my eyes from the agony of it all. "Rachel!" I shrieked again,
trying to bring her down from her insanity. She tended to have outbursts, but
never had she gotten violent. This was new for her.
In a flash, she dropped her fork, darted from the booth and fled out of the
restaurant.
"Rachel!" I continued to yell, grabbing a few napkins and holding them against
my bleeding hand. I sprinted after her, finding her in the passenger seat of my
car -- technically my parents' car, as I was borrowing it for prom -- her head
in her hands as she sobbed uncontrollably. I cautiously opened the driver's
door, being slow and careful as if I was dealing with a wild animal. When she
didn't seem bothered by my presence, I sank into the seat and shut the door.
"Rachel, what was that about?" I questioned, watching her intently. "You've
never broke down like that before."
"You...don't want... me..." She said in between sniffles, multiple tear tracks
streaking her usual flawless face.
"Are you kidding me? Of course I do!" I had an impulse to wrap my arms around
her, though I refrained in case she still felt violent. "I've never wanted
anyone more."
"You're lying," she whined, her eyes briefly closing as more tears rolled down
her face.
"No, I'm not." Removing the red, soaked napkin from my hand, I slid my keys
into the ignition, turning the car on. "Buckle up. The dance has already
started, and I have a surprise for you."
"Really?" She squeaked in excitement, her expression going from miserable to
elated in a split second. 
"Mhm, but it's a surprise, and I can't show you until we're there, so everyone
can see what it is."
She couldn't have fastened her seatbelt faster. Not only did she love
surprises, but she also adored being the center of attention, so I was sure
that she was looking forward to whatever I had planned.
At the time, I didn't have a plan. I didn't have any special gift on me, nor
did I have a special announcement to make. But I could create one. As much as I
wasn't ready, as much as I feared what this might lead to, I would do it. I
didn't want to lose Rachel, and I'd do everything I could to prove that I loved
her.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
When we arrived at the dance, the music was already thumping and many students
were dancing. Luckily for me, my prepared parents had a medical kit in the
glove box, so I was able to properly clean and bandage my wound with gauze
before we went in. Bard greeted us immediately, his limb wrapped protectively
around a dolled up Mey.
"Hey, guys! We were wondering where you've been. The party doesn't start until
you're here!"
I gripped Rachel's hip tighter when she pressed closer to me, giving my buddy a
friendly smile. "Haha, thanks. We had a bit of a delay."
"Dude," Bard gasped, his eyes bulging as he leaned down to get a better look.
"What happened to your hand?"
I glanced at Rachel out of the corner of my eye, noting that she seemed unfazed
by his question. Her head was bobbing nonchalantly to the music, a tiny grin
spread across her lips. I turned back to Bard, shrugging. "You know me, I'm
careless. I was fucking around in my dad's garage and next thing I knew, I
sliced my hand open."
Bard seemed to raise an eyebrow in suspicion, but Mey snorted and responded
without him. "Please, Sebastian. It's a wonder how Rachel even puts up with
you."
Hearing her name, my girlfriend returned her focus to the conversation,
smirking and leaning up against me lovingly. "It's because I love him."
"And I love you," I said, placing a soft kiss to her temple.
"Well, what are we waiting for?" Bard questioned. "Let's dance!"
For at least an hour, we all swayed and jumped to the music, and I made sure to
keep my attention on Rachel at all times. Fortunately, she was laughing and
beaming the entire time, so it seemed that her meltdown was completely over. I
didn't want to take a risk, though, so I refused to glance at anything but her.
I held her close when we slow danced, and I also kept my body near hers when it
was more fast paced. I wanted her to have a good time, and since this was our
last prom, I was relieved that she was happy.
"All right, folks, settle down. We need to announce the prom King and Queen."
Everyone stopped dancing, their eyes floating over to the speaker on stage who
held a microphone in one hand and an envelope in the other.
"I hope we win," Rachel whispered, crossing her fingers.
"Me too," I breathed, more for Rachel's sake than my own.
The speaker opened the envelope, smiling mischievously when she read the names
inside. "I think we all saw this one coming. Give it up for the new Prom King
and Queen, the inseparable head cheerleader and quarterback, Sebastian
Michaelis and Rachel Phantomhive!"
Rachel shrieked in joy, gripping my unharmed hand with an unbelievable amount
of force as she dragged me up to the stage, bounding up the steps as quickly as
possible. She trembled in absolute bliss as a frail, sparkling tiara was placed
on her head, her arms encircling my neck and hugging me tightly while a crown
was set atop my own.
"Congratulations, you two," she said happily, offering the microphone. "Would
you like to say any words?"
Rachel snatched the mic in a heartbeat, squealing excitedly. "Sebastian has a
surprise for me, and he wanted to wait until we were up here so all of you
could see!"
A shocked gasp rose from the crowd, the students all chatting in wonder. "Oh?"
The speaker asked. "Do tell us about the surprise, Sebastian."
I gulped nervously as Rachel passed the microphone to me, her hands covering
her mouth while she quivered in excitement. "Uhm, good evening, everyone," I
said awkwardly, trying to avoid eye contact with Rachel; right now, she scared
me more than the audience. "I hope everyone's enjoying their senior prom. I do
have a surprise for Rachel, and I'm honored that I get to reveal it in front of
all of you."
I let my gaze wander over to my girlfriend, who was still shaking in
anticipation. My fingers reached into the pockets of my slacks, running their
pads along the keepsake I had received from my grandmother. My parents had
asked me to give it to her as a promise ring, but after tonight, and after her
breakdown, I wasn't so sure. "Rachel, I love you," I said sincerely, my voice
beginning to crack from nervousness. "I don't ever want to be with anyone but
you. I want to reassure you of that. I don't want you to ever have any doubts
about my feelings."
I felt everyone's eyes on me, staring intently and pondering my next action. I
swallowed, even though my mouth was dry. A sense of dread came over me as I
sank down on one knee, bringing the ring out of my pocket and offering it to
her. "Will you marry me?"
The entire crowd burst into wild screaming and applause, the loud sounds
echoing off of the walls. Though she screamed her answer, I could barely hear
her over the students when she shouted "YES!"
I slipped the ring on her finger, then stood to pick her up in my arms,
twirling her body around as we lovingly embraced. As soon as I finished my
confession, she demanded that we take our prom picture right then and there,
hoping to capture her absolute joy before it faded.
Once prom ended, Rachel had already fastened herself in the passenger seat, her
eyelids shut as she slept peacefully. She was exhausted from tonight's events,
as was I. I had stood around to talk to Bard for a while before I left, though,
since this would be the only time I could get him alone.
"You didn't really want to do that, did you Sebastian?"
"Do what?" I asked, glancing at him.
"Propose to her. You really want to be stuck with her crazy ass for the rest of
your life?"
"She isn't crazy, Bard," I stated, rolling my eyes.
Bard cocked an eyebrow, his index finger carelessly jabbing my bandaged hand,
making me flinch. "Oh, yeah? And what happened to your hand?"
"I told you, I was fucking around in the garage and cut it."
"Yeah right," he scoffed. "She hurt you, didn't she? I told you, it'd be a
matter of time before her jealousy and possessiveness got the better of her."
"She's just insecure, that's all," I sighed, my eyes looking over toward my car
and the sleeping girl inside. "If I was in her position, I would be too. Girls
think they have a lot to compete with."
"Normal girls do," Bard agreed, lighting a cigarette. "But she ain't normal.
She knows how to act like it, but she ain't even close to being normal.
Something's off about 'er."
"She's fine," I contradicted, staring at him with scolding eyes. "And soon,
she'll be my wife. I'm sure everything will cool down once we finish school."
"You don't have to believe me, Sebastian," Bard shrugged, throwing the butt of
the cigarette down and stomping it out. "But I know when things aren't right.
And she isn't right."
 
===============================================================================
 
My eyes were foggy under a layer of extra water, the tears that were glittering
over my orbs dying to spill out. The memory was so fresh, as if it'd happened
yesterday. I still couldn't bring myself to tear my eyes away from the
photograph.
"What a fitting dress she wore," I mumbled, blinking rapidly. "She looks like a
bride."
My pupils finally left the picture and went down to observe my right hand,
tracing the white, four puncture scars that lined my bottom knuckles. It had
been so long since I thought about that night, yet, for some reason, I flinched
at dinner with Elizabeth, as if I was positive that she would do the same thing
Rachel did. Elizabeth was certainly not like Rachel; I couldn't believe I was
foolish enough to think that she would've done something so crazy to me. Bard
had been right, Rachel wasn't normal, but Elizabeth was. She wouldn't hurt me
like Rachel did. I tucked the picture away and shoved the box across the room.
I needed to find my suitcase.
When I finally came across it, I pulled it out and wrinkled my nose in disgust.
It was covered in dust; I'd have to wash it.
I carried it in my arms, ready to exit the attic when a black garbage bag
caught my eye. I set the suitcase down on the floor, treading over to the sack,
my eyebrows perked in curiosity. What's this? I've never packed anything away
in a garbage bag before.
I untied it, loosening the elastic before I pulled it open. Clothing was folded
neatly in the sack, and I reached in to grab the garment on top. I pulled out a
white shirt, the cloth practically unraveling and splitting in the palms of my
hands. It reeked of bleach, and I studied the fabric carefully. This was
Ciel's.
My pupils dilated briefly, before I narrowed my eyes and stuffed the clothing
back inside, resealing the bag. I needed to have a talk with my son.
Chapter End Notes
     DUN DUN DUN.
     So suspenseful.
     Sarcastic author is sarcastic.
     Geez, I'm just in a saucy mood today, eh?
     Next chapter should be posted soon!
***** Corroded Ciel *****
Chapter Notes
     A/N: Okay, first things first, I would like to apologise sincerely
     from the depths of my heart. I hadn't meant to keep you all waiting
     for as long as I had. The reason it took over a month for me to even
     make a dent in writing this is because I had very personal matters to
     attend to. The last two months have been excruciatingly hard on me,
     and I thank you for your patience and loyalty. I am sorry for keeping
     you darling readers hanging, without even a word of hiatus whispered.
     I also owe a big apology and a tremendous thank you to Kit for all of
     the support they've given me through this entire ordeal, and for
     finally motivating my ass to sit down and write. Both of us are very
     much readers of this story, as we both write separate chapters, and
     then send them to one another to be edited. We tend to look forward
     to the other's chapter, which can be hard when one of them (namely
     me) takes forever to post. Thank you so much, my little devil. I
     adore you.
     I won't keep you any longer with my wordvomit, so without further
     ado, please enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The bus rattling to a sudden stop made me start, drawing me out of my dazed
state and dragging my gaze from staring blankly out of the window. Slowly I
stand from my seat, filing down the walkway and stumbling down the steps, my
feet clumsily hitting the pavement with a dull thud. I'm entirely unbalanced,
my body feeling like I'm trudging through lead, yet my head is oddly light and
filled with clouds. Each step I take is a battle of wills against my exhausted
body. The walk to my house is short, but it feels as though I've been walking
for centuries before I make it to my front door. I fumble with my keys,
struggling to shove the metal piece into the lock. With a frustrated huff, I
finally manage to unlock the door, and I fling it open, barely pausing to slam
it shut. Trudging over to the couch, my bag slides off of my shoulder and hits
the floor with a muffled thud, my body collapsing as soon as my knees hit the
cushions. With a tired moan, I splay out atop the furniture, my eyes falling
shut as I wonder how something could be so comfortable and yet bring me no
peace. I wished that I could curl into a ball and fall into a short coma, yet
sleep was impossible for me as of late. I lay awake at night, tossing and
turning, eventually giving up and staring up at my ceiling, my thoughts haunted
by this unknown whore. I had to figure out who she was, as fast as I could, so
that I could eliminate her before she could sink her disgusting claws into my
father and drag him into misery; after all, every single woman was exactly like
her. That my father had even thought that a single parasite would be any
different from my mother was mindblowing, and perhaps stole unconsciousness
even more than the secret identity of the harlot. My inability to sleep was
intensified by my lack of appetite; everything that I put into my stomach made
a quick return, my body rejecting the nutrients. As I lie in bed, my stomach
became a hollow pit, devouring my insides and leaving me with an ache I had not
felt for years. The underlying threat of nausea made me anxious to toss too
much, lest I dryheave and awaken my father in the dead of night. The last thing
I wanted was for him to rush me to the hospital, or to even notice that
something was bothering me. I prided myself on being a wonderful actor, and I
would not have that shattered thanks to uncontrollable vomiting.
I blamed this all on my father's sudden need to keep his cellphone on his
person at all times; if he would just leave it lying about as he normally did,
I would be able to pinpoint the trollop's name, and I could begin my search and
actually get a peaceful night's fucking rest, perhaps even keep my food down. I
hated to even think it, but he was beginning to act like a teenager, not able
to be too far from his phone for extended periods of time. I could feel my nose
wrinkling up in annoyance, a heavy exhalation forcefully exiting between my
parted lips in a sharp sigh. If I had had the energy, I would have pinched the
bridge of my nose in irritation; instead I lay lifeless upon the sofa, my mind
wandering to my observations of my father for the past few days. He had been
getting increasingly gloomy as each day passed, his entire demeanor seeming to
sag beneath a lifetime's worth of misery. While I hated to see him in such a
state, a small bloom of happiness fluttered to life inside of my stomach, hope
daring to enter me. His sad state of mind could only mean that she had not
given him a single response; I highly doubt that she had rejected him outright,
as that would be completely fucking insane, but her not bothering to call or
text him was enough to send out a clear signal. Maybe I had nothing to worry
about. He didn't need some strumpet, he had me. I could make him happy, I could
lick his wounds that this wench had inflicted with her very harsh rejection.
That single thought lifted my mood greatly. I might finally be able to keep
food down tonight. Hell, I might even be able to get some fucking amazing
sleep. That thought alone was almost enough to make me moan.
The opening of the front door letting in the sound of cheerful whistling and
the happy visage of my father made all of my hopes crash and die in a flaming
inferno. So much for getting any fucking sleep tonight. That small warmth of
happiness dried up into nothingness, leaving behind in it's place the blackest
pool of hatred, and my desperation to find this tart and erase her from
existence coming back so forcefully that it knocked the wind out of my lungs.
The final blow came in the form of my father, his graceful stride leading him
from the entryway, his back to me as his whistling became one long, sharp
piercing screech in the air. If I had been a weaker person, I would have curled
up and died; he ignored me. My own fucking father had ignored me. In all my
time living with him, not once had he ever walked through that door and not
called out for me, or greeted me. Red flooded my vision as my heart pumped
fiercely in my chest, and with renewed strength, I rose from the couch, my
breathing eerily steady. I could feel my fists twitching at my sides with the
need to claw, strangle, kill. The bitch better fucking run, because when I
found her, she would rue the day she had ever laid eyes upon my father. I would
not just kill her, oh no. She had to fucking suffer, as I was now suffering. I
felt as though I did not exist for my father, a mere blip in time as soon as
some disgusting, vile, manipulative cunt drew his eye. I would not stand for
it. I would notfuckingstand for it.
"Daddy?" I called out, my voice as innocent and confused as I could make it.
Look at me, just look at me. Make everything all right. I stood fully, taking a
step forward as he turned around.
The shocked expression on his face said it all. He had not even noticed my
presence. The whistling still pervaded my ears, as cringe-inducing as a tea-
kettle on a stove, and it almost drowned out his words completely. "Oh, hey.
Didn't see you there." The world seemed to stop, crumbling into rubble and dust
beneath my feet, a heavy silence pressing down on my ears, almost worse than
the whistling that had preceeded it. My vision swam, the edges fading to black
as my surroundings became blurry. I was entirely numb, no emotions vying for
attention, the nerve-endings in my skin deadened. It took every ounce of my
fading willpower to keep me from blacking out. My trembling knees knocking
together brought everything back all at once; light hit my eyes, nearly
blinding me before I focused on the broad back that was once again facing me,
the soft whistling reaching my ears as my father made a tune that I was
unfamiliar with, and my skin tingled with hypersensitivity. My emotions rushed
me, too powerful for me to take. I wanted to scream my throat raw as anguish
washed over me, cry uncontrollably as my heart broke into a thousand pieces,
tear my arms up with my nails, the need to maim nearly overwhelming me as my
loathing for a stranger grew out of proportion to my small frame.
I had to pretend that I was all right. I couldn't let him see this ugliness
inside of me; such a repulsive thing it was to feel. I reached for him, my
stumbling legs leading me after him. I would not break, not yet, not in front
of Daddy. I drew a shaking breath, trying to draw up as much strength as I
could muster. I trailed into the kitchen, falling over myself as though I were
heavily intoxicated. "Um. Daddy, how was your day? You seem to be in a good
mood." I squeaked, the breaking of my voice the only indication that something
was horribly, terribly wrong. I could feel my stomach threaten to heave as he
continued to search the fridge, studying its contents, not looking at me.
Look at me.
"Mediocre at best," was his simple reply, his tone leaving me no room to
further question him. "I'll be leaving Friday night for a company trip. I won't
be home until Sunday evening, but you'll have plenty of food to eat while I'm
gone." As if I could force food into myself; with nausea this strong it was
amazing that I had yet to throw up at the mere thought of eating. He
disappeared behind the metal door, before straightening up and revealing a
package of raw ground beef. "I think we'll have cheeseburgers for dinner
tonight, all right?" Normally that particular meal choice would have been very
agreeable, and I would have happily consumed it, and yet the fact that he had
just decided upon it without even thinking to ask me made this entire situation
that much worse.
Fucking look at me.
I heaved, trying to stifle the sound behind my hand, my entire body quaking
with the force of it. I drew short breaths through my nose, trying to steady my
voice. "What about fries?" I asked when I could trust myself enough to speak
without vomiting.
"Eh, not tonight. They're too much work," my father said nonchalantly.
"I-" I bit into my tongue, drawing blood and filling my mouth with the metallic
flavor. Never had he said such a thing to me. Fries were never a problem; he
never had any issue in preparing any potato dish for me. I wasn't going to lie,
I almost fucking lost it. I had to sit the fuck down before I passed out, or
worse - snapped and verbally berated my father. Dragging my feet, I approached
the table, falling heavily into it as my legs finally gave out. I couldn't pass
out. I had to be normal. Normal, normal, normal. Be good for Daddy; make him
love you. Make him look at you.
Please, look at me. Please.
I watched his back, the muscles contracting and flexing as he began fixing the
burgers. I was quiet for a long moment, leaning against the back of the chair
for support. I had to get it out of him. He was whistling again, that annoying
fucking sound. My eye twitched, and I curled my arms around myself to keep
myself together, fingers digging into my bony sides. "You seem really happy.
Did something good happen at work?" I pried, hoping he'd slip up and tell me
whatever it was that he was keeping from me.
"Mm, not really. I guess it was just a good day." I swear to fucking god, my
brain almost broke. 'Mediocre at best', 'Just a good day', repeated in my
brain, chasing each other in circles, mocking me. He lied. He fucking lied to
me. I almost couldn't wrap my head around it. One or the other, Daddy, one or
the other. You can't have both. Can't have both.
I turned away from him, sitting facing the table, though my deadened eyes
stared blankly into space. I was too consumed in my taunting thoughts. If it
was a good day, then there was nothing mediocre about it. It can't be both,
Daddy. You're so silly. So silly. You fucking slipped up Daddy. I know you're
lying to me, I know. I'm not stupid, Daddy... Do you think I'm stupid? Why
would you lie to me? Tell me the truth, Daddy. Fucking look at me. LOOK AT ME.
Don't you know how to fucking look at me? Don't you see me, Daddy? I'm hurting,
I'm in pain. You're supposed to take care of me. You're supposed to love me.
Don't you love me, Daddy? Don't you love me? Why won't you make me fries? Don't
you want me to eat? Or do you think I'm fat? You must think I'm disgusting,
fat, gross, vile. Sickening. Why else wouldn't you want me to eat? You should
be catering to me, Daddy. Daddy, look at me. Look at me, Daddy. Daddy, Daddy,
Daddy. DaddydaddydaddylookatmedaddylookatmeLOOKLOOKLOOKLOOKDADDYDADDYDADDY.
His large hand entered my field of vision, snapping me out of my thoughts. He
placed a plate in front of me, and it might as well have been covered in
maggots with the way it made my stomach turn unpleasantly. I could see the
steam rising off of the still hot, juicy cheeseburger. I wanted to want to eat
it. I wanted to be able to stomach food. But all I could do was stare at it,
disgust and bile coating my tongue. Slowly, my eyes trailed up to my father,
who sat across from me. He was scarfing his food down as if he had been
starving for years. I hesitantly reached out, taking my own burger in my hands.
I had to eat something, I had to make it look like I was eating, or he would
suspect that something was wrong. I took a bite, chewing it slowly and fighting
the rising urge to spit it out. Don't think about it, just eat it. I swallowed
it, feeling it gliding down my esophagus and hitting my stomach. A cold sweat
coated my skin, and the blood fled my face as I went pale. Shit, shit. Don't
puke. Don't you fucking dare, Ciel Phantomhive.
"You must be really hungry," I murmured, trying to distract myself by looking
at my father. The juices from the burger running down his chin as he ravenously
tore the burger with his teeth made my stomach flip flop with intense nausea;
it didn't help at all to look at him, so I dropped my eyes to stare at the
grains in the wood of the table.
"Oh, Ciel, I won't be here tomorrow night. I actually have plans with a friend,
so I won't be home for dinner." It sounded as though he were informing me of
this as an afterthought, his tone completely nonchalant. But I could hear the
slight tremor in his voice as he told me, as though he expected me to question
it yet didn't want me to.
I turned my gaze to my plate, my dainty fingers ripping my burger into pieces,
a way to focus my anger without losing my fucking mind. If he had just said
Bard, maybe I wouldn't have wanted to question it. I needed to stay composed,
however. I couldn't let him know that I knew about her. So instead of demanding
answers, I merely stated, "I see. Well, have fun." My tone was completely flat,
void of all emotion, no inflection to my words. That was all I could manage to
say without letting my rage and pain bleed through.
"I'm sure I will," He said, shoving the last of his food into his mouth before
darting out of his chair and heading out of the kitchen. "Can you do the dishes
tonight, Ciel? I need to..." I stopped listening.
Every word out of his mouth was just adding insult to injury, and I didn't want
to hear anymore. Once I heard his footsteps fade up the stairs, his door
clicking shut loudly because my father didn't know how to do anything quietly,
I sprung out of my seat, knocking it to the floor in my haste to scramble over
to the kitchen sink. I fell into the counter, standing on tiptoe and bending my
neck so that my face hovered over the drain. I heaved twice, my entire body
spasming as it rejected the small bit of cheeseburger that I had forced it to
take in. I vomited, my vision blurring with the force of my stomach
contracting. All I could taste was bile and tomatoes, and it was enough to make
my stomach roll again. I stood there for who knows how long, body jerking and
twitching until all my muscles ached from dry heaving. With a shaky hand, I
turned the knob, allowing water to wash the evidence down the drain, flicking
the disposal to life. After shutting everything off, I collapsed, my knees
hitting the ground hard enough to send a jolt of pain through me. There were
sure to be large, ugly bruises forming from busted capillaries. I slowly
lowered myself into the fetal position, the cool floor a wonderful comfort on
my heated flesh. A tiny sob caught in my throat, though my eyes were dry.
Now was not the time to be bawling like a child on the floor, certainly not
where my father could find me. Using the cabinet doors as support, I climbed to
my feet, mentally shaking myself. How weak I was to break down in such a
manner. I couldn't protect my father and what we had if I let a few little
bumps in the road pull me down. Dusting myself off, I strode out of the
kitchen, walking silently with purpose up the stairs. Pausing outside of my
father's door, I pressed my ear against it, catching the middle of a phone
conversation. I jerked back in shock, my mouth falling open in an 'o' of
surprise. My suspicions were now confirmed, not that they had needed to be. He
had been ordering daises for his date tomorrow night. I knew that they
certainly weren't for me, as I fucking detested daisies. Gears in my head
started turning, and I quickly made my way back downstairs, consumed in my
plans.
I sent my unfinished food down the garbage disposal before I meticulously
washed the dishes, hardly focusing on the task long enough to deem each dish
clean. The easiest way to dispose of the woman would be to slip a poisoned
needle into her bouquet. My poison of choice was specifically created for my
use, secured through my contact; it was unidentifiable and essentially
undetectable in small traces. Luckily, a little went a long way. With only a
few drops, the organs would begin liquifying within mere seconds of entering
the bloodstream. It was a violent and painful death to experience, though it
only took about five minutes for the heart to cease all function. But, no, I
couldn't go that way, because knowing my father, he would accidentally touch
the needle, or get stabbed with it, and be dead before I could administer the
antidote. Besides, I couldn't have this woman's death be too quick; after all,
she was stealing him away from me. She had to suffer.
Perhaps I could follow my father to the restaruant, figure out which strumpet
it was, and then expertly break into her car. It would be no trouble for me to
hide in the back seat while she dined with him, waiting until she climbed into
the vehicle and drove me to her house. Of course she wouldn't notice me, as I
was quite small in stature and could squeeze myself into small spaces with
ease. Follow her into her house, and make a tight noose for her pretty little
neck. I could string her up like a ragdoll and make it seem as though she had
committed suicide. Wait, no. Suicides were very uncommon in this area, and
having Maurice and McMillan, and this tart die in what looks like a suicide so
close together would be very suspect. Not to mention that my father was not a
stupid man, and I was sure that he would be able to connect the dots. This
wouldn't do, either. I ran countless scenarios through my mind, dismissing them
one after another. None of them would work, not without...
Sighing, I set the final plate into the drying rack, a displeased frown curling
my lips. I had no choice, I had to contact him again. If it could have been
avoided, I would have gladly left him out of my scheming. Working with him was
utter hell; having to sit through his running commentary made me want to
puncture my eardrums, and I was getting sick of his roaming hands. I detested
to be touched, and he very well knew it. His game of making me as uncomfortable
as possible was highly unnecessary, and if I thought that I had a chance of
succeeding, I would blow his fucking brains out without any hesitation.
Unfortunately, the man had too much dirt on me, not to mention decades worth of
skill more than I had, that I would fail and instantly place myself on his shit
list. That was not the place I wanted to be, so instead I had to put up with
his inane bullshit.
Since it couldn't be avoided, I wasn't going to pussyfoot around and curse my
life. My plan needed to be set into motion, and standing here twiddling my
thumbs would get me nowhere. I was unsure of whether my father would be leaving
his room again tonight, but I supposed I could risk leaving, as he would
probably assume I was asleep. If he even noticed my absence. I had to be quick
about this, though, because I had quite a few things I needed to get ready for
tomorrow. Picking up my backpack, I went over to the closet and grabbed a
hoodie, pulling it over my head and hiding myself from the view of the world
beneath the hood. The last thing I needed was someone noticing I was not at
home. It had been a while since I had used my bicycle, but because time was of
the essence I deemed it to be quite necessary. There was no way in God's gaping
anus that I was going to fucking walk a long distance after having done so too
recently, especially when I had been lacking several night's worth of sleep.
The bicycle was kept in the basement, pristine without any patches of rust,
hidden away from the harsh elements of weather. It also kept it from being
stolen, because I never knew when I would need the metal contraption. Flicking
on the light in the stairwell, I padded into the basement, my tired eyes easily
finding the shiny blue bike. My father had gotten it for me for my birthday
three years ago. It was quite large, and he told me that it was okay because I
would grow into it; how funny that was as I had barely grown since age 11. The
make of the bike had told me that it was expensive, and that he would go to
such lengths to get me a nice one made my heart constrict. It had probably cost
an entire paycheck, if not more, and even still, looking at the bicycle now,
three years later, still managed to flood me with memories of his pleased
expression when he presented it to me. My heart fluttered, but I squashed the
feeling. Now was not the time to be swooning. I picked up the metal frame
easily with both hands, lifting it up to avoid making any noise by banging it
into the wooden stairs. I carried it easily back up to the first floor, setting
it down only long enough to turn the light back off and shut the basement door.
I exited the house, bike in tow, and locked the door after I shut it. Rolling
the bicycle down to the sidewalk, I tossed my leg over it, mounting it
unsteadily, having to stand on tiptoe so that I wouldn't topple over. Where
were my father's genetics when it came to height?
As I began pedaling away, I could hear the neighbor's dog give a loud bark,
followed by the sound of metal clinking against metal as he strained against
his chain and jumped against the fence that kept him caged. I paused only to
sneer at the disgusting creature. I absolutely detested animals. The little
bastard was lucky that I didn't have any chocolate on me - or did I? I was sure
that I kept an emergency bar on me... Yanking my bag over my shoulder, I began
digging through my bag, securing a half-eaten bar of chocolate. Eyeing the
dog's size, I shrugged, ripping the wrapper off and giving him the remainder of
the chocolate. He immediately ceased his infernal barking, happily chowing down
on his new treat. Smirking, I straightened up and began pedaling away.
"Get sick and die, you little fuck," I muttered darkly, my eyes narrowing
hatefully.
Perhaps I was in more of a sour mood than usual; I normally didn't go around
feeding candy to the neighbor's pets, yet considering my situation, I was more
than entitled to be in a shitty state of mind. If anyone was to blame, it was
the mystery woman who thought that she could step into my father's life without
a fight. I had to find a payphone that wasn't located too closely to my
neighborhood, yet wasn't too far away, as I was running short on time. Pedaling
faster, taking my anger out on the sidewalk with the aggressive speed in which
I was riding the bicycle, my thoughts began to focus on him, and his irritating
requirement of using a payphone to get hold of him. Was he fucking kidding me?
Payphones, in this day and age? I knew that he was fucking ancient, but the old
man seriously needed to get with the times. If he would just allow me to use a
modified disposable phone to call him when I needed him. I could make the damn
thing untraceable, hell I was even willing to get a new one every fucking month
and destroy the old one, if he would just concede. But no, the old bastard was
set in his dinosaur-age ways, even though payphones were going extinct and the
few places they remained at were gas stations. If I had my own car and was able
to drive, that fact might not have irritated me as much, but seeing as how they
were all quite a distance away from my home, biking there and back was a waste
of my precious time.
Once I had finally made it to a gas station that was the perfect distance away
from my house, I slowed down, coming to a stop before hopping off of the blue
bike and wheeling it as I walked over to the aged payphone. Pulling out some
change, I dialed his number, wiping the receiver with an antibacterial wipe
before cradling it between my shoulder and ear. It rang about five times before
he finally picked up.
"I need you to take me to dinner tomorrow," I stated flatly, wasting no time
with pleasantries and jumping straight into business. "Dress nicely."
Silence on his end for a little too long, before he finally responded, voice
sounding slightly confused. "What time?"
"1 in the afternoon. Got it?" I barely waited for an affirmative reply, hanging
up on him and quickly walking away from the gas station. Climbing back onto my
bicycle, I started pedaling, hoping to return home soon, so that I could make
my preparations.
===============================================================================
The sky was slowly beginning to lighten as 4 in the morning approached, dawn
threatening to overtake the night. Having not been able to sleep once again, my
sluggish brain struggled to come up with a way to follow my father without
being obvious. The brilliant idea had struck me at 3:30 am, and so I had crept
out into the frigid night air, sneaking into my father's car and gently
removing the GPS piece from my father's dashboard. A shiver ran through my
spine, the cold biting at me as I carefully tampered with the technology, my
nimble fingers easily reconnecting wires and reprogramming the GPS. I had
hacked into its database within twenty minutes, and now I was currently waiting
for the virus to infect its coding. I had created my own little spyware,
specifically for the purpose of tracking my father's whereabouts, and I had
been hesitant to use it before the circumstances had turned dire. This program
would be undetectable to the eyes of one who wasn't computer savvy, and even
for those who were, it would take ages to decode it and remove the bug from the
system, if it wasn't impossible. A small beep notified me that the virus had
completely taken over the small device, and my fingers flew over the screen
giving myself remote access to the location of this GPS. I had it set up in a
way that I would receive the exact location of my father's vehicle in real time
directly to my cell phone, and be able to follow him from a safe distance
without ever losing sight. After reinserting the technology back into its slot
on the dash, I turned the machine off, slid out of the car, and locked it.
Once I was back in the house, I went upstairs and crawled into bed, lying wide
awake and staring at the ceiling as I waited for my father to start his day. It
was a risky idea to continue my preparations while he was here and awake, lest
I be caught redhanded and have to come up with a lie on the spot. I would
rather be free to take my time than worry about having to be silent. I could
hear him stirring, walking down the hall and preparing for work. I was quite
impatient for him to leave so I could test my virus as well as get everything
set for today. My thoughts slowly floated around in my head, and I must have
dozed off slightly because the next thing I was aware of was my father's car
roaring to life and pulling out of the driveway. Sitting up, I grabbed my phone
and clicked to the app I had installed the program on. A map filled my screen,
with a blinking green dot moving on the screen. Whenever the light stopped
flashing, I knew he was stopped, whether it be at a red light or stop sign, and
when he parked at work, the light went red. I stared at the screen until he was
safely parked at work before I finally dragged myself out of my bed. I trudged
over to my dresser, where I yanked a bottom drawer completely out and reached
into the dark space, pulling out a small, tied bag of clothing. My prosthetic
equipment and a long black wig were then pulled out before I stood, staring
down at the things I had gathered and making sure I had everything, before I
waltzed to the bathroom, flicking on the light and staring into my sunken, dull
blue eyes in the mirror.
My appearance was that of the walking dead, and I could not allow myself to
leave the house looking like some overrated zombie. I hopped into the shower
and took my time, letting the hot water swallow me up and soothe my aching,
exhausted body before I leisurely began washing myself. I made sure that my
entire body was thoroughly cleaned before I stood underneath the stream before
the hot water dissipated and ran cold. Only then did I allow myself to exit the
shower and dry my skin and hair. I wrapped the towel tightly around my person
and blew dry my silken locks, not caring how they ended up, because my hair
would end up completely covered and mussed up by the wig anyway. Once I deemed
my tresses dry enough, I turned the hair dryer off and began untying the bag,
opening it to reveal a thin white dress, sheer white tights, and dainty creme
ballet flats, as well as a nude bra and panty set. I pulled the panties over my
legs, letting the soft fabric rest gently on my hips before sliding the bra
over my arms and securing the clasp in the back. Going for believability, I had
a pair of pre-made breast prosthetics, set at a c-cup, and slipped them into
place, adjusting the tightness of the straps. Picking up the dress, I held it
in my hand for a few moments before tugging it over my head and shoving my arms
through the sleeves that ended at my elbows. I stared at my reflection, taking
in the white fabric; it was cinched at the waist, meant to show off a feminine
figure while still remaining a modest dress. The collar was wider than normal,
brushing against my clavicle just so, the hem stopping just below my bruised
bony knees. Intricate lace designs decorated the thin cotton, itching my skin
where it touched me. Ignoring the unpleasant sensation, I rolled the tights up
my legs and then slipped my dainty feet into the flats.
I began applying a thin layer of latex to the entirety of my face, slowly
building it up and creating a new and unrecognizable structure. After it had
fully dried, I applied a heavy amount of concealer and foundation as a base for
a more natural looking makeup. I kept it minimal, just enough to make my doe
eyes appear bigger and my lips to appear fuller, my face taking on a more
feminine look than it already possessed. After I applied the makeup carefully
to my satisfaction, I set the wig atop my head, hiding my own hair beneath the
black locks, and securing it with an abundance of bobby pins. Brushing through
the faux hair, I separated each loose curl, allowing it to cascade down my back
and spill over my shoulders. I stared at the stranger in the mirror, who looked
back at me with mournful, dead eyes, an expression of sorrow and anger
contorting her lovely features.
The ringing of the phone jolted through me, tearing my eyes away from my
reflection as I padded down the hallway and stopped hesitantly at the top of
the stairs, waiting for the voicemail clicked on. Once the phone ceased ringing
and a small beep sounded from the machine, I silently walked down the stairs,
heading over to the machine and hitting the play message button. Realising that
it was just my school calling to inform my father that I wasn't at school, I
deleted it quickly, and treaded back up the stairs. I collected my phone and a
clutch, carelessly throwing money and my other fake ID into it before I made my
way to the living room. I sat patiently on the couch, watching the clock and
waiting until the hand landed on one. I knew that he wouldn't be late, though
his obnoxiously loud truck would not alert me to his arrival, as he would most
likely park a distance away and walk here. It was exactly 1 when I heard him
knock swiftly and loudly on the door, unending until I stomped over and threw
it open, his hand pausing just in front of my face.
"Do you fucking mind?" I hissed at him, anger coating my tongue and bleeding
into my words. I couldn't see his eyes behind his fringe, but I'm sure they
were wide as he stared at me, his head moving up and down in an exaggerated
motion.
"Kekekekekeke," he threw his head back in sheer amusement, his arms cradling
his stomach as he did so.
"Shut the fuck up, Undertaker." Taking a closer look at him, I realised that he
was wearing his normal attire, rather than his heavy prosthetics, which served
to send me into a frothing rage. "Where the fuck are your prosthetics? Didn't I
fucking tell you to dress nicely?"
Undertaker continued to laugh, trails of delighted tears running down his face,
and as he finally got his insanity under control, still hiccuping, he opened
his mouth to speak with his most hated grin. "I thought I would have you do
them, so I could see how much you've progressed." Rolling my eyes, I tried to
collect all the patience that I possessed in my tiny body, before spinning on
my heel and leading him into the house.
"Sit," I demanded, waiting for him to obediently plant his ass on my couch
before I walked upstairs, gathering my prosthetics and makeup from the
bathroom, as well as a few hair products.
I wasted no time in applying the latex to his face, recalling how exactly his
were applied. I generously covered the hideous scarring on his face, making his
skin appear smooth and flawless. As I let the latex dry, I pinned his bangs out
of his face and began pulling his hair back into a tight, messy bun at the nape
of his neck, making the hair smooth against his scalp. He had much too much
hair for my liking, the silver strands flowing down past his ass distastefully.
If I had been able to stuff the locks into a wig, I would have attempted it,
but his tresses were much too thick and long. Instead I took a aerosol bottle
of black hair stain, generously spraying it over his hair, avoiding his skin,
until it was coated, not a strand of silver showing through. Applying the
makeup to his face was an easier process than it had been for myself, because
all I really needed to do was make the latex appear to be skin, blending it
down into his neck and carefully matching his skin tone. I handed him a mirror,
packing up my things and starting to stand.
He placed a pair of glasses on his face, gazing at himself in the small mirror,
an approving smirk curling his lips. "You never cease to amaze, Ciel."
I nodded my head curtly, traipsing up the stairs and hiding my makeup supplies
in the hole beneath my dresser, before slipping the wooden compartment back
into its home. On my way back down the hallway, I stopped at my father's room,
breathing in his scent as I walked in, hesitating by his bed and staring down
at the messed up blankets. It seemed like only yesterday I was tangling myself
in his sheets; I wanted so badly to crawl underneath his covers and wait for
him, but I couldn't. I had a harlot to take care of, and I very well couldn't
leave Undertaker alone downstairs for too long. Who knows what that scum would
infect with his disgusting presence. I entered the closet, sifting through all
of the clothing there until I found a nice suit. Lifting it off the bar, my
eyes studied it; I was certain that he had never worn it, as it was much too
constricting and dressy for my father. I knew he loathed to wear a simple tie,
let alone the slacks and suit jacket his work required of him to don. As much
as I thought he would look quite dashing in this, I could not deny that his
ripped jeans and t-shirts suited him more.
Thinking of my father was hindering me; I clutched the suit in my arms and left
his room at once, going back to the first floor to find Undertaker still
sitting on the couch. Thrusting the clothing at him, I kept my gaze pointed at
the floor. "Wear this," I muttered, sitting down on the other end of the couch
while he unabashedly stripped in the middle of my living room. I could not
allow myself to continue dwelling in my pain and suffering. I had to focus on
the objective at hand, so that I would be able to execute it flawlessly. I
couldn't allow myself to be caught; we would never be together if that
happened. One fatal mistake, and that would be the end of all of my hard work.
I was a professional now, I could not allow myself to have a single error; it
was not as it was that day, the rain coming down around me as I had my first
kill. I had made many mistakes, and I was lucky to get away with it. Perhaps
luck had nothing to do with it, I thought bitterly, my eyes flicking to
Undertaker as he adjusted his tie.
The beeping of my phone startled me out of my thoughts, and I quickly pulled it
out of my purse, unlocking it. My father was pulling out of the insurance
company's parking lot, and while I had plenty of time to leave before he got
home, it was 5 and I knew that now was our only chance to leave without being
seen by the neighbors, as they were all sitting down for dinner. No children
would be outside, no one would be looking out of their windows. Standing up, I
ran my hands down my front to smooth my dress as I walked toward the door,
knowing that Undertaker was following me. As we stepped outside, I looked up at
him, determination filling my eyes and present in the set of my jaw.
"We'll be going to Emily's Floral Boutique first," I announced. As we walked
down the street to his rusty truck, I fell silent once more, my thoughts
consuming me.
===============================================================================
We were sitting inconspicuously in the parking lot of Emily's, my eyes drawn
away from my phone as I watched my father leave the boutique and get into his
car. The smile on his face sickened me almost as much as the way he walked, a
bounce in his step. Only I could do that for him, and for a woman to have
caused such a joy to overtake him made my stomach turn. As he pulled out of the
lot, I dropped my eyes to my phone, watching his progress on the screen before
I gave Undertaker the go ahead to start following him. Every now and then I
would speak up, giving him directions, and soon enough we were pulling into the
parking area of Rhonda's Place, which wasn't too far from the flower shop. I
was hoping that my father had better taste in restaurants, and I was assuming
that the stupid tart had picked it. Making sure that he was already inside, I
exited the vehicle and began walking towards the building. Undertaker's foul
arm slid around my waist, and much to my distress, I let it sit there as we had
to appear as though we were on a date. His silent laughter trailed behind us as
we entered the establishment, and I left him to securing us a table through
bribery, my eyes scanning the room and the faces of all the people. I saw my
father sitting alone, and I stared at him silently until long golden locks
blocked my view. I turned my head, shock coursing through me as I recognized
the cashier from the grocery store, all decked out in slutty attire. As her
emerald eyes landed on my father, her face lit up, and I knew.
It was her.This whore, this disgustingly plain cow, on a date with my father?
How laughable that was. So this was Elizabeth, hm? The bitch who wanted to play
with me. She made a beeline for the bathroom, and I followed several paces
behind, allowing her to go in first so that she could secure a stall before I
entered. I could see her feet beneath the stall door, the sound of her
rummaging through her purse before a soft aha floated out, and she carelessly
dropped the stupid contraption onto the floor. I hated to criticize my father's
tastes, but he'd picked a real fucking winner. What kind of fucking retarded
cow set her purse on the floor, where it could be stolen? No matter, she had
played perfectly into my hands. Slipping on a pair of white gloves, I covertly
stuck my hand into her purse, pulling out her ID and snapping a picture of her
address before I slid the card back into its place. Elizabeth Midford, your
clock is counting down. Resisting bursting into laughter, I put my phone away,
the overwhelming scent of lavender took over the entirety of the bathroom. So
the blond bitch was putting on lotion? Disgusting.
My stomach rolled, and I made a quick escape, my eyes easily finding
Undertaker. He had managed to get a table near my father, and as I sat down, I
could see him perfectly.
"You shouldn't let your eyes wander from your date, kekeke," Undertaker
chuckled, his annoying voice low.
Resisting the urge to punch him, a small scowl twisted my lips before I let my
expression relax into a pleasantly flirty smile. "This isn't a real date, you
insufferable fuck," I murmured, picking up my menu and pretending to scan the
meal options. I wasn't planning on eating, rather just pushing food around my
plate, so it didn't matter what I ordered. I glanced over in time to see my
father hugging Elizabeth, and a soft gagging sound rose in my throat, my eyes
immediately averting. If I could curl up and die on the spot, I would. I needed
to disinfect my father before I allowed him to touch me again.
"I didn't know you had such feelings for me. You should have told me sooner,"
the man across from me purred, his lips curled up into a taunting smirk. "Even
though I'm not into minors, I would always make an exception for you."
His hand brushed over mine, and I tensed. Why must he touch me? Why must he
coat my precious skin in his filth? I hated that we were in public, because I
couldn't stab him without causing a scene. Instead I settled for giving him the
most scathing look, opening my mouth to give a vehement retort just as a waiter
appeared at our table.
"Good evening, my name is Steven, and I'll be your waiter for this evening.
What can I get you to drink?" The lanky male said, his wild brown locks curling
around his face as his dull green eyes fell upon me. I could see a blush color
his cheeks. Might as well use it to my advantage.
"Hello Steven," I purred, my voice taking on a lilting feminine tone as I gave
him a smoldering flirty look. "I would like to get a bottle of wine. Can you do
that for me?"
I had flustered him, and he stuttered over his words as he rubbed the back of
his neck with his hand. "Y-you look so young. I wouldn't have thought that you
were l-legal..."
Smiling coyly, I slipped my hand out from underneath Undertaker's, instead
placing it lightly on the waiter's arm. "That is so sweetof you to say. I'm
actually 26 though. I'm quite old." Giggling, I raised my eyes to his, my teeth
digging into my bottom lip. Just get me my fucking wine so I can stop touching
you, you filthy fucking scum.
"Oh Miss, you're not old at all," He quickly sputtered. "I'll get that wine for
you straight away." With that, he fled, practically tripping over his feet. I
smirked victoriously, turning my nose up and facing Undertaker once more.
Instead of praising my amazing acting skills-not that I would expect such a
thing from him-his grin merely widened. "When you asked me on a date, I didn't
actually think it would be a date."
"Oh, put a fucking sock in it, you lecherous bastard," I hissed, crossing my
arms over my chest.
Steven didn't disappoint; he brought the bottle of wine out within three
minutes, and I couldn't even recall what I had ordered to eat I was so absorbed
in spying on my father. I was sure I had disappointed the waiter, as I hadn't
given him the time of day when he brought the food out. As I pushed my plate's
contents around with my fork, I spotted my father flinching back, and the look
of utter pain on his face pierced through me. Undertaker's hand coming down on
mine was the only thing that stopped me from acting out on the rage that filled
me. I would have slaughtered that fucking blonde cow, in front of all of these
people, and not have cared in that moment. If she had dared to hurt him, this
would be her last night. Instead, I felt my body relaxing as my father laughed
whatever it was off, though I was still filled with a throbbing anger. I wanted
this date to be through, and I wanted it fucking now.
===============================================================================
Dinner was finally, thankfully, coming to a close. I made sure that Undertaker
grabbed the bottle of wine that I was paying for, as I'd probably like some
later. It had been delicious, something I was actually able to keep down. I
watched as my father walked out of the Rhonda's with Elizabeth, and I quickly
gathered my things, throwing down a sizeable chunk of cash on the table,
certain it would cover our meal several times over. I'm sure the waiter was
going to have a field day with his tip. I walked out of the restaurant at a
brisk pace, leaning forward in the hopes that it would make me move faster
without having to break out into a sprint. I wasn't sure that my fatigued body
would be able to handle it anyway. As I stepped outside, I could feel
Undertaker's presence behind me as I scanned the parking lot for my father's
car. I had to beat him home, in case he actually decided to acknowledge my
existence.
What caught my eye had me stopping dead in my tracks, Undertaker's chest
colliding with my back and making me stumble forward. His arms circled around
me, but I barely felt them as everything seemed to fade away. Nothing seemed to
exist outside of my father, dry humping the whore like a horny fucking teenager
on what I assumed was her car. My heart shattered into a million pieces,
stabbing into me before a black hole sucked all the shards away, leaving a
gaping wound in my chest that ached and burned with every breath I took. The
pain made my knees tremble and shake, my bones knocking into each other. A film
of tears coated my widened blue orbs, and a few slipped unbidden down my pale
cheeks. I heaved violently, my stomach emptying its contents as wine and bile
splattered sickeningly onto the asphalt. Blood vessels popped beneath my skin,
my body uncontrollably heaving. I wanted to fucking die, to disappear. I didn't
want to exist anymore. My ears were ringing so loudly that I couldn't hear
anymore, my vision went dark, and had Undertaker not been holding me, I would
have fallen face first into a pool of my own vomit.
My body finally stopped rejecting its contents, though it still trembled
violently, and I slowly lifted my head. My mouth had the distinctly bitter
taste of rancid grapes and bile, so I spit several times, trying to cleanse my
palate in an effort to keep my stomach from rolling. Wine dripped off of my
chin, a cold sweat breaking out over my skin. Perhaps I had imagined it,
perhaps it was a horrid daydream, brought on by my silly little fears. That was
it; that had to be it. My father would never betray me in such a way. My vision
cleared, sight coming back to me as sharp as a needle, the street light making
my head hurt. I slowly slid my gaze back to the overpriced red death trap, the
sight of her sucking my father's face assaulting my eyes once more. I wanted to
be blind, I never wanted to see again, and I could feel my fingernails digging
into my right iris. I was absolutely sickened. To think that my Daddy would
succumb to such an obvious succubus utterly destroyed me. The pain was unreal,
all consuming. I felt betrayed. The way she spread her legs invitingly made me
want to cut them off. She was a disgusting slut, probably riddled with STDs. I
hated her. I hated her. I had to look away, ripping my eyes from the sight and
burying my face in Undertaker's chest, my own pitifully trying to suck in air
past the gaping hole where my heart should have been. I could not break, not
here, not ever. I had to get rid of her. I wanted her dead, gone, never to be
fucking found.
"Take me home," I whimpered, tears smearing across the shirt that belonged to
my father, although I was thankful that it no longer held his scent, but
smelled of Undertaker.
The world seemed to be frozen in time, and yet speeding by in a swirling haze
of bright lights and darkness. I wasn't sure how I had gotten into his truck,
nor how long it had taken to get home. The seat beneath me was nonexistent, my
entire body numb as though I were a cloud and had no corporeal form. I couldn't
remember the feeling of the road beneath the tires, nor the roaring of the
truck; everything was a blur of hurt and tears. Barely coming to my senses as
the Undertaker was helping me from the car, I stumbled, my weak fingers clawing
at the fabric of the dress. I didn't want to wear it, this reminder of ultimate
betrayal clinging to my skin and suffocating me. His strong hands were a small
comfort as he led me inside of the house, careful not to bruise me in a strong
hold, yet preventing me from falling. I didn't want to be here in this house
full of him; I didn't want to see my father or smell the sickening stench of
her lavender lotion clinging to him. Unaware of my surroundings until the scent
of my room washed over me, I slowly blinked my tear-filled eyes, the darkness
comforting me. My phone began to beep shrilly, signifying that my father was
slowly getting ever closer to the house, as Undertaker peeled the prosthetics
from my skin, stripping me down to nothing. I fell back onto my bed, curling
into a small ball and hiding my face in the plush pillow as the covers were
pulled over me. The air displaced as Undertaker silently left, and I could hear
the monstrous roar of his truck slowly fading down the street, just as my
father's car pulled in. I closed my eyes tightly, hoping that he would just go
straight to bed. Deep down, my fractured heart was wishing that he would come
check on me.
He never did. Silence fell over the house, and I wept until exhaustion finally
pulled me under.
When I woke the next day, I refused to leave my room. I put it off for as long
as I could stand, until the filth on my body began making my skin crawl. I had
to delete the message that I was sure the school left on the voicemail about my
lack of attendance to my father, so that he would not question me, but it could
wait until I was clean. While I was normally very meticulous in the way I
showered, the lack of sleep and the gaping hole in my chest were draining at my
energy, and I could barely manage to lift my arms up long enough to shampoo my
hair once. The shower was brief, and as soon as I was moderately clean, I
climbed out, refusing the comfort of the warm water. I wanted to feel the raw
pain, wanted it to sear into my memory so that I would never forget the way
this woman had broken me. It had to be fresh in my mind when I had her in my
clutches, so that I could make her suffer as I was.
The outfit that I had put together for the day was hardly well-matched; I was
wearing the largest grey sweater that I owned, practically swimming in the
abundance of fabric, and a pair of torn and faded black skinny jeans, the hems
dragging upon the ground. The sweater seemed to swallow me whole, and I had to
push the sleeves up to my elbows if I desired the use of my hands, though they
would constantly slip back down my slender arms. I hadn't bothered to blowdry
or brush my hair, and several strands were standing on end, jutting out in
disarray, though still appearing to be silky to the touch. The bags under my
eyes were deep bruises, making it seem as though I had never slept, though the
most worrisome flaw to my features were the dark splotches of burst
capillaries, dotting my face at random. They stood out against my stark pale
skin, and even though I didn't possess an ounce of energy, I applied a coat of
concealer and foundation to my skin, hiding my flaws away. If my father decided
to look upon my face, I couldn't have him noticing the damage done by my
stomach violently heaving.
I trudged down the stairs, stopping momentarily to delete the voicemail without
bothering to listen to it. I didn't want to hear that grating redhead's voice
tearing at my eardrums. With the television on a random cartoon, the volume low
to supply background noise, I flopped down onto the couch and started forming
several plans. I would need Undertaker's assistance once more tonight, that
much I was certain. My eyes stared blankly at the screen as my brain began
making a list. I would have to prepare the attic, which shouldn't be too hard.
Saran Wrap, the tarp in the basement, and a roll of duct tape were added to my
mental list, as well as several other implements that I could either procure
from my own house, or ask to borrow from Undertaker. I hated asking for his
help as much as I had; the payment that I owed him was beginning to grow, and
there weren't enough eyes in the world. I knew that money wouldn't suffice, as
he seemed to have an abundance of it just lying around. Perhaps he would let me
do a few jobs for him, free of charge, in exchange for everything I had asked
of him. Knowing that sub-human, that wouldn't even be an option. He would
probably laugh his ass off.
I couldn't keep lazing about, I needed to take inventory of the things that I
did have. Rising from the sofa, I made my way to the basement, stomping down
the stairs and looking around the room, until I spotted the bright blue tarp,
rolled up and stowed away beneath the staircase. I wasn't yet going to transfer
it to the attic, on the off chance that my father decided to go in there before
he left for his business trip. Once I was back on the main floor, I walked into
the kitchen, immediately walking over to a cabinet and counting the rolls of
Saran Wrap. I couldn't very well use all of it, as my father would realise it
was missing, since he used it quite frequently to wrap leftovers. Although,
perhaps I could use that to my advantage, make him think that he had run out or
had forgotten to pick some up at the store. I certainly never used the cling
wrap, so he would have no reason to accuse me of anything. Nodding to myself, I
shut the cabinet and began pulling open drawers, my eyes falling on the
assortment of knives, one in particular catching my interest. Perhaps that one
could be used in a finale of sorts. A malicious idea formed in my head, one
that brought a vicious smirk to my face. As I moved further down, a small scrap
of paper caught my eye, and I slowly approached it. Picking it up, I read over
the few words it contained.
I'll be back. -U
I was certain that Undertaker hadn't left it there last night, as my father
surely would have discovered it. This meant that he had been here sometime
today, before I had found the motivation to leave my room. Shoving the note
into my back pocket, I released an annoyed sigh. That prick, breaking into my
house. I suppose I couldn't be too angry, as I wouldn't have to find a way to
contact him. Instead, I focused on my plans, hoping that Undertaker would have
what I needed stowed away in the covered bed of his truck. I continued my
search of the cabinets and drawers, taking mental note of everything I had, and
everything I would need. The sound of heavy thudding coming down the stairs
made me pause, and I glanced out of the window, humming slightly in thought. He
must have arrived while I had been in the basement.
"So fucking heavy," my father grunted as he reached the bottom of the stairs,
one final bang resounding throughout the house. I shut the cabinets delicately,
stifling a sigh as I walked over to the fridge, pulling the door open and
staring blankly inside, as if I were searching for a snack.
I was going to ignore him; I still couldn't look at him without wanting to
vomit. Images flashed through my head, streetlights shining above and
illuminating the writhing bodies on the hood of a red car, soft breathy sounds
hitting my ears. My stomach rolled, and I banished the thoughts entirely; I
refused to be sick anymore. It wasn't my father that disgusted me; he was a
perfectly functioning human male, of course. It was the lewd display, the
horridly plain succubus that sickened me so fully that I could barely stand. I
was certainly going to fix that. When one found a rat, you fucking eradicated
the entire nest.
"I'll be leaving now. If you decide to party like a wild animal, do try to keep
the house as orderly as possible." I was once again pulled from my thoughts as
my father laughed awkwardly, and I could feel a sneer curling my lips.
He didn't seem to know me at all. Surely it was a joke; me, the studious,
friendless student, throwing a fucking party? Wasn't that hilarious. Schooling
my features as best as I could, I forced the animalistic curl of my lips into a
smile, before I shut the refrigerator and turn to walk toward my father. I keep
my voice light and innocent as I respond, "I hope you have a good trip, Daddy."
I make my smile grow until I am beaming as best as I can, forcing a hollow
giggle from my voicebox, as if I found his joke to be funny. "I'll try not to
destroy the house." Certainly not the whole house. Just the attic.
My father gives me the most wondrous smile, one that makes the shattered
remains of my heart flutter, threatening to sew themselves back together. I can
feel that inner hope crumble as he widens his eyes, a sudden thought striking
him. "Oh! Before I leave, you and I need to have a serious talk." Furrowing his
brows slightly, he looks down upon me with a strict expression.
Fuck. Does he know? Did I leave some sort of evidence out in the open? Had he
seen me last night and, against all possibility, recognized me through the
heavy prosthetics? My own eyes widen to the size of saucers, a stricken look
overtaking my features as my smile disintigrates. "Am I in trouble, Daddy?" I
clasp my hands together in front of me, staring up at him and doing my best to
appear contrite.
"You are," he states firmly as his hands come to rest on his hips. I watch as
his eyes roll up to the ceiling, gesturing upwards as if I would immediately
know why. All I could think of was if he had discovered my plans for the attic.
But how would he have? I never wrote anything down, everything was locked
safely away in my head, and my father was no mind reader. "Care to explain why
you put those clothes in a garbage bag in the attic?"
"Well, I," I started, my mind floundering as sheer panic washed over me. Keep
your head, Ciel Phantomhive. All I had to do was come up with a convincing
reason why. I wouldn't let him delve too deep. Biting into my bottom lip as my
eyes welled up, a film of tears making them shine brightly. I keep them at bay,
which I don't find to be too hard as the tears are faux. I take a deep breath
before I spit out the first excuse my brain comes up with on the fly. "I was
trying to do my laundry, and... I accidentally dropped the jug of bleach into
the washer." My voice wavered, and I dropped my chin to my chest, hiding my
face behind my fringe. "I didn't want you to be mad! So... I hid them." Keep it
simple and sweet; the more detailing to the lies, the less believable it would
be, the easier it would be to get caught if you forgot a fatal detail.
My father's voice softened, and I could hear the sound of his hair shifting as
he nodded his head. "I understand; accidents happen." With eyes trained on the
floor, I could see his foot come into view as he moved closer to me, and the
shock of his index finger hooking underneath my chin nearly made me jump out of
my skin. He tilted my head back, coaxing me to look at him, and as I stared up
into his sanguine eyes, I could see the empathy swirling in their depths. The
pain of my chest eased, the raw edges attempting to draw back together as my
heart gave a little flutter. "But try to be more careful in the future, okay?
Those were some of your best clothes, and they weren't cheap. I'll let it
slide, but I can't afford to buy you new clothes every time an accident
happens."
My bottom lip trembled, and a small amount of guilt pierced through me. I had
ruined two outfits that he had gotten for me, very expensive clothing that he
could barely afford. I was sure to ruin a few more of my outfits with what was
to come. I would have to figure out a way to give him some of the money I had
without his suspicion rising. For now, I would replace whatever outfits I
damaged, so that he would no longer have to worry about keeping clothes on my
back. I fling myself into him, throwing my arms around his torso and nuzzling
my face into his chest. "I'm sorry Daddy, I'll never let it happen again." My
fingers curl and tangle in the back of his shirt, clinging for dear life, never
wanting to let go. I was so blissfully happy that he had talked to me, even if
only to scold me. I loved him, loved him more than I could ever love a single
thing. I could feel my heart mending in my chest, though I would not forget
that pain. "I'll miss you while you're gone," I whispered, trying to prevent my
voice from breaking. I didn't want him to go, I wanted him to stay, for
everything to go back to normal.
His arms wrap around me, one of his hands patting my back gently before he
squeezes me tightly. "I'll miss you too. I'll be back Sunday. If you need
anything, I'm just a phone call away, all right? I'll call every once in a
while to check in on you."
As much as I would love to call him, I knew that I would be too busy dealing
with a particularly disgusting rat. I would, however, make sure to answer every
single call that he gave me. Nothing was more important than him. I looked up
at his face, my eyes tracing the familiar angles of his face, and I could feel
my lips pulling back into a genuinely bright smile. I removed my arms from him,
instead curling them around myself as a small comfort, wishing I never had to
let him go. "Okay, Daddy. Remember to enjoy yourself and have fun."
My father took a step back as he straightened up, his watch giving a small
beep. He glances down at it, taking in the time. "Gotta go." He suddenly curled
an arm around my waist, pulling me to him, shock coursing through me. As his
lips descended upon my forehead, happiness bloomed within me and made me
lightheaded. "I love you. Behave yourself."
"I love you too, Daddy. I'll be good." I closed my eyes tightly, relishing in
the gesture of affection before drawing in a deep, silent breath, and I pull
away from him. With a smile, I place my hands on his back and start pushing him
toward the door. "Don't be late. I'll see you Sunday."
I watch him as he grabs his suitcase and gives me a final wave and a smile,
striding out of the house. The door shut, and I was left staring at the empty
space, the sound of his car starting up and driving away fading into silence. I
wasn't going to waste any time, as Undertaker could show up at the most
inopportune moment, and I wanted everything to be ready. After lugging the tarp
all the way up to the attic, I spread it out completely, making sure to cover
the entirety of the floor. Hopefully my father wouldn't need this before I
could replace it. I taped it into place, using an entire roll of duct tape to
ensure that it wouldn't budge. I grabbed every bit of Saran Wrap that we owned,
and began wrapping it around all of the junk in the attic to protect it,
covering the walls with it, and securing some over top of the tarp. I set a
metal folding chair in the center of the open space, not bothering to cover it
as it could be easily cleaned, and a few feet away I placed a tv tray. Seeing
as how we never used them, and they were locked away in the attic, I was sure
this one wouldn't be missed. On top of that lay a metal tray, which was
currently empty.
Taking a step back, I admired my handiwork, dusting my hands off with a content
sigh. Doing things meticulously always set me at ease. Another thought popped
into my head; the bag of bleached clothing, which my father had found. I could
no longer use the attic as a hiding place, it seemed. Even though my father had
discovered the clothing, I still needed to hide them, in case DNA traces could
still be found in the fabric. I grabbed onto the trash bag, stomping down the
attic stairs and into my room. Years earlier, I had found a secret crawl space
hidden within my closet. It blended in seamlessly into the floor, and anyone
who was not so observant to detail would miss it. I opened my closet door,
kneeling down and shoving my clothing and shoes out of the way. Nails dug into
where carpeting met wall, easily lifting and peeling back the layer of carpet
to expose wooden floorboards. The funny thing about my room was that the carpet
in my bedroom was attached to the floor, but the part in the closet was not. If
you leaned against the wall and slide your feet along it, you would essentially
push it up, and it would stop in the door way where there was glue.
Slipping a thin strip of metal into a sliver of a crack, I began slowly easing
up the chunk of wood, the filthy crawl space meeting my eyes. I couldn't
believe I had forgotten about it; I could have been storing everything here
without a chance of it ever being found. That is exactly what I intended to do
now. I was not going to allow any more close calls with my father. First, I set
the bag of bleached clothing into the space, shoving it as far back as my short
arm could reach, before I began gathering my makeup, prosthetics equipment,
female clothing, and anything else I deemed worthy of keeping hidden. After I
had filled the hole, I gently placed the wood back into its spot, laying the
metal strip atop it before rolling the carpet back down. I stood up, my knees
aching from having my weight on them for too long, and began reorganizing my
shoes, making sure to have them neatly lined in rows.
I had to change quickly, as I had a feeling that Undertaker would be here to
collect me soon. I stripped down to nothing, pulling on black spandex, as it
was the least likely to leave any fibers behind. The shoes I wore were several
sizes too big, weighted down in the front so that if I were to leave a
footprint, it would have equal weight distribution. Black leather gloves came
next, followed by a black hat to keep my hair hidden. I slid a black sweater on
to keep me warm, and just as the sun descended beyond the horizon, a loud knock
sounded on the front door.
I held out my phone to Undertaker, showing him the picture that I had secured
of Elizabeth's ID. Tapping the address with my index finger, I stared directly
into his eyes with determination. "We go here." I set my jaw, oozing pure
confidence. I was almost too embarrassed about the state he had seen me in
yesterday, but I refused to apologise for it, or even acknowledge that it had
ever happened. The bastard got an expensive bottle of wine out of it. As we
climbed into his truck and peeled off down the road, a wicked smirk curled my
lips. "I hope you have some toys for me to play with."
===============================================================================
I had been doing a bit of research on Elizabeth while I waited in the darkness
for her to return home. She was quite young, much too young for my father, as
females tended to lack intelligence at young ages. She still lived with her
parents, and her father was away for the weekend, her mother already in bed.
The bitch normally worked late into the night, or during early mornings,
depending on the day. The previous night, she had switched shifts with one of
her coworkers so that she could meet my father for dinner. I expected her to
arrive to her house roughly around 12:30, 1 in the morning, based on what time
she got out of work and the distance between the two places. I still had a hard
time believing that my father had picked up this brain dead trollop. She had
barely graduated high school with C's and D's, and she hadn't even attended
college, nor done a single thing to better her life. She lived with her fucking
parents at 22, for fuck's sake. Annoyance at even having to deal with this
retarded whale of a girl was starting to grate on my nerves. It would be too
fucking easy to dispose of her, hardly worth the effort.
Headlights lit up the street, drawing my focus back to the task at hand, and
her red car slowly turned into the drive. She put her car into park and shut it
off as I lifted up a handkerchief and generously coated it in chloroform. I
waited in the bush, crouched low as I watched her pull out her phone through
the window, the screen eerily lighting up her face. I saw a flirtatious smile
curl her lips as she began to type a message, and I knew without a doubt that
she was about to text my father. Intuition hit me in the stomach, nearly
knocking the wind out of me. I couldn't allow her to send it, couldn't have her
keep stringing my father along. The darkness cloaked me as I moved from my
spot, sprinting over to her car and ripping the door open. Not giving her any
time to move or scream, I covered her mouth and nose with the cloth, forcing
her to breathe nothing but the chloroform. She gave a muffled, weak whimper,
her phone slipping from her clutches as she faded into unconsciousness. Lifting
the cell up, I read the message, anger burning at my veins as I saw my father's
name at the top of the screen. I deleted what she had written, immediately
replacing it with I dont think its gonna work :( sorryyyyyy and hitting send. I
shut her phone off, dropping it uselessly onto the passenger seat, along with
her keys, before I grabbed onto her and pulled her out of the car. I let her
fall pathetically onto the ground, her face getting scraped up roughly by the
concrete, my weighted foot shooting out and catching her harshly in the
stomach. She groaned but didn't wake, and I gave a satisfied smile, taking hold
of her arms and dragging her along the ground to where Undertaker was waiting.
"This cow is heavy, will you please load her up?" His soft laughter was the
only answer he gave as he lifted her over his shoulder and threw her into the
truck bed.
I locked her car door from the inside, pausing when I saw a large bottle of
that dreaded lavender lotion. It might come of use to me, so I took it,
shutting the door and darting off to his truck. I was feeling lighter than I
had in days, and in celebration of a successful step one, we broke into the
bottle of wine, the sound of laughter filling the cab as we drove off into the
night.
Chapter End Notes
     E/N: I hope this chapter was well worth the wait, little doves. I
     worked myself to the bone on trying to finish it within the time
     constraints that I set for myself after not having time for more than
     a month. Again, I apologise for the length of time it took for it to
     be delivered into your hands, but I appreciate everyone for waiting
     and remaining loyal and supportive to the story. I love you all.
     Kit, you are fucking amazing. Thank you for all of your help in
     brainstorming, keeping me motivated, and for editing this massive
     chapter. In a world without you, "booby pins" would exist. I
     absolutely love you, Kitten.
     Leave us plenty of comments, little doves! I can't wait to hear your
     thoughts.
     Kisses and Love, Always Love, Ritsy
***** Spurned Sebastian *****
Taking a deep, shaky breath, I glanced up at the vintage clock on the wall,
watching as the second hand ticked past the golden Roman numerals. Orange
flames crackled in the fireplace, filling the room with the scent of scorched
cedar, and sending a radiating warmth and illuminating glow through the parlor.
Swallowing, I nervously tugged on my silk tie, beads of sweat forming across my
neckline as my body started to overheat. I repositioned myself, letting out a
grunt of displeasure when I felt my perspiration-coated skin shift under my
suit. I dared to pull on my tie again, though I didn't want to loosen it too
much for the fear of appearing too casual.
Exhaling once again, I glanced down at the sweating glass in my palm, water
droplets dripping and ice cubes clinking against the cup. Inside was a very
expensive, very rich wine, one that I was almost scared to drink, for if I
recalled correctly, a single bottle of it cost about the same as my monthly
morgage. Plus, in all honesty, I was never a huge lover of wine.
Hearing movement in the next room over, I straightened my posture, clearing my
throat in preparation. I could feel my heart shoot into my gullet, thumping and
thrumming against my esophagus in trepidation as the polished mahogany door
slowly creaked open, a slender figure stepping through the threshold.
My mouth fell open, pants instantly straining around my groin as my eyes soaked
in the sight of her lingerie. It was all lace, and entirely see through. The
embroidery hugged every curve of her body, the pale, seafoam green fabric
making her creamy skin positively glow.
"Sebastian," Elizabeth purred, her manicured hands teasingly caressing her
smooth thighs.
"E-Elizabeth," I stuttered, gulping down a lump of bile as my heart fluttered
and squeezed, the rapid palpitations nearly making me light-headed. Elizabeth
smirked at my reaction, surely sensing my anxiety, and she began sauntering
over to me seductively, making me gasp as she crawled into my lap, my body
sinking further into the velvet loveseat with her extra weight. Pushing on my
chest, she forced me to lie down, the glass slipping out of my hand and
splashing dark wine all over the plush, white carpet.
"Oh! I-I'm so sorry!" I exclaimed, my torso starting to recline up as I
attempted to assess the damage. Giggling, Elizabeth shoved me back down once
more, compressing my back into the cushions as she began to crawl on top of me.
"Forget it," she dismissed, her glittering emeralds staring into my eyes
passionately. "The maid will clean it up."
"But it'll stain..." I insisted, surprisingly ignoring the fact that she had a
regular maid who tidied up her home.
"Fuck me," Elizabeth whispered, her fingers slowly beginning to loosen my tie
before they focused on the buttons of my dress shirt.
"I-I don't have a condom," I confessed, and I was met with hungry green eyes
while her hands ripped my dress shirt open, making me jolt in surprise.
"I don't care," she breathed, her soft digits roaming over my bare chest,
causing me shivers. "I want you."
Licking my lips, I reached my hand up, tangling my fingers through her hair and
forcing her head down, our lips crushing together. Elizabeth moaned softly, her
tongue darting out to flick against my teeth and slither into my mouth. Our wet
muscles curl around one another, my fingers tightening their grip on her locks
while my other hand wanders down to her shoulders, easily brushing the straps
of her bustier down her arms. I began to tug her top down, eager to expose her
breasts to my lustful eyes. Letting out a deep exhale through my nostrils, I
nervously gazed up at Elizabeth's face as I broke the kiss. "E-Elizabeth, I
just want you to know that I l-"
A sudden bang made my motions freeze and Elizabeth shriek, her body
instinctively molding to mine for comfort. I wrapped my arms around her
protectively as I began to sit up, my eyes flickering over to the door. Rapid,
repetitive blows to the wood made the hinges creak and the handle rattle,
Elizabeth's whimpering growing louder each time the door was struck.
"He's coming to get me," she sobbed, her emeralds glittering with tears as her
shaking hands gripped tighter to me, nails digging into the flesh on my
shoulders while her cheek presses to my chest. "He's going to kill me."
My pupils dilated, my sanguine irises staring into hers, their color darkening
with fear. "Who's going to kill you, Elizabeth?"
"He's going to kill me!" Elizabeth screamed at the top of her lungs, completely
avoiding my question as terrified tears began to stream down her face.
The hinges of the door began to groan in exertion, every pound to the mahogany
becoming harder and faster, sounding as if a body was slamming into the wood
with a fiery determination. Panicking, I grasped Elizabeth's arms and shook
her, my eyes now filled with urgency. "Tell me who's trying to kill you,
Elizabeth! I won't let anyone harm you, just tell me who the fuck it is!"
Her pupils suddenly shrunk in pure terror, all of the color draining from her
face, and I watched in confusion and horror as she cupped a hand over her eye,
letting out a bloodcurdling scream. "Sebastian!"
"Elizabeth! What's wrong?!" I frantically tried to pry her hand away to assess
for damage, but she refused to budge, her shrieking sobs only growing louder.
"Sebastian! Sebastian, help me!"
My head started to spin, vision blurring as I clutched at my aching chest, my
heart palpitating so fiercely that I feared it may explode. I swallowed a gulp
of bile, my cardiovascular organ abruptly ceasing its beating once the hinges
on the wood gave up, and the door flew open.
"SEBASTIAN!"
My eyelids flew open and I sucked in a deep breath, gasping as my heart thumped
wildly, a cold sweat glazing over the back of my neck and dampening my hair.
I slowly sat up, my paranoid eyes scanning my surroundings. I realised that I
was still in my hotel room, the docile environment making me relax a smidge.
The clock on the nightstand read 9:09 A.M., and, though I seemed to have
managed to get an adequate amount of sleep, I felt exhausted.
I glanced over at my phone - which had died on my way to the hotel last night,
and, because I was too fatigued when I finally arrived, I immediately passed
out as soon as I collapsed on the bed.
I should probably plug it in now, in case there's anything from Ciel.I reached
over for my phone, though a sudden bang on the door made me jump and recoil,
the nightmare still too fresh in my mind.
"Yo, Sebastian! Wake up! It's not every day you get to eat breakfast in a five
star hotel!"
I sighed when I heard the familiar voice of Bard, my fingers raking through my
sweat-drenched locks as I tried to calm myself from the startle. "Y-yeah, I'm
awake. Just a minute."
"Better hurry! We have to deal with the dictator and his brainwashing activites
at ten!"
For the first time in a long while, I had no qualms with leaving my bed, and I
sluggishly trudged through my hotel room as I carelessly threw my attire for
the day together, grumbling to myself as I dressed in my stiff suit. There was
a special place in Hell reserved for employers who forced their workers to wear
suits on Saturdays; I was sure of that.
Bard blinked as I opened the door, his eyes scanning me up and down before he
gave an awkward cough, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. "Oi,
Sebastian... Listen, a good friend would tell you that you don't look bad,
but... You missed a button on your shirt, and you look like shit."
I glanced down at my dress shirt, grousing when I realised he was right, and I
quickly popped the loose button into its proper hole. Straightening my posture,
I shuffled out of the hotel room, quietly clicking the door shut behind me.
"Thanks for catching that, Bard. To show my appreciation, I'll only sever one
of your testicles."
Bard chuckled underneath his breath as we entered the elevator, his finger
pushing the button to the ground floor. "Someone's a bit sensitive this
morning."
I huffed, tugging on my tie in irritation as I scowled. "Aren't you? It's
Saturday."
Upon the reminder of the wasted weekend, Bard's expression turned grim, as
well, though he chose to stay silent.
The elevator dinged once we reached our destination, the gleaming, polished
doors sliding open to reveal the glamorous and lavish lobby. We strode past the
reception area, slinking around various loitering guests. Turning left, we
entered through two gold-embellished doors, the frosted glass hiding the beauty
of the vast restaurant beyond.
"At least we'll get some good food," Bard murmured, winding through and
avoiding the scattered patrons while we tried to make our way to the front.
"They weren't kidding about the five stars."
My companion and I were pleasantly surprised to find that an enormous buffet
stretched from one wall to the other, offering an extensive variety of food,
ranging from the normal buttermilk pancakes and waffles to poached eggs, duck,
and even steaming clams and oysters.
Personally, I never had any qualms with trying new things, but I didn't want to
risk getting ill on a company trip, so I played it safe with pancakes, eggs,
sausage, and hash browns.
Bard and I chose to eat in silence, for we were obviously extremely famished,
and we shoveled our food in as if we hadn't eaten in years. I couldn't remember
the last time I had pancakes that were fluffy and lighter than air, nor eggs so
fresh, nor sausage so seasoned. The hash browns were crispy with a pleasant
crunch, and the orange juice had a ripe sweetness that clashed wonderfully with
the usual tangy taste.
"My god," I sighed, pushing away from the table and patting my mouth with my
napkin before I leaned back in my chair, stomach bloated in content. "I haven't
had food like that in years."
"You're tellin' me," Bard groaned, stifling a belch. "That meal almost makes it
worth working on a Saturday."
I frowned, gathering my dirtied plate in my hands while I stood to my feet. If
only that were true.
 
===============================================================================
 
Holding my arms out, I planted my feet firmly in the ground to keep myself
steady, flashing a reassuring smile to the secretary. "It's okay, Diane. I
promise I'll catch you."
She trembled nervously, looking back at me over her shoulder, her hands
brushing stray pieces of silver hair away from her face while trepidation-
filled eyes twinkled behind her thick glasses. "Y-you won't let me fall,
right?"
My smile grew, and I shook my head, with a light-hearted chuckle, my muscles
tensing up even further in preparation. "I promise you'll be okay. I'd never
let you fall."
Diane's cheeks lit up in a deep scarlet, and she turned to face forward, her
posture straightening to ready herself before she tucked her limbs in and let
her body fall back.
I easily caught her in my arms, keeping a tight hold on her to assure the
secretary that she was completely safe, though I wrinkled her pristine navy
suit jacket in the process. I waited until she calmed down a bit before I
slowly reclined her upward, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze as I set her
on her feet. "Now that was easy, wasn't it?"
Turning to face me, Diane gave me a curt nod and sputtered a practically
inaudible 'thank you' before she scuttled away with haste, her hands trying to
conceal her rosy cheeks. I smiled as I watched the secretary walk away, utter
endearment making my heart squeeze. Diane was certainly a good-hearted woman,
and if I were twenty or thirty years older, I'd be lucky if I were able to call
someone like her mine.
A loud clap silenced all chatter in the room and each and every one of us
turned to regard our boss at the center of the room. Giving his tie a brief
tug, he snapped his fingers before clearing his throat. "You all are adjourned
for now. Take a walk, go to your room, relax. We will all meet for dinner at
six. I expect every one of you to be there."
As groups of coworkers began to disperse, I took a glance at my watch,
observing that it was already three o' clock. Throughout the entire duration of
company activites, concern prodded at my innards; my phone had been dead for
hours, and I'd never left Ciel alone for so long without checking in on him.
Perhaps I was a bit overprotective, but it never hurt to be worried, right?
I waited for the majority of my colleagues to file out of the room before I
shortly followed behind, cramming myself into the tightly packed elevator, much
to my displeasure. Once the bell dinged overhead and the silver doors slid
open, I bolted out of the elevator at lightning speed, giving a swift yank to
my tie to loosen it and pulling my key card out from my trousers in advance as
I approached my room. I slid the rectangular piece of plastic into the slot in
my door, waiting for a tiny click to sound before I easily opened it and strode
inside.
With a sigh, I ripped my tie off of my neck and slipped my suit jacket off of
my shoulders, draping both garments onto the back of a chair carefully. I
nonchalantly ripped my dress shirt out of my trousers and exhaled in relief, my
fingers raking through my inky locks as I treaded over toward the bed.
I pulled my suitcase out from underneath the mattress, my slender digits
quickly unzipping it and digging around in my belongings before they curled
around a thin black cord, pulling it out from its confines. Grabbing my
previously discarded phone off of the nightstand, I slid one end of the cord
into my phone before I plugged the other into the wall. While I waited for my
phone to automatically turn on, I plopped down on the side of my bed, groaning
as I started to stretch my fatigued upper muscles.
A chime alerted me of the cellular waking, and I gently grasped onto my device,
immediately checking to see if there were any missed calls from Ciel. As soon
as my call log opened, however, a notification of a new text message from
Elizabeth popped up on the screen, and my face instantly lit up with an
ecstatic beam. I clicked on it hastily, though my smile fell into a confused
frown, my complexion draining of all color as I read it.
I dont think its gonna work :( sorryyyyyy
Weakness suddenly hit me, my phone nearly slipping out of my hands and my chest
squeezing painfully, heart practically breaking in two. What had I done? Was it
something I said? Was it due to us not speaking with each other for a couple
days? Perhaps my age? Does she find me unattractive? Did I freak her out with
my odd reaction at dinner?
"Fuck, I'm such a fucking idiot!" I practically threw my phone to the ground
with a frustrated huff, self-loathing surging through my entire being and
burrowing in my bones. "She sent that last night," I whispered, hoping that if
I explained everything to myself out loud, all of the pieces would fall into
place. "Why last night? What did I do?"
I scrambled to pick up my phone, my clumsy and shaky fingers dialing her number
and calling it as fast as humanly possible. Almost instantly, her voicemail
came on without a single ring, informing me that her phone was off.
"Hi, you've reached Elizabeth. I'm not available right now, but leave me a
message and I'll get back with you."
"Can't we talk about this?" I blurted out, my hand tangling in my hair and
gripping my locks forcefully. "Look, if it's my age, I get it. I'm not the
youngest man, I know, but I swear I'll do anything to make this work. You
honestly have no clue how happy you made me the other night. Please, pleasecall
me back."
My stomach started to churn unpleasantly in panic, and I rose from the bed,
pacing back and forth to try to settle my nerves. Tears threatened to prick at
my eyes, though I kept them at bay, hopefully awaiting a call back from
Elizabeth. Minutes passed, however, and in utter desperation, I left more and
more messages.
"Elizabeth, please.At least tell me what I've done to vex you. I deserve an
explanation before you just leave me."
"Elizabeth, come on. I'm serious. Don't act like this. Just talk to me."
"I'm very sorry if I scared you at dinner; I promise it won't ever happen
again. I don't usually behave that way. Please, Lizzie."
After my tenth or so message, I started feeling at a loss, and my control was
slipping away with each passing second.
"Hi, this is Eliza-"
"WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE?!"
I slammed my cellular down, hitting the 'end call' button as tears began to
stream down my cheeks, my eyelids squeezed shut tight in sorrow while my
knuckles clenched white in frustration. It was no use. She wasn't going to
return my call.
I fell back onto my bed, my spine hitting the mattress with a small creak, my
sanguine eyes darkened to a ruddy crimson beneath the many layers of tears, the
salty fluid leaving trails down my face and dripping onto my shirt collar.
Was I really that incompetent of a man? After all, I couldn't make a healthy
relationship work with the mother of my son, and now I couldn't keep a girl
interested after one measly date.
"Piece of shit," I muttered to myself, my large hands coming up to wipe away
the multiple tear tracks, smearing them down my cheekbones until they dried. I
forced myself to reestablish my pride and use the last of my strength to help
me sit up and get back on my feet. Carelessly ripping my phone off of its
charger, I stuffed the cell into my trouser pocket before I trudged over to the
door and threw it open, shuffling out of my room and down the quiet corridor. I
crammed my hands into my pant's pockets as I watched the room numbers go by,
glassy eyes regarding each plain, identical door with an uninterested
expression.
I continued walking until I came to room 1004, where I promptly stopped and
rapped my knuckles against the dark wood. It was a few minutes before the door
slowly opened and revealed my blond, disheveled appearing friend, a half
finished bottle of beer in his hand and a cigarette between his lips.
"Sebastian?" Bard asked, scratching his head with his free hand while he looked
me up and down with large, surprised eyes. "Whatcha need?"
Slowly blinking my already bloodshot orbs, I answered lowly, my voice cold and
hard as stone. "She doesn't want to see me anymore."
Bard's brows furrowed momentarily in confusion, his fingers clutching the neck
of the glass bottle tighter as realisation eventually began to sink in. "Erm..
Elizabeth was her name, right?"
I silently nodded, clearing my throat awkwardly to prevent fresh tears from
welling up in my eyes while I bowed my head pitifully. Giving me a sympathetic
glance, Bard stepped out of the doorway and beckoned me inside of his room, his
index and middle fingers coming up to perch on his cigarette as he took a long
drag. "Come on in. Don't mind the ripe smell of lung cancer."
I chuckled at his comment, though it was void of true emotion, and I
compliantly scuttled into his hotel room, allowing him to shut the door behind
me. Stretching my arms over my head, I observed my surroundings, noting the
spacious though clearly slept in bed, my eyes floating from the mattress over
to the large flat screen that was currently displaying a toothpaste commercial.
Two chairs seemed to be comfortably placed directly in front of the TV,
separated only by a small side table.
My friend let out a groan as he plopped down in one of the chairs, one hand
gesturing for me to sit in the opposite seat while his other harshly stabbed
the butt of his cigarette out in the ashtray that resided on the table. "Might
as well make yourself comfortable. There's beer in the mini fridge over there,"
Bard said, jutting his thumb toward the right.
Blinking in surprise, I followed the direction of his finger and treaded over
to the mini fridge, bending over as I pulled the tiny door open. "They included
beer in your fridge? All I received were various fruits and bottles of juice."
"Fuck no," Bard blurted out, his nose wrinkling up. "I brought beer with me.
There's no way I'd go through with company exercises completely sober."
My lips dared to curl upwards in a small smile while I pulled a few bottles of
beer out of the tiny cooler, cradling them in my arms as I nudged the door
shut. I walked over to the empty chair next to Bard's, allowing myself to fall
into the seat, my body instantly sinking down in the soft leather. I set the
extra bottles of liquor on the table while I took one in my hand, expertly
cracking it open and immediately bringing the cold glass up to my mouth, my
lips promptly wrapping around the opening and taking a large swig of the
alcohol.
Bard watched me as I drank, his fingers fumbling across the surface of the side
table before they found his pack of cigarettes, his digits swiftly sliding one
out, then offering the carton to me. "Cig?"
I continued to guzzle down my beer for a few moments before I permitted my
lungs to suck in air, my expression going blank in consideration. "I haven't
had a cigarette in years. Not since Rachael made me quit."
Bard pulled a second cigarette out and insistently pushed it into my free hand.
"Have one, then. You're a free bird now."
The truthfulness of his words made my chest clench up in hurt, my heart aching
as the proclamation pierced through me. Tears began to flood my eyes at an
uncontrollable rate, making my vision blur drastically. I forced the cigarette
between my lips and frantically fumbled for Bard's lighter, a sigh of relief
leaving me once I had it lit and the familiar taste of tobacco tickled my
tongue.
My friend and I stayed silent for quite a while, letting ourselves drown in
liquor and bask in the thick clouds of smoke that hung over our heads. For now,
I had managed to keep my tears in, though they consistently begged to be
released; my pride was still too strong at the moment.
Bard cleared his throat, signaling that he was getting ready to approach the
elephant in the room, his eyes remaining on me the entire time. "Sebastian, I
know this is difficult for you; you seemed to really like this girl, but-
erm..." He trailed off momentarily, scratching the nape of his neck awkwardly.
"You only had one date with her. Did you even truly know the girl?"
"You don't get it." My tears immediately spilled from my eyes, sobs
involuntarily getting stuck in my throat and choking me up as I croaked my
words. "I feel like a total piece of shit. It's not just because of Elizabeth;
I couldn't even make it work with the mother of my son. I'm completely fucking
useless. I break every bond I make. I try so hard to make people happy and I
fail every time. I don't understand what's wrong with me, why I'm such a fucked
up person."
"Sebastian, don't say shit like that. You know Rachael was cra-"
"No!" I cut him off, shaking my head as I cried in despair. "It's all my fault!
I couldn't make her happy because I can't make anyone happy! I can't do
anything right no matter how hard I try! Even my own son probably hates me. I
struggle to pay for his clothing and violin lessons; how the hell will I ever
send him to college and give him the education he deserves?" My eyes squeezed
shut tight as absolute misery settled over me, making my sobs turn into
whimpers. "I'm a piece of shit father and a failure as an individual."
Bard frowned, permitting me to sob my heart out as he remained silent, knowing
that even making an attempt to speak up was utterly fruitless. Salty droplets
rolled off of my chin and soaked into my trousers, speckling the dark fabric. I
could already feel my vocal chords start to strain and give out, my mouth going
completely dry thanks to my bawling.
After breaking down for a while, my consistent flow of tears started to slow
and whimpers no longer stayed trapped inside of my throat; instead, they were
replaced with small sniffles. My large hands came up to cover my face, digits
bending as they smeared the excessive tears away.
"Fuck, what kind of man am I," I whispered to myself, letting out an unamused
laugh to prevent more tears from falling. "Blubbering like an idiot over
nothing."
"A normal one," my friend promptly answered, letting out a long, smoke tainted
exhale. "Don't let those arrogant meatheads fool you; every man cries. Hell, do
you honestly think I haven't shed a tear since Mey and I have had our
problems?" He scoffed to himself, his brows furrowing as his expression turned
solemn. "When you love a woman like that, it's hard not to cry."
"I know what you mean," I cleared my hoarse throat, quickly flicking the grey
chars of my forgotten cigarette into the ashtray. "I'm aware that Rachael
had... problems, but that doesn't mean I loved her any less. And even though it
wasn't entirely my fault, I still feel guilty for not being there when she was
pregnant."
The room settled into another moment of silence, the only sound being the quiet
murr of the television. I took one more drag off of my cigarette before I
discarded it into the tray, my hands deciding to turn their attention back to
my beer.
I chugged down the liquor while Bard clicked onto a different channel, the
familiar jingle of the local news station filling the speakers in a greeting.
"I hate watching this shit," Bardroy muttered under his breath, talking over
the anchor. "But I guess it'd be nice to know how the weather will be
tomorrow."
I nodded in agreement, my cloudy vision fixing on the flat screen as I took a
final sip of my beer, setting the empty bottle down on the side table.
Panning in, the camera revealed the familiar visage of Kimberly Johnson,
wearing an olive green suit with her golden hair pinned up in a tight bun.
"Good afternoon, I'm Kimberly Johnson, and welcome to the news. We'll be
starting with a tragic segment depicting the act of pure cruelty; early this
morning, a family dog was discovered poisoned at the corner of Kennedy and
Alpine."
My eyebrows instantly shot up along with Bard's, who looked at me in
questioning. "Isn't that just a few houses down from yours?"
Speechless, I nodded, reaching down beside me to grab another beer bottle while
Bard hastily turned the volume up. The picture suddenly changed to a man in
uniform standing in front of the familiar yellow house, the words "Lieutenant
Claude Faustus" scrolled across the bottom of the screen.
"The family is quite overwhelmed at this point in time," the lieutenant spoke,
adjusting his glasses while his golden eyes gleamed behind them. "The couple's
children found the dog lying dead in the grass this morning, and upon further
investigation we found large amounts of theobromine in the dog's system. As of
now, we can't confirm if this was merely an accident or an intended
demonstration of inhumanity, but we advise all pet owners to keep their pets
inside at night to prevent any further incidents from happening."
My companion and I sat in a flabbergasted silence, our mouths hanging open and
our eyes as big as the moon.
Bard was the first to speak, though it took him a while to form words. "Wow.
Who could do something like that?"
My voice came out as a rasp, one of my hands raking through my inky locks in
disbelief. "Presuming it wasn't an accident, only the most vile of human
beings."
Bardroy furrowed his brows at my comment, his eyes narrowing slightly in
thought as he mulled over my response. "Right, presuming it wasn't an accident.
Hell, even the kids that found the dog could've been the ones who killed him,
with or without knowing the consequences of their actions."
I nodded slowly. "Hopefully it was just an accident. You saw how a police
lieutenant was explaining the situation; these things never happen in a quiet
town."
"First those kiddos in the suicide pact, now this." Bard groaned, leaning
forward in his chair and reaching under the recliner. "This town will go to
shit if hoodlums continue to cause trouble."
I cocked a brow as I watched him feel under his chair, before his fingers
latched onto a small bag and pulled it out into view. My eyes widened as he set
the plastic bag onto the table, pupils peering through the clear sack in shock.
"Bardroy, you..."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I'm a worthless nit. But they took away my Saturday," Bard
mumbled, opening the bag and pulling out one of the many long blunts that were
nestled inside.
"You're seriously going to get high in this hotel room? We have to meet with
the entire company for dinner in an hour!"
"Eh, fuck it all, Sebastian. Do you really want to subject yourself to the
dull, monotone lectures that our boss loves to give us? I'm done with this
trip, I'm done with this company, and I'm going to get stoned. Worst case
scenario, I'll lose my job. And I'd rather serve burgers at the rat-infested
joint down the street, anyway."
A brief look of disappointment flickered across my features, though I continued
to stare at the bag in consideration. Really, what was there to lose? I no
longer had a chance with Elizabeth, and, although I have a son to support, this
job clearly wasn't paying well enough, anyway. I still struggled to pay my
monthly bills, not to mention the cash I had to set away for Ciel's expanding
interests and various school supplies. Perhaps a fast food establishment would
have more to offer, as Bard had said.
"Fuck it," I finally spoke up, shoving my hand inside the bag and grabbing one
of the rolled joints. I gestured to Bard for his lighter, and he flashed me a
goofy grin, handing it over compliantly.
For the next hour, we proceeded to drink and get high, laughing and joking the
whole time as if we were still immature boys in high school. The simple
conversations brought back many good memories, and I savored every minute of
relaxation. At that moment, I had no responsibilities, I had no worries. I was
just a middle aged man, who at the time, felt like he could accomplish
anything.
 
===============================================================================
 
"I feel like shit," I murmured to Bard, our bloodshot eyes locking with one
another, both of us appearing quite pitiful. It seemed that I had failed to
remember all the old times that the alcohol and marijuana hadn't mixed quite
well, and that I had become miserably sick at some points. It seemed that Bard
had forgotten these facts, as well.
"Michaelis," my boss spoke smoothly, his head slightly cocked as he peered at
me with mild concern. "Neither Bardroy nor yourself have touched your dinners.
Is the meal unappealing?"
"No," I said lowly, my gaze rising to regard my numerous coworkers, watching as
they all gratefully tore into their steaks and chowed down on the mashed
potatoes drenched in gravy. The sight made me want to puke.
"Why is it that you haven't eaten then, hm? Surely you two men aren't
vegetarians."
"We're car sick," Bard offered, and I shot him a death glare, the expression
practically voicing my thoughts. Car sick? That was the only excuse you could
think of?!
The lie resulted in our boss becoming even more puzzled, and he leaned forward
in interest, lacing his fingers together. "Is that so? Did you two go for a
ride during your break?"
"Yes," I quickly answered, trying to sound logical though not wanting to reveal
too much. "We drove around for a while."
"Oh, I see. That's all? You didn't stop anywhere?"
"We stopped to get food," Bard chimed in with a goofy smile, and I kicked him
under the table in scolding. "Ow!" He exclaimed, glancing at me. "What was that
for?!"
At this point, our colleagues had paused their eating to stare at us, curious
gazes focused in our direction. Our boss' orbs visibly darkened, his eyes
narrowing slightly while his lips started to twitch in a scowl.
Reclining even further forward, he licked his pursed lips before he spoke, his
tone hard and eerily even. "So, let me get his straight: I dismissed you
earlier, with the announcement that we'd all gather for dinner here at six. You
two then promptly went for a drive, and stopped for food before you came back
here and joined us for dinner. Is that right?"
Bard, finally realising his mistakes, lowered his head in defeat, though he
stared at me pleadingly from the corner of his eye. I swallowed uneasily,
before I nodded curtly, flinching a bit as I wrongly confessed. "Yes, Sir. I'm
afraid we were starving and just couldn't wait any longer."
The man's irises darkened once more, his pupils dilating in what seemed to be
brewing rage, and he clenched his large fists, hissing through his teeth
calmly. "I see. Well then, feel free to waste your costly meals, gentlemen."
We both cringed at his words, for they made guilt pierce right through us,
which was the intended effect, I'm sure. I gulped, my mouth feeling utterly dry
from my nervousness and I suddenly lurched forward, pushing away from the table
clumsily as I scrambled to my feet. "E-excuse me, I need to go call my son."
My skin prickled from the many eyes staring at my back as I briskly strode
away, trying to escape the tense situation as fast as possible. I refused to
even breathe until I was free from everyone's probing eyes, and I sucked in a
mouthful of air once I exited the restaurant and entered the quiet lobby of the
hotel. Scanning the area, I noticed that, for the moment, I was completely
alone; even the reception desk seemed to be unattended.
I hummed in approval as I leaned against a wall, permitting myself a few
minutes to calm down before I rummaged around in my trouser pocket, my slender
digits curling around my phone and lifting it up until it was directly in front
of my face. I speedily dialed Ciel's number, my lips pursing slightly as I
began to softly whistle, and my pupils continuing to float around my
surroundings. I waited as the phone rang and rang, my nonchalant appearance
slowly starting to become more tense and concerned the longer it went without
an answer. Never had Ciel missed one of my calls, so as soon as the voicemail
came on, my brows furrowed in worry. I ended the call, lowering my phone so my
eyes could study the time.
It's nearly seven; surely he wouldn't be in bed this early on a Saturday
night.Clearing my throat, I proceeded to dial his number again, this time
listening to each ring intently, as if he would answer at any moment. Again,
however, it went to his voicemail.
I chose not to leave a message, though I shot him a quick text, hoping that, in
the case he was busy, he would have a easier time responding to a text rather
than a call.
Hey Ciel, is everything all right? I'm not trying to be overprotective, just
checking on you. You know you can call if you need anything. Love you.
I sighed as I sent the message, my hand carelessly stuffing the phone back into
my pocket. As much as I dreaded it, I'd probably have to go back into the
restaurant to face my boss and all my nosy coworkers once again. Thankfully,
the ill sensation I had in my gut had temporarily subsided, for my stomach was
now churning with worry for Ciel.
"You already fucked up your chance at being responsible tonight," I muttered to
myself as my fingers wrapped around the gold handle of the restaurant's door.
"So just pretend you didn't."
 
===============================================================================
 
"You are a fucking bastard, you know that?" Bard growled, his knuckles
shamelessly punching in the elevator button.
I frowned as the chrome doors slid shut, the elevator shuddering as it lurched
upward. "I'mthe bastard? You put me in a pretty difficult spot there, Bard. Car
sick? We went to go get food? Really?"
"You know I've never been an intelligent drunkard," Bard murmured, crossing his
arms across his chest like a pouting child.
"Yeah, well now I'm starting to remember why I got into so much trouble when I
got fucked up with you as a teenager."
A tense silence lingered between us as we waited for the elevator to reach our
floor, the tiny, illuminated numbers at the top left corner rising in quantity
as we continued to go up. Finally, a soft dingchimed as the doors reopened,
revealing the ever quiet corridor we had become familiar with.
I strode out of the elevator immediately, briskly walking to maintain distance
between me and my friend, for I was still steaming after our conversation, and
irritated that he believed he could even pin an ounce of blame onto me.
Stopping at my door, my back was to Bard as he trudged past me, my eyes staying
focused on the wood as I pulled my key card out.
Bard, reaching his room, as well, halted at his door and glanced at me with
apologetic eyes, his hand scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. "So,
uhm... What did the kid say?"
"He didn't answer," I responded coolly, taking the card back out of the slot
once it lit up green, my opposite hand grabbing the handle and easily opening
my door.
"Oh." Bard uttered in surprise, his brows drawn together. As if sensing my
inner worry, he spoke up hopefully. "Well, hey, maybe he's throwing a party. He
never gets left home alone, so that's what I would be doing if my old man left
for a weekend."
"Yeah, maybe." I said flatly, doubt evident in my tone. My eyes tore away from
the vision of my room, gaze locking with his as I muttered. "Good night, you
worthless drunk."
Bard gave me a small smile at the insult, his voice soft as he waved to me.
"Good night, logical stoner."
A small smile involuntarily cracked my grimace, and I stepped inside my room,
closing the door behind me.
Bard watched after me, shaking his head as he breathed to himself. "I hope he's
all right."
 
===============================================================================
 
Waking up on Sunday filled me with relief and dread. It was nice to know that
this was the last day at the company trip, though this day was proving to be
packed with the most exercises. We were forced to act out problematic
situations, so our boss could judge how we handled each one. Of course, some of
his employees didn't fix the issues to his standards, and we were forced to
reenact them over and over again until he was pleased. We also had to review
proper formatting for our documents, which took at least an hour. Then, our
boss had to repeatedly drill company policies into our heads, to the point
where we were nearly brain dead.
Lunch was a very short lasting solace, for we weren't allowed to have our break
today; my boss' words still searing in my mind.
"I have to regrettably inform you all that none of you will be receiving a
break for lunch today. Instead, sandwiches will be delivered up here, to
prevent prior incidents from happening," he had said, his dark gaze piercing
through me and Bard.
Seems like I'm on his shit list now,I thought bitterly while I leaned against
the wall, watching as all of my coworkers munched on their sandwiches. I
averted my focus onto my phone, absentmindedly flicking through it to check my
messages.
Everything's fine, Daddy! I'm just working on my homework. I promise I'll call
if I need anything. I love you. <3
I smiled as I read Ciel's message, noting that he sent it at 10:13 last night.
"I must've already been asleep; I don't remember my phone going off," I
murmured to myself. My body suddenly tensed as I felt the presence of someone
next to me, and I put my phone away, turning to look at the person.
"O-oi, Sebastian," Bard greeted anxiously, his brows furrowing slightly as he
tried to form the proper words to say. "You should probably eat something.
Here, I brought you a sandwich."
I looked down as he extended his hand forward, offering me a delicately
assembled sandwich on a small paper platter. My lips curled into a glower,
though my eyes were soft from the kind gesture. "No thank you, Bard. I'm not
very hungry."
"Oh. All right then," he nodded to me, frowning as he turned and walked away,
leaving me to stand there alone until our employer ordered everyone to finish
their meals.
The rest of the day seemed to drag on, although, there was a single positive
outlook; we all would be returning home sooner than we thought. Our boss had
originally stated that we wouldn't get home until the late evening, but now it
seemed that we would be departing sooner.
"Everyone," he spoke up, silencing any quiet chatter. "I had planned on us
staying quite a few hours longer, but considering tomorrow is a work day and I
expect you all to be on your best behavior, I believe I owe you time for
adequate rest. This company trip is officially over, and do remember to
demonstrate what you've learned tomorrow; I will be watching you all very,
veryclosely."
And with that eery note, we were dismissed. I fought to scramble out of the
room as fast as possible, for the man's ever so piercing gaze was fixated on
me, as it had been since Saturday night. Why he was more fascinated with me
rather than Bard, I didn't know. After all, Bard was the idiot who proclaimed
to be car sick.
"Fucking moron," I muttered to myself, before I barged into my hotel room and
started organising my things. Luckily, I was smart enough to pack up this
morning, and I double checked to make sure I wasn't missing anything before I
grabbed my suitcase and proceeded to leave the room behind.
I raked my hand through my hair as I stepped out of the lavish hotel, a warm
breeze tickling my face as a soft sunlight illuminated the land. Soon, it would
be sunset, and the air would steadily start to cool down over time. I sauntered
over to my vehicle, avoiding the numerous cars that were already making their
way out of the lot. Carelessly throwing my suitcase into the backseat, I
settled down into the driver's side, one hand gripping onto the steering wheel
while my other dug into my trouser pocket for my phone.
My cellular device read 4:07 PM, and I knew that, if traffic wasn't completely
awful, I would probably make it home around five. As I started the engine of
the car and threw it into reverse, I dialed my son's number, pressing the phone
to my ear as I expertly began to pull out of my parking space. A few soft rings
met my ears, before they were quickly silenced.
"D-Daddy?" A quiet voice chirped, nearly sounding startled.
"Ciel," I hummed, pausing briefly so I could shift the car into drive. "I'm
headed home now. I'll probably get there around five so I should be able to
make dinner."
"Oh, okay. That sounds good. I'll be waiting for you. I love you!"
"Love you too," I breathed, before I swiftly ended the call, now using my full
attention to focus on the drive back. Soon I'd be home, in my own space with my
own bed, my own food, and my own personal bad habits, and nothing seemed more
promising than that.
 
===============================================================================
 
When I finally arrived home, I was pleased to see that my prediction was
correct; I pulled up at 4:55 exactly. As soon as my car was parked, I dashed
from the vehicle, heavy suitcase in tow, and strut toward the front door of my
house happily as if I were on the fucking yellow brick road. When I shoved my
key inside, I noticed that, as always, it got stuck in the keyhole, though the
familiar struggle only caused a smile to break out on my face.
"Oh, dastardly devilish lock, how I missed your stubbornness," I joked to
myself, jiggling the key around for a few moments before the lock eventually
clicked and I was able to open the door - or, rather, throw the piece of wood
open as dramatically as possible.
Once inside, I went completely crazy, ripping my dress shirt out of my trousers
and tearing the nuisance of a tie off of my neck immediately, making me feel
like I could finally breathe. I left my suitcase at the door momentarily,
deciding to instead stride over to the living room couch, where my son was
currently sitting, reading a book peacefully.
"Hey, buddy," I greeted, my large hand coming down to ruffle up his sleek hair.
"How was the party?"
My son glanced up from his book to look at me, one of his eyebrows arching in
an almost sassy manner. "It was great. Polynomials and trigonometric identities
sure know how to party."
"Tough crowd," I flinched jokingly at his humorless answer, letting out a soft
sigh. "I figured you wouldn't have gone crazy, but that's really all you did?
You just worked on homework?"
"I read a couple books," Ciel offered, shrugging. "And I missed you."
I chuckled at his answer, mussing up his hair once more before I turned and
slinked back over to the front door, fetching the suitcase I left. "You read,
did homework, and missed your old man. I've never heard of a teenager being so
docile, Ciel."
He let out a quiet laugh at my words, and I flashed him a small smile as I
trudged past the living room, heading for the stairs. "I'll start dinner in a
little while. First, though, I need to put away my things."
Ciel nodded, his focus now back on his book. "Okay, Daddy."
Making soft groans, I began to trek up the stairs, cradling the burdensome
suitcase in my arms. My muscles were tensed and strained from carrying the
simple thing; it would seem that I needed to start weight training again. Or
perhaps I was getting older, and my bones were becoming more feeble. That
thought had me grimacing. Time to start chugging milk.
Once I finally reached the top of the stairs, I let out a relieved exhale,
letting my arms droop slightly as my hold on the case was able to loosen. I had
made it past the most difficult part, now all that was left to do was discard
the damned thing in my room for the time being.
I strode toward my bedroom door, quiet pants leaving me as I slowly started to
catch my breath, and I was nearly to my chamber before a sudden sound made me
freeze. I halted where I stood, my eyes widening slightly as I listened
closely.
Scratch... Scratch... Scratch...
It was slow, and very drawn out, almost as if someone was trying to wear
something down, though it was also very soft, like no effort was being put into
the motions.
Scratch... Scratch... Scratch...
My brows furrowed as I looked around, trying to determine where the sound was
coming from. It seemed to echo, and that made it nearly impossible to discern
the origin of the noise. Finally, my orbs floated to the sky, my pupils
dilating in sudden realisation. The attic.
I carefully set my suitcase down on the ground, dusting my hands off as I took
small steps toward the attic door, the scraping sound seeming to get clearer
and clearer as I neared it. Reaching up, my fingers curled around the rope
dangling from the ceiling, my arm bending as I started to pull down the stairs
to the attic.
"Daddy, what are you doing?"
The unexpected voice startled me, and I instinctively let go of the rope,
turning around to face my son and looking into his curious eyes. "Oh, Ciel," I
breathed, gasping slightly as my heart pounded in my chest. "I was going to go
up into the attic. Have you heard any strange scratching noises? I'm afraid we
might have rats or something."
"I have, actually," Ciel frowned, his cerulean irises averting to the ground
temporarily in thought.
"I'll go check and see if we have any poison; that should take care of them."
"I can do it, Daddy," Ciel spoke up, giving me a small smile. "It's dusty up
there, anyway. You don't want your allergies to flare up."
My brows furrowed slightly, eyes hardening a bit in protest. "Yeah, but-" my
disagreement was cut off by the sharp ringing of a phone, the pocket of my
pants vibrating wildly. I clicked my tongue, turning my attention to my phone
as I slid it out, a groan leaving me when I read the name on the screen.
I answered the call hurriedly, shoving the phone up to my ear as I pinched the
bridge of my nose in irritation. "What is it, Bard?"
"O-o-oi, S-Sebastian.."
My pupils dilated as I heard his voice, the tone distorted by choked sobs and
snivels, while the loud background noise threatened to drown him out. "Bardroy?
What's the matter?"
He gave a high pitched hiccup. "I-it's M-Mey, sh-she..."
I groaned again, my index and middle fingers pressing to my temple as the
situation dawned on me. "You're at the bar, aren't you?"
"Mhm.."
"I'll be there," I hissed, before I ended the call, sighing in frustration as
my attention returned to my son, and I gave him an apologetic look. "Ciel, it's
Bard. He needs m-"
"Go, Daddy," Ciel cut me off, giving me an understanding smile. "I'll take care
of your suitcase and those pesky attic rats for you."
"I'm not sure I'll be home in time for dinner..." I trailed off, frowning at
the thought of forcing Ciel to make his own dinner once again.
He gave a small giggle, waving me off casually. "It's okay, we'll eat dinner
together tomorrow night."
Thankful for my son's understanding, I gave him a quick hug before I bolted
down the stairs and dashed out of the house, my fingers tangling in my hair to
try to fix my disheveled appearance. I hadn't wanted to deal with this shit
tonight, but I supposed I couldn't be mad at the asshole forever.
 
===============================================================================
 
I sauntered into the well known bar, the familiar stench of grease and potent
liquor instantly hitting my nostrils. A thick layer of cigarette smoke hung in
the air, practically obscuring one's vision. Spotting my blond friend draped
over the counter haphazardly, I slid up next to him on the bar, waving at the
bartender to bring me a drink as I sat down.
Bard raised his head a little, his bloodshot eyes flicking over in my direction
and his pupils locking with mine. He made an attempt to smile, but he seemed
too lethargic to do so. Biting my lip, I laced my fingers together, folding my
hands over the counter as I glanced up at the many different trinkets hanging
along the wall. "Tom must have the night off," I murmured.
Bard finally sat up, though his posture was hunched significantly as his elbows
held him upright. "He does. Pete's on tonight," he proclaimed with a gurgle,
waving at the passing bartender as he placed an iced glass of whiskey in front
of me.
I nodded to Pete in thanks as he strut away, my hand curling around the cold
glass and lifting it to my lips. I took a few long, large gulps of the strong
alcohol, my esophagus burning at the welcomed sensation, before I set the glass
back down, clearing my throat uneasily as I speak with a low voice. "So, what
happened this time?"
Bard sniffled softly, his solemn eyes staring down at the empty, lined shot
glasses near his head. "Same shit, different day, Sebastian."
I frowned a little at his comment. My friend never usually elaborated too much
on his fights with Mey; whether it was manly pride or he simply wished not to
talk about it, I didn't know, which is why I was taken aback when he continued
to speak.
"She thinks I'm worthless," he said hoarsely, tears welling up in his reddened
eyes. "And I know I'm worthless too; she ain't telling me nothing new. And
hell, I couldn't give a fuck if anyone thought I was worthless... anyone but
her."
A tear streamed down my friend's face, the droplet leisurely rolling down his
cheek, as if to mock his misery. I stayed silent, allowing him to speak his
mind; it wasn't often that Bard felt comfortable with opening up. "This is
killing me, Sebastian. I love her. God, I love her so fucking much. But this
hurts so bad."
"Perhaps," I whispered quietly, my tone gentle. "You should try to move on from
her."
Bard turned his body fully to look at me, his eyes completely serious. "Oh? Is
that what you did with Rachel, Sebastian?"
My eyes widened slightly. "M-me?"
"You tried to move on from her, tried to forget her. I can sleep on the couch
for years, shit, I can even move out of the house and get my own place like you
did with Rach, but do you ever truly move on? Did you ever move on from Rachel,
Sebastian?"
My brows furrowed, eyes narrowing a bit as I stared down at the glass of
whiskey, my index finger tracing the rim of it absentmindedly. "No," I answered
simply, a layer of tears sparkling in my orbs. "No, I never really moved on. I
moved out of the house to escape her wrath; I thought that, maybe after some
separation, I'd feel more like myself again, but..." I trailed off briefly, my
pupils fixating on a blinking, neon light above the bar. "The truth is, you
never feel like yourself again. It actually made me feel worse to get away from
her. I felt like I was abandoning someone in need, someone who needed my help
and I just turned them away. I even regret trying to move on; if I hadn't,
maybe I wouldn't have ended up so broken, and maybe she wouldn't have abused
Ciel."
Tears clung to my lashes as I spoke these words, my eyes blinking rapidly to
try to clear my blurry vision. "So, to answer your question, no. You never
really move on from the one you truly love."
Bard nodded, sighing as he ran his hand through his messy hair, a few more
tears slipping out as he did so. "I didn't think so."
Our conversation ended there, and for the rest of the evening, we spent our
time silently drinking next to one another, and listening to the soft patter of
rain outside. If moments like these solidified anything for me, it was that, no
matter what, my bond with Bard was completely unbreakable. He needed me, and I
honestly needed him. Out of everything we've been through, we've still held
strong and survived together all these years.
And there was nothing more touching than that.
 
===============================================================================
 
I quietly scuttled into the house, silently shutting the door behind me as I
entered my pitch black home. It was already eleven, and, due to the darkness of
the house, I assumed Ciel was already asleep. Bard and I had luckily ended on a
high note; Pete joined us in conversation for a while, so we were able to make
light jokes until it was time to leave. I had offered Bard my couch if he
wished to stay away from home for the night, but he politely refused, saying
that he wouldn't want to worry Mey, and he'd rather not be apart from her.
Carefully, I made my way through the house, trying to use my memory to remember
where every obstacle was. "Fuck," I cursed quietly as my knee slammed into the
coffee table, pain radiating throughout my bones. I suppose I didn't take my
intoxicated state into consideration.
Eventually, I made it to the stairwell, the steps lightly creaking as I treaded
up them. Once I reached the second story hallway, I halted for a brief moment,
my eyes scanning my surroundings as I listened carefully. I stood there for at
least five minutes, before a small smile curled my lips. No more scratching.
I proceeded to make my way into my bedroom silently, trying to remain as quiet
as possible so I didn't risk waking my son. I shut my door carefully, leaving
it cracked just a bit before I allowed myself to completely relax, a groan
leaving me as I stretched my limbs out. I stumbled a little as I started to
undress, my fingers clumsily undoing the buttons on my dress shirt while my
legs wobbled as I tore off my pants. Once I was only in my boxers, I flopped
down on my bed, a pleasant hum leaving me as the mattress molded to my frame
perfectly.
Flicking my TV on, my eyes curiously glanced over toward my nightstand, idly
pondering if I should light up before I went to bed. Waiting a little while
might be best,I decided, my gaze now fixing on the images scrolling across the
flat screen. Wouldn't want to get ill on my first night home.
Settling comfortably in my bed, I yawned partly in exhaustion and partly in
boredom as I clicked through various TV programs, all of them seeming dull and
uninteresting. "Fuck it," I mumbled, shrugging to myself. "Might as well crank
one out."
I turned the channel to one of the more... lewd programs, making sure that the
volume was quiet enough where it couldn't be heard out in the hall. Then, after
shifting my position once more, I let my hand slink down into my boxers, my
digits gently rubbing coaxing circles into my currently soft member. My eyes
lidded slightly as I watched the woman on the screen, her slender fingers
hooking underneath her tight shirt and pulling it up, revealing a pair of huge,
flawless tits.
A groan left me at the sight, my dick throbbing slightly in my hand as I
watched her fake nails trail over her breasts teasingly, prodding her already
hard nipples while she let out a moan. I tugged my boxers down, grunting as the
cold air hit my freed dick, and I wrapped my hand around it more fully, giving
it an eager squeeze.
"Fuuuck yeah," I breathed, my back arching marginally as I started to quickly
move my hand up and down my hardened shaft, precum desperately spilling from my
slit and dripping down my entire cock. It was already so aroused and so
sensitive; I could tell it had been a while since I last jacked off.
As the girl on the TV started to masturbate, I bucked my hips up wildly, grunts
and groans leaving my lips at my every movement, my hand tightening its grip as
I vigorously tugged on my dick. Closing my eyes, I let myself get lost in her
moans, imagining her fake nails tracing down the veins of my cock and picturing
her pouty lips rubbing into my swollen head.
"Fuck yeah. Fuck, so fucking good," I gasped, my fingers now starting to move a
bit more carelessly as the lubrication from my precum made them slip and slide
involuntarily, my teeth gritting as my abdominal muscles began to clench up
uncomfortably. I roughly thrust my hips up into the air as my hand continued to
squeeze and massage my swollen shaft, a shudder shaking my body as tingles
licked at my skin. With one final grunt, I came powerfully, the white essence
dripping down my dick while some even splattered onto my covers and stomach,
the warm liquid running down my flesh.
"Fuck," I panted, raking a hand through my mildly damp hair as I let out ragged
exhales. I permitted myself to lay there and relax for a few moments, my body
twitching a bit as pleasant sensations surged through my nerve endings. I
tucked my member back into my boxers, my fingers fumbling for my remote and
changing the channel to something else before I melted into my bed, groaning in
fatigue.
The last thing I remembered was reaching for my nightstand for a joint, though
I never made it, my arm dangling off of the side of my bed as I instantly
succumbed to a deep sleep, one that was peaceful and void of dreams.
***** Contemptible Ciel *****
Chapter Summary
     IMPORTANT WARNING: The following passage contains graphic depictions
     of mentally disturbing content that is not recommended for the faint-
     hearted or those with weak stomachs. Read at your own expense; we
     will not be held responsible if you toss your cookies, so to speak.
Chapter Notes
     I am SO DONE. This chapter was a fucking bitch to write and edit. 32k
     words long. My carpal tunnel has carpal tunnel, which has turned into
     arthritis. I swore I'd never write something this gargantuan again
     but I SPOKE TOO FUCKING SOON. I don't even have wrists anymore. What
     are fingers? Put me out of my misery.
     IN ALL SERIOUSNESS. This chapter is indeed long and graphic as fuck.
     Sorrynotsorry. I'm so done that I barely have the mental capacity to
     coherently type words and form them into proper sentences.
     A HUGE THANKS TO SEBASUCHANSKITTEN for being the most wonderful
     fucking goldfish to ever exist. I could not ask for a better co-
     author. I appreciate you so fucking much, my little angel. Everyone
     should give her their love and thanks, because without her this
     chapter would have been a bunch of fucking nothing; too many ideas
     that didn't make a bit of sense. She helped me pull it all together
     and focus it onto the logic behind it all. If I didn't have her, this
     chapter wouldn't flow, it would be full of typos and repetitive
     words, and it would be so illogical and unrealistic that you'd expect
     a unicorn to pop up and start impaling the neighbors.
     SO THANK YOU KIT, I LOVE YOU AND APPRECIATE EVERYTHING YOU DO. I
     wouldn't have made it this far without you.
     I'm done typing. Forever. Please read and enjoy.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The twittering of birds roused me from my sleep, pulling me out of the depths
of slumber, and I slowly opened my eyes to the light filtering in through the
blinds. Considering how late I had gone to bed and the fact that it was 7 a.m.,
I felt completely at peace and very well rested. I rubbed my eyes, nestling
further into my blankets, almost desiring to remain in the warmth for the rest
of the day, much to the protest of my bladder. I had had quite the dream last
night, but a heavy fog obscured the details, annoyingly obscuring it from my
memory. I lay there, blankly staring up at the ceiling and trying to recall
whatever I had been dreaming of. As flickers of my dream began dredging to the
surface in my mind, my eyes widened in pleasant surprise before they lidded in
slight arousal. My teeth sank into my bottom lip and worried it languidly, skin
tingling as I relived a particularly erotic scene, and a low purr rose in my
throat, shivers dancing down my spine. Life would certainly be very interesting
if he had gone to high school with me rather than being my father. It was
almost too bad it had only been a dream, as it had been a love story that made
me swoon. If only he were the type to take charge and be that rough with me.
The idea of being manhandled alone was enough to make me hard. I brushed off
the fantasies as easily as they came on; I loved my father for the gentle,
loving, and kind man that he was, not the cold, dominating sadist he would
never be.
With a soft sigh, I decided that I had spent enough time lazing about in bed
even though it was Sunday, and I slowly sat up, the covers falling off of me
and bunching up around my waist, before I completely pushed them away. My
bladder ached with insistence that I move faster, but I couldn't find it in
myself to care, and, ignoring the stabbing pain, I slid forward until my feet
hit the plush carpeting. Standing up, I pad across the floor and yank my door
open, a hand coming up to stifle a yawn. I hadn't been locking my door since my
father had been gone, although as soon as he returned I would continue my habit
of leaving my room constantly closed off to everyone but me. As careful as I
was, a minor detail or piece of evidence could slip past my notice and send my
world crashing to the ground. I wouldn't allow such a thing, and so my father
couldn't be in my room unsupervised. Traipsing down the hall, I realised that
my jaunt was particularly cheerful, and I couldn't help but to hum softly to
myself, a small smile breaking out over my lips. Once reaching the bathroom, I
quickly relieved my bladder and washed my hands after flushing the toilet,
scrubbing at my skin to make sure it was fully clean. I stared at my reflection
in the mirror, my expression oddly joyful, and as I dried my hands I decided to
skip my normal morning routine. I saw no point in taking a shower now when I
knew I would only be getting dirty and have to take another one later.
I exited the bathroom, making my way back down the hall and to the stairs, and
once I reached the bottom of the staircase, I practically danced my way into
the kitchen, the fact that it was Sunday finally sinking in. A happy grin broke
out over my face, and I hummed in delight, my tone lilting as my voice took on
a singsong quality. "Daddy's coming home today."
Very nearly skipping over to the counter, I pull the coffee machine forward and
open it up, slipping a filter into place and spooning in the proper amount of
coffee grounds. I rinse the pot out before filling it with water and adding it
to the back of the machine, starting it and sliding it back into place. As I
wait patiently for the delicious liquid to brew, I lean against the counter, my
eyes flicking around absentmindedly before they settle on the block of knives,
the blade sharpener resting next to it. Reaching a hand out, I caress the sleek
black handle of one of the knives before I grasp onto it and pull it out, the
sharp metal glinting when the light hits it. Turning it in my hand, I study it
closer as a dear memory comes to life in my head. I can practically hear my
father's voice even now...
I'm standing on the stool in the kitchen, precariously perched on tiptoes so
that I can clear the counter, and I pick up a knife, turning it curiously in my
hands. I had just recently met Daddy for the first time when I came to live
with him permanently, though I had seen countless pictures of him in high
school, and I knew a lot about him. He had been all that Mommy had talked
about, so I loved him even before I saw him. Wanting to get closer to Daddy and
gain even more of his affections, I had asked him to let me help him make
dinner. I wanted to spend as much time with him as I could and he was more than
happy to teach me a few basics when it came to preparing food. My grip on the
knife firms up, and I hold it awkwardly in my hands, my knuckles turning white
from how tightly I'm squeezing the handle. Confusion causes my brows to furrow,
and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, unsure if it's supposed to be this
uncomfortable to use. "Am I holding it right Daddy?"
"No, no, no," he says with a warm chuckle, and he comes up behind me, his chest
brushing against my back as he hovers over me. His arm comes into sight as he
gently grabs hold of my hand, carefully rotating the knife in my palm until I
was properly clutching it. "You have to be careful, Ciel. You wouldn't want to
hurt yourself. Also, don't grip the handle so tightly; try to relax a little."
His hand curls around mine, steadying me and keeping my hold on the blade
gentle. He guides the knife down toward the cutting board, positioning it over
the onion and keeping it there. "Here, I'll help you. Are you ready?"
"Thank you, Daddy." My cheeks flush ever so slightly pink, a small smile
pulling at the corners of my lips as I relax my grip on the knife enough that
blood can flow to my fingers. I still hold the handle firmly enough that it
won't slip from my hands, and a feeling of happiness bubbles up in me that he's
taking such care to teach me. I focus intently on the onion, the sharp edge of
the knife barely grazing its flesh, and I give a curt nod of determination,
allowing him full control over my hand. "I'm ready."
He slowly lowers our hands, the blade easily chopping through the onion and
efficiently cutting it in half, releasing the pungent scent into the air which
stings my eyes slightly. His free arm curls around me, stilling my body as I
wobble slightly on my toes, and he continues to guide my cuts, letting me get a
feel for how to properly slice through the onion. After we've cut a few slices,
he pauses and speaks softly in my ear.
"Remember, this isn't a race. It's best to take your time with cutting up
vegetables than lose a finger in a rush." His words are whispered, his breath
displacing my hair and tickling my skin, a small shiver dancing over my flesh,
before he completely releases his hold on my hand. I'm now solely in control of
the knife, and that thought excites me even through my disappointment of his
hand leaving mine. He guides my free hand to one of the onion halves, helping
me hold it steady. My fingers curl around the white vegetable, and I hold it as
still as I can manage. "Now you try. Remember, take your time." His presence
leaves me as he takes a few steps back, though he doesn't stray too far,
watching carefully over me as a precaution.
I turn to glance back at him, my expression a mix of determination and
uncertainty, but I push away that unsure feeling and turn back to face the
cutting board, sucking in a shaky breath. I tighten my grip on the onion to
make sure it won't slip away, my fingers shrinking back away from the blade as
I slowly bring it down, and I slice through it, the cut a little sloppy. As my
confidence grows I continue chopping through it, however uneven the pieces may
have been, remembering to take my time under Daddy's supervision. Satisfied
with myself, I turn to look back at him, searching for approval as my eyes
widen pleadingly, wanting his praise. "Did I do a good job?"
Daddy chuckles, his eyes closing as a huge, joyful beam curls his lips.
"Fantastic job, Ciel. Now we have the onions taken care of." He steps forward
to remove the knife from my grasp, gently setting it upon the counter before he
ruffles up my hair, and the warmth of happiness settles in my stomach. "And
never fret if the slices aren't perfect; the looks don't matter as long as they
taste yummy."
I grin at him happily, my head leaning into his hand in an affectionate
gesture. Pure joy radiates from my tiny body, and I throw my arms around him,
hugging him as tightly as I can as my legs wobble slightly, unsteady on my feet
as I send myself off balance. "Thank you Daddy! I love you!"
He returns the embrace as he lifts me gently from the stool and holds me, one
arm curled around me to keep me firmly against his chest. His warmth envelopes
me, making me smile so wide it hurts my face, and he turns and approaches the
stove, carrying me over there. "I love you too, Ciel. Now I'll let you stir
while we saute them."
I giggle childishly, my arms coming up to snake around his neck as he carries
me, and I grip tightly onto his shoulders as if I'm afraid to be dropped,
though it's really to draw myself closer to him. I want to drown in his
presence. My body begins to squirm in excitement, my face feeling as though
it's going to split in half from my huge grin. I never thought cooking would be
anything other than tedious, but it was proving to be a fun bonding experience
with Daddy. "Yay! Do I get to use the giant wooden spoon?" I ask hopefully,
almost begging.
His laughter rumbles in his chest, the sounds low and pleasant to my ears, and
he nods his head. His hand reaches out to grasp onto the utensil, and he passes
it to my small hands, which cradle the wooden handle almost reverently. Daddy
begins digging around in the cupboard, searching for a frying pan. "Yes, you
get to use the giant wooden spoon."
As the memory faded, I sighed wistfully. It was a very important day to me,
helping him in the kitchen and having so much fun with him. I blinked my eyes
slowly, looking down at the knife I still held in my hand. It made me extremely
happy to think about how much warmth he had possessed for me, having hardly
known me, and that it had never faded, only seeming to grow stronger as the
years passed. That my father held so much affection for me made my heart soar.
I could still feel his laughter, rumbling in his chest and making my own
squeeze in happiness. Several years had passed since that day, but I still
remembered every single precious detail and could play it back as though it
were a movie.
The scent of coffee hit my nose, making me breathe in deeply, the aroma
extremely pleasing. The pot was full of the dark liquid, fully brewed and
practically begging to be consumed. Picking up a mug from the dishrack, a
minuscule, heavily faded scar on the knuckle of my left thumb caught my eye,
and I paused, recalling how I had recieved it. It wasn't very noticeable as the
wound hadn't been detrimental, merely a shallow scrape. The only reason it had
scarred was because I picked at it as it tried to heal, to serve as a physical
reminder to my memory. An image of my father floated into my head, and I once
again allowed myself to be sucked up in the flashback...
Daddy sits down in one of the old wooden chairs, immediately pulling me into
his lap. The kitchen smells of perfectly sauteed onions, somehow managing to
seem appetizing even though I hated the vegetable; really, I hated all
vegetables. But that didn't matter. It must have smelled yummy because Daddy
and I had cooked it together, so it was infused with love. He picks up a
freshly washed potato from the table and sets it in my left hand; in the right,
he slips a peeler into place, wrapping my fingers around it. I settle into his
lap, wiggling around to get comfortable before I lean back into his chest. "Now
we have to peel the top layer of skin off of the potatoes, and we use this. All
you have to do is gently run it down the potato and the skin will come right
off." His large hand curls over mine, completely enveloping it in warmth, and
he guides me up to the top of the potato, before helping me slide the peeler
down. A sliver of skin easily slips off with the motion of our hands. "See?"
My legs cross as I watch him demonstrate how to peel potatoes, focusing on the
amount of pressure needed to get such a clean peel. As the piece of skin comes
off all in one piece, my eyes widen, and I nod my head vigorously. "Woah it's
like magic! Can I try?" I start bouncing in his lap, eager to attempt it on my
own.
He nods and smiles, letting go of my hand as he finishes demonstrating. "Of
course. Just be careful and go slow." A soft hum leaves his throat as he
reaches for a potato and peeler of his own, picking them up and beginning to
expertly shave the skin from the spud. His words enter one ear and exit the
other just as fast, my excitement overpowering my caution.
A happy grin lights up my face, and I manage to peel off a slip of skin, though
it doesn't come off as smoothly as the ones that Daddy did, broken pieces
coming off in small spurts. Unfazed by the less than perfect first try, I
rotate the potato in my hand, before I hastily drag the peeler down the front,
wanting nothing more than to be praised for doing a good job. My hand jerks to
the left accidentally, and the blade skips over the knuckle of my thumb,
instantly cutting into my flesh. I wince, dropping the potato and peeler so
that I can cradle my wounded appendage to my chest, a tiny whimper leaving me.
"Ouch." The spud hits the floor with a dull thud, rolling underneath the table
while the peeler clatters on the linoleum.
"Ciel!" Daddy gasps, carelessly dropping the vegetable and his peeler, which
join mine on the floor, his attention instantly on me. His care for me makes a
little bubble of happiness rise in my chest, and he gently grips onto my hand.
"Let Daddy see." I release my hold on my thumb and allow him to pull my hand
into his sight, and he studies it before releasing a sigh of relief. He picks
me up into his arms as he rises to his feet, before depositing me into the
chair. "Stay right here." He exits the kitchen, leaving me alone.
Although the scrape is shallow, it still hurts, and tears well up in my eyes as
I sniffle softly. I stare down at my thumb, watching blood bubble up on my
skin, and my shoulders hunch as I wait for his return, head hanging almost
shamefully. I draw my legs up to my chest, resting my chin on my knees. Daddy
returns soon enough, striding into the kitchen, clutching onto a few first aid
items.
"Ciel, I told you to be careful. You're lucky you didn't peel off your skin,"
he states as he sets everything he's gathered onto the table.
The admonishment makes my tears pool over, and my shoulders tremble as I
suppress the urge to sob, my bottom lip quivering when I speak, causing me to
stutter slightly. "I-I'm sorry Daddy. I just wanted to do a good job faster so
that I could make you proud." More saline fluid spills from my eyes, but I'm
unwilling to continue crying, and my right hand comes up to rub the trails off
of my skin, smearing them over my face as I sniffle, trying to calm myself.
"It's not a race, Ciel. I told you that. I'd rather see you take your time and
be unharmed than to rush and hurt yourself like this." The look on his face is
sympathetic, which assures me that he's not too mad at me for disregarding his
warnings, and he sighs softly as he grasps onto a cubic brown bottle. "I
suppose now I can teach you first aid. This is peroxide." He pauses as he holds
it up for me to get a good look at. "It's magical stuff that gets in your
scrapes and cleans them. Like a special soap."
He takes a cotton ball into his hand after unscrewing the cap from the hydrogen
peroxide, pressing the cotton to the opening and tipping the bottle to ensure
that it's dampened with the liquid. "It'll burn a little, but it's necessary."
He sets the bottle down before taking my left hand and dabbing the soaked ball
against the cut, applying light pressure to the spot.
"I'm sorry," I say solemnly, my head nodding as I take in this new lesson, and
I blink away the excess moisture from my eyes so that I can watch the process
more clearly. I study each step he takes intently, curiosity causing my head to
tilt to the side slightly. When the peroxide seeps into the cut, I wince a
little, but keep my hand steady in his so that he can properly treat it. "Does
it kill germs?"
"Yes. It kills all the bad, nasty germs." Daddy gives me a warm smile, melting
away any sadness I felt from causing him disappointment. He increases the
pressure steadily over the next few moments before he removes the soiled cotton
from my digit and sets it onto the table. His fingers easily grasp onto the
bandage that he brought, and after carefully removing the packaging, he wraps
it securely around my knuckle, covering the cut entirely. "There. All better."
I flick my gaze down, staring at the bandaid momentarily, unsatisfied with the
almost doctor-like treatment, before I lift my hand up and hold it out to him.
My bottom lip juts out into a small pout, and I draw my brows together, my
voice soft. "Will you kiss it, Daddy?"
His chuckle is almost enough to make me crack a smile, and he brings his lips
down closer to my thumb. "Of course." He presses a tender kiss to my digit,
lips brushing against the fabric of the bandage. "I forgot that kisses are what
makes everything better."
"Kisses are magic, Daddy. You shouldn't forget." A smile breaks over over my
lips as a soft giggle leaves me, and my cheeks flush warmly, washing away all
traces of sorrow from my features. I cradle my hand happily once he releases
his hold on it, and I reverently run my fingers over the bandaid. I let my
expression become contrite as I look up at Daddy through my lashes. "Thank you,
Daddy. I promise I'll be more careful."
"Good," he says as he rises to his feet, leaning over me to press a kiss to the
top of my head. His eyes are soft as he regards me. "And don't forget, I will
always be proud of you, Ciel. You needn't rush to try to earn my praise."
"I won't, Daddy. I promise." I smile at him, the movement of my lips full of
joy, and I swing my legs happily from my perch on the chair.
The memory was bittersweet, yet it still managed to be one of my favorite
moments between us. My father had taught me a very valuable lesson that day,
one that I would never forget. In everything that I did, whatever it may be, I
never, ever rushed. I found the deepest enjoyment in taking my time.
"I'll make you proud, Daddy."
===============================================================================
I had taken my time to leisurely finish off the majority of the pot of coffee,
and as the caffeine began to kick in, I felt completely alert and energized to
start what was sure to be a long, pleasing day. Exiting the kitchen, I softly
hummed to myself as I made my way up the stairs and headed straight for my
room. My first order of business was to get dressed into a more suitable
attire. Flinging open my closet, I selected a t-shirt that would cling to my
person tightly, before shutting the door and stepping over to my dresser. I dug
out an old pair of skinny jeans and black socks, before I stripped easily out
of my pajamas and quickly dressed, tugging the cotton over my head and slipping
my arms into place. Once my pants were secure, I leaned against my wall as I
lifted each foot up one at a time and slid them into the socks. Straightening
up, I looked down at myself in satisfaction at my plain outfit. I left my room,
pulling the door shut behind me as I waltzed down the hall, pausing beneath the
attic entrance. I grasped onto the rope and tugged, pulling the ladder down
before traipsing up and poking my head up into the attic.
The fetid odor was the first thing to hit me, crawling up my nostrils and
settling there, threatening to never leave. It was noxious, the malodorous
combination of too many different things, all seeming to be permanently mixed
together. My nose wrinkled up delicately in disgust as it slowly began
deciphering each separate element. The first scent to make itself known was the
metallic stench of blood, though the familiar iron was tainted with the hints
of rot mingling with it as it was beginning to decay. As soon as my brain
identified the blood, my nostrils and tastebuds were assaulted every time I
took a breath of each insulting smell, and distinguished themselves in my
thoughts as flashes. The cloying pungency of sick, day old vomit growing ever
stronger as the suffocating septic reek of feces tangled with it, producing a
mixture that would make a grown man projectile. Stale urine, thick with
ammonia, tainted the air with its noisomeness, and the acrid sickeningly-sweet,
charcoal-like odor of burnt flesh permeated the attic. The stench of rot
ripples through the room, tasting of rancid, decaying flesh, with the oddest
hint of fungus. I even detected the faint saccharine fetor of infection.
Bringing the sickening aroma to a crescendo was perhaps the most prominent
component of all: the smell of fear.
I was amazed that, strong as this putrid stink was, it had not penetrated
through the attic floor and infected the rest of the house. It seemed to fester
here, growing worse by the day, and yet it remained only inside the attic,
which was certainly not an air-tight space; there were cracks in the
floorboards and crevices in the walls. Perhaps the way I had protected the
attic itself and its contents with the tarp and plastic wrap was somehow
containing the scent. The source of the rancid stench was located in the center
of the room; a bucket, completely encased in a large black trash bag, which was
shoved into it as a makeshift wastebasket and tied off on the bottom for easy
removal, rested innocently next to the metal chair. Some of its contents peeked
up over the edge, the ruddy rust brown of dried blood caking the black plastic
as creamy peach strips and clumps of golden blonde draped over the sides. The
locks of hair were tainted with that same rust of old blood, and my eyes
followed the long, curling strand, all the way down the side of the bucket, and
onto the tarp, the end of the tress caressing pale flesh.
My eyes locked onto a foot sitting in a puddle of vomit, coated in blood with
smears of puke, the drier areas chipping off in patches. Small toes and
grotesque nailbeds completely exposed, with chunks of flesh missing, scabbing
over in a feeble attempt to heal. Every single toenail had been ripped off
brutally and haphazardly, for few of them had a sliver of cuticle remaining,
whereas others weren't so lucky. A few stray nails, bloody, with bits of meat
stuck on them, littered the tarp. I slid my gaze to the other leg, dropping my
eyes down, and barely any creamy peach could be spotted; deep, hideous bruises
marred the entirety of the lower extremity attached to it. The foot was
completely mangled, bent out of shape and swollen to inhuman proportions. Where
toes should normally have been were flattened digits, squashed like little
insects, still twitching though the bones were pulverized. The shackle-free
ankle was snapped so violently that bone was jutting through the flesh, stained
pinkish with the faintest spattering of blood. Large punctures on it still
oozed blood, seemingly not able to clot themselves. Her other appendage still
wore the shackle, spikes driven deep into flesh, separating the tarsals and
dislocating the joint. Every shifting of the foot would send more blood
spilling as the metal dug deeper and induced more pain.
Her legs were completely exposed and caked in bile, puke-stained jeans cut off
and lying in a small pool of blood, the fabric soaking it up even as it dried.
Perfect rectangles of skin were missing, revealing beet red, stringy muscle,
shredded flesh, and small deposits of fat, which were oddly the color of
somewhat dehydrated piss, and the texture of day old mashed potatoes. Her
torso, while mainly untouched, was filthy with layers of browning red blood and
the revolting spattering of regurgitation soaking into and staining the
previously pale pink v-neck t-shirt. Both arms featured deep cuts, but only one
displayed the same rectangular patches of exposed muscle and fat that the legs
did. The other slender appendage was hardly recognizable as what it was; it
resembled a flesh-colored, twisted cylinder of rubber, with intense bruises
splotching the majority of it. Splinters of bone pushed up through the skin,
stained with the blood that had oozed out and slid down the flesh, before
drying into flaking tears. It had very clearly been broken several times, and
the elbow jutted inward at an awkward, unnatural angle, and a jaggedly snapped
bone pushed up through flesh, bits of meat sticking to the sharp edge, blood
caking the entire length that stuck out. The arm dangled limply at her side,
and her unbound hand brushed against the metal of the seat, rusted needles
sticking out from beneath her fingernails. The former arm was still bound
tightly by the wrist to the iron bar of the chair, the skin rubbed raw from
constant struggling against its bindings. The zip tie was stained the brownish
shade of old blood, with rivulets of red running through it as small movements
reopened wounds.
Her face was perhaps in the worst shape of all, swollen and almost completely
unrecognizable, relentlessly beaten with fists. Her lips were bloody and split
in several places, dried bile sticking to the corners. Teeth with jagged breaks
ripped through her flesh, the pearly whites stained pink with shredded tissue
caught between them, though the majority of her teeth had been knocked out and
were scattered over the tarp. Cuts decorated her face artistically, deeper in
some areas and shallower in others, and her cheek was swollen and bruised
sickening shades of purples, dark blues, greens, and yellows. The expanse of
her throat was covered in oddly shaped patches of hideous contusions, the deep
black twinged with dark reds and violets.
She was currently unconscious, the deep, dark bags under her eyes making her
skin appear even more pallid and corpse-like. Her nose was broken, bent out of
place, with bruising and dried blood crusting in thick scabs around her
nostrils. Chunks of flesh had been cut messily from her head, removing clumps
of her once-pretty flaxen hair. What remained was matted down with blood, the
locks dreading together and forever stained. Old vomit clung to the ends of her
hair, ratting it even further, and hardening the once-soft locks into crusty
strands. Her entire body was covered in burns, the skin raised and welted along
her collarbone, arms, and neck. Across her forehead was a large area of seared
dermis, with charred flecks of black embedded into the expanse.
Elizabeth Midford was by far my most macabre masterpiece, a grotesquely
beauteous sight to behold. Were I an artist, I would capture her likeness onto
canvas as a personal memento, forever engraving this moment into time. However,
I was no idiot: hard evidence such as a portrait of the victim would get me
caught, and I couldn't have that. Not when I was so close to possessing my
father.
"You smell like shit," I stated, my voice full of cold loathing as I finally
stepped into the attic, careful to stay on the side of the tarp where no blood
could infect my clothing. "Not so pretty now, are you, you little cunt? I'm
sure you can't wait to wake and see more of your busted fucking face."
I slid my feet into an old pair of tennis shoes, tying them tightly before
slipping medical shoe covers over them securely, a precaution that I found
necessary even though I was most likely going to dispose of these shoes. I
stepped further into the room, closer to where my gloves and clothes protection
lay upon the tv tray, fresh and tightly wrapped in air-tight packaging. I
hovered in front of her, my hands resting on my hips, a single brow raised as I
stared down at the sleeping woman in condescension. Cocking my head to the
side, I sneered, my teeth bared as I spun away and stormed over to the
television tray, picking up a brutally sharp hunting knife, with a serrated
edge and dangerous spikes jutting out along the top of the blade, lovingly
cradling it in my hands. Just looking at the bitch made me uncontrollably
livid, and I needed to do something familiar and monotonous to calm myself
enough to keep control of my actions. The whetstone lay upon the metal tray,
and I angled the knife at precisely 22 and a half degrees, sliding it easily
over the surface. As I did this menial task, my mind began to wander.
Just as I had thought, it had all been far too easy.
===============================================================================
"As much as I know you fucking enjoy watching me struggle, you sadistic
bastard, help me get her fat ass in the fucking attic, Undertaker," I growled,
glaring at him and almost wishing he would drop dead. Sadly, that would only
hinder me; the last thing I needed to deal with was two bodies.
Undertaker leaned against the wall in the hallway, laughing his ass off while I
struggled to yank on Elizabeth's arms, her cow-like body refusing to budge a
single inch up the attic stairs. "Kekekeke," he chuckled, doubling over as his
amusement grew. "I'm tired, she's heavy. Her tits've gotta weigh at least 50lbs
each."
"You carried her up here just fine, you fucking fuckstick. You weren't even
winded when you dropped her stupid ass down on the steps. You just want to
watch me endeavor fruitlessly, and you've fucking seen it. My father will be
home by the time I finally get her up there." I spit my words at him, only
seeming to entertain him further, and I yank hard enough on the bitch to
dislocate her shoulder and completely rip her arm from her body, yet she still
doesn't move.
"Ah, it looks like she's shifted up a bit. Kekekeke. You're sure to get her
moving soon... if you keep trying. Kekeke. You're a strong boy." Undertaker's
words are shaky with barely suppressed mirth, and I consider releasing my hold
on her just to bash his fucking face in with my bare hands. Not the time,
Ciel,I thought grudgingly. Remember, two corpses is not what I need.
"And she's a fucking whale, practically weighs a ton. This isn't an exercise in
futility, you motherfucker, so fucking assist me already." Finally after what
seems like years, he pushes off of the wall and saunters over to me, his
laughter soft and grating on my nerves. He easily picks her up and throws her
over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and not the deadweight of a fucking
whale that she so clearly possesses, before he strides past me and up into the
attic. "Put her in the chair," I demand, huffing and catching my breath, my
lungs wheezing slightly from the exertion. He drops her unceremoniously in the
chair, his hand tangling in her disgustingly pretty golden tresses before he
yanks her head back sharply and prods at her eyelid with his index finger. The
digit pulls up the lid, exposing the white of her eyes and her crystalline
emerald iris, which glittered like a gemstone in the dim light.
"Pretty eyes, she has," Undertaker mutters nonchalantly, and I roll my orbs as
I release a long-suffering sigh.
"If you'll give me the toys and leave, I'll double your fucking payment." I
grumble, crossing my arms over my chest like a petulant child.
This seems to satisfy him, as he gives me that unnerving Cheshire Cat smile,
his hands leaving Elizabeth as he straightens up and exits the attic. I stare
at her hatefully as I wait for him to return, my scowl seeming permanent on my
lips. A few minutes later I hear his barely there footsteps, and I rip my gaze
from her to turn my attention to him, hands already reaching out expectantly.
He lifts up a large green canvas bag, completely full of toys for me to play
with. Forgetting my recent irritation with him, a smile breaks out over my lips
as though I were a kid in a candy store, and I take it from him, pulling it
open and looking over everything inside with adoring eyes. A beautiful hunting
knife catches my eyes, and I practically fall in love with the slim, insanely
sharp blade. Perhaps I'll keep that toy. I can barely wait to start digging
through all of the goodies, my hands practically trembling in my gloves.
"Everything you asked for is in there, along with a few items I thought might
be useful," Undertaker hummed, his smirk flashing his white teeth as a low
chuckle left him. "If that's all..." He trailed off, turning back towards the
attic stairs.
"Be sure to come back Sunday night. I'd prefer not to have to go through the
trouble of calling you to remind you," my tone was tinged with cheer, rather
than the normally callous tone I took with him.
"Will do, kekeke." With that, he left, not sparing a backward glance.
I didn't give a shit, as my attention was immediately returned to the canvas
bag, and I sat down on the edge of the tarp, my legs dangling out over the
attic stairs as I began to dig through all of the treats. The first thing I
picked up was that glorious hunting knife, my hand curling around the handle
easily, and it fit in my palm as if it had been made for me. I tested the
weight and the balance of the blade, extremely pleased with my conclusions,
before I set it gently down onto the plastic wrapped floor, caressing along the
cold metal with my gloves. Turning back to the bag, I lifted out various
objects; a potato peeler, a mallet, trash bags, medical shoe covers. That made
me pause, a frown marring my face as my brows drew together.
"Those would have been fucking useful before," I muttered to myself, mourning
over my favorite steel-toed shoes that had to be disposed of. "I should make
Undertaker buy me a new pair." With a huff, I tossed the shoe covers down, my
fingers moving to run over the packaging of all the items; everything was new,
freshly bought from the store, and I spotted a slip of white paper with small
black writing. I lifted it up curiously and looked it over, realizing it was a
receipt. I raised a brow before I placed it back into the canvas bag, sighing
in annoyance at the man's intelligence.
I rifled deeper, spotting disposable raincoats, sewing needles, a lighter, a
jar of formaldehyde, and pliers, all which I set onto the ground next to me to
get them out of my way. A small black case caught my eye, and I lifted it up,
grasping onto the zipper and tugging it all the way around before opening the
leather. Inside was several syringes, all capped to keep them sterile. A few
bottles of drugs were strapped in, and I slid one out, lifting it out to read
the label.
"Cyklokapron," I read, searching my brain for more information. The name was
familiar, and after a moment I recalled how Undertaker had taught me about it.
Tranexamic acid reduced excessive bleeding by helping the blood to clot, which
would suit me perfectly in my endeavors. This particular batch was highly
concentrated thanks to Undertaker's meddling, so I wouldn't need to use as much
as I normally would. The other bottle was a mild sedative that would keep a
person subdued yet not knock them out nor dull the pain receptors. I set the
case of drugs and syringes down before I ripped my leather gloves off with my
teeth and pulled out a package of heavy-duty black rubber gloves, slipping on a
pair and pulling them up to my elbows. The shoe covers came next, and I easily
slid them over my shoes before I lifted out a raincoat, slipping it over my
head. It hung from my person as though it were a dress; it was extremely
oversized, but it protected every inch of my clothing and skin, as it should.
My footsteps were muffled on the tarp as I slowly walked over to the metal
chair. My eyes flicked over her perfect form; her blue boot cut jeans hugged
her hips and thighs tightly, flattering her shape, before they flared out
slightly past the knees. Her pale pink shirt was almost like a second skin,
hardly leaving anything to the imagination as it squeezed around her massive
breasts, and the sharp v-neck of it dipped down, exposing her cleavage. Her
throat was completely exposed as her head hung limply back, collarbones jutting
prominently and tendons standing out in her neck delicately. Golden blonde
curls danced down past her shoulders, nearly tickling her ribcage, and even
after having been manhandled, her hair seemed to remain pristine, looking
rather pretty while mussed. Elizabeth's dainty hands rested in her lap, her
long painted nails glossy and sparkling. Her face was relaxed in
unconsciousness, long lashes dusting flushed cheek bones, her petal-like lips
parted slightly as she breathed softly. She was the ideal specimen in the eyes
of men; tits nearly bigger than her head, tiny waist, wide hips. Any man would
certainly collapse at her feet, and yet...
I couldn't believe my father had succumbed to this harpy's wiles, willingly
walking into her disgustingly pink glitter claws. I was superior to this cunt
in every single fucking way, and I knew that my father would be able to see it
soon. Very fucking soon. I would make sure of that. I detested this fucking
cow, this fat, insipid fucking waste of life. She was a fucking leech, living
off of her parent's money and doing nothing with her life. She was working at a
fucking grocery store, probably used her disgusting whore body to even get a
job since she was too fucking ditzy to manage without the help of her "assets".
I turned and walked back toward the canvas bag, picking up the black case,
which I take over to and set it on the television tray. I select a syringe, and
pull out the two bottles of drugs, popping the cap off of the sharp hypodermic
needle.
"It's time to bring the cows to slaughter," I mutter darkly to myself as I stab
the syringe into the vial. Withdrawing a small amount of liquid from the
Cyklokapron, I tap the glass to work up the air bubbles before squeezing them
out. Wouldn't want her to die prematurely, now would we? I stride calmly up to
her, my gloved fingers brushing over the veins in her throat, before I stab the
needle in expertly and without hesitation, and inject the fluid into her
bloodstream. Taking a step back, I admire my handiwork as the blood from the
small hole begins to clot. Smirking, I set the syringe aside, planning to save
the sedative for when she was awake, as I couldn't have her remaining
unconscious.
I moved to grab the canvas bag, returning everything to it besides the fragile
jar of liquid, and then step back onto the tarp. I empty the contents onto the
floor next to the tray unceremoniously, before I tossed the bag far out of the
way to avoid dirtying it. I carefully took the formaldehyde off of the ground
and set it on the ground, next to the tray's legs, hoping that it would be safe
there. Pushing the items around, I grasped a small container of zip ties and a
pair of shackles. The zip ties were standard heavy duty ones, but the shackles
were customized for my use. How Undertaker had managed to get these for me on
such short notice, I wouldn't know, but the man was sure to have many
connections. I rose back onto my feet, walking calmly back over to the
unconscious woman, and bound each of her wrists to either metal bar on the back
of the chair tightly, making sure she'd have no way of wriggling free. Kneeling
down, I tucked the raincoat underneath my calves and took a moment to study the
craftsmanship of the manacles; they were circular, with apparatuses in which to
twist to tighten them upon the wearer, though they did not have a hinge in
which to open them with. That mechanism in itself was nothing special, but
because of the four large, dangerously sharpened spikes evenly spaced around
the inside of each cuff, the shackles became unique devices of torture. The
spikes brutally impaled the ankles at four different intervals, efficiently
inflicting as much pain as the user desired; the tighter they were made to be,
the farther they were driven in, and could even break the tarsus by severing
the cluster of bones. These customized manacles prevented the wearer from being
able to walk without excruciating agony.
Lifting the heavy metal, I untwisted them with ease until they were opened far
enough that her annoyingly slender ankles could be slipped inside. Focusing on
the right leg first, I held the cuff in place as I began to twist the key, and
I watched with interest as they began to close together. The metal barbs bit
into the soft flesh, piercing it easily, a few droplets of blood running from
the entry points before it clotted quickly. Elizabeth stirred slightly, a small
groan of discomfort leaving her, but that was not enough for me. I wanted this
fucking pig to squeal with an unforgettable agony. My hand was met with
resistance of muscle and bone as I continued to twist the apparatus, driving
the skewers halfway into her before I moved over to the other one. Rather than
taking it slow, I turned the key as fast as I could, sending the prongs into
her other ankle viciously, and a small whimpering yelp of pain left her lips.
After I was satisfied with the state of the shackles, I dusted my gloves and
stood up, looking up at her face, which was screwed up in discomfort. Her
eyelids fluttered, and I watched as she came to, her fogged eyes rolling in
their sockets as she glanced around her unfamiliar surroundings in confusion.
"W-where? Who?" She rasped, her normally high tone husky with sleep. As she
slowly lifted her head, her clouded emerald orbs landed on me, and after a few
long moments, I saw recognition light up in her irises. "You."
A cat-like smirk curled my lips, my teeth bared animalistically as a dark
chuckle rumbled in the back of my throat. "So you recognize me? My, you've
quite the good memory considering you only saw me once." I run my fingers over
the many syringes absentmindedly, watching her begin to struggle against her
bindings, the situation seeming to sink in as she winced from the shackles
biting further into her ankles.
I can see fear etched across her face as she attempts to rise from the chair,
but she is barely able to lift herself up before she collapses back into it,
the sounds of bones crunching unpleasantly as she forces the spikes into them
from her sudden movements pleasing my ears, and they are complemented by her
sudden cry, tears filling her green eyes.
"W-why are you doing this?" She practically sobs, the moisture glossing over
her orbs and making them glitter like emeralds before it pools over, rolling
down her cheeks in wet trails of fear. Her breath stutters in her throat and
she coughs softly, staring up at me pleadingly, as if praying that this is all
a dream.
"Why? The answer is simple, really..." I turn my gaze away from her, bending
over to pick up the pliers, my hand opening and closing them as I stare down at
the metal, humming lowly, before I stride over to her with purpose, my eyes
darkening with hate. My mind recounts the entire date, that appalling scent of
her that lingered on his skin for what seemed like forever after their
repulsive display on the hood of her car, the way she sunk her claws into him,
and wrath the likes that I had never possessed rose up in me. I saw red, and I
felt my face twist up in what I was sure was a mask of pure rage, my free hand
tangling in her hair and yanking her head back as I grasped onto her diamond
earring with my pliers firmly. "You stupid fucking cunt. How fucking dare you
lay a single disgusting paw upon my father. He belongs to me, you filthy
fucking whore."
"What are you talking about?! I haven't messed with anyone's dad!" She
screamed, thrashing in the chair and trying to wriggle free, though she
hesitated to yank her head away lest she cause the diamond stud to be pulled
from its hole. "Please, don't do this!" Elizabeth begged, her entire body
shaking like a leaf.
I tugged down harshly, blatantly ignoring her pleas and ripping through the
soft meat of her earlobe, blood and bits of flesh sticking to the stem as the
wound began to clot. I felt my jaw clench up in anger as I growled lowly,
glaring harshly down at her face. "Don't play fucking dumb, you bitch. I
fucking saw you shoving your snake-like tongue down his throat at Rhonda's
Place, as well as doing other horrifically unmentionable things..." I trailed
off, my mind going back to that night and my stomach turning unpleasantly at
the fresh memory of the way my father touched her and... I nearly gagged before
I came back to myself, my rage now twinged with a deep sorrow.
My eyes glint menacingly in the light as I move to her other ear, my emotions
reaching a crescendo, and I grasp onto the stud with the needlenose pliers, my
grip so tight that my knuckles turn white. Genuine confusion twists her
features as she looks up at me with terror-filled eyes, her mouth hanging open
as she sucks in panting breaths. "S-Sebastian? I-I-I didn't know that he had a
son. I had n-no-"
"Oh, don't you fucking lie to me. I'm his pride and joy; of course he would
have told you about me." I wrinkled up my nose at her, leaning my head back
haughtily as I eyed her with distaste. "However much of a cow you are, he
certainly would have mentioned me." As punishment for her blatant lie, I jerked
my arm down hard, yanking the diamond earring free in the same manner as I had
the first. Elizabeth screamed, her head turning wildly in my grasp, trying to
rip herself free as she lifted her hips up, body contorting from the pain.
Tears and drool slid down her cheeks and chin, muscles tensing up as her ankles
most certainly flared with agony at having weight put on them. She collapsed
back into the metal chair, sucking in shallow breaths and releasing shaking
sobs. It seemed she could barely handle this, and I couldn't wait to see her
beautiful reactions to everything I had planned for her. She was in for a
treat.
I laugh half-manically at the sight of her, my mask of sanity slipping away so
fast that, had it been corporeal, I was certain it would have shattered into
millions of pieces upon the tarp-covered floor. She was a fucking idiot if she
thought that I would believe her. My father would never keep me hidden, he
loved me too much for that. I released my hold on her hair and took a step
back, my fingers flexing and adjusting their grip on the pliers, with full
intent to set them down and be done with them. Her head dropped forward, her
entire body trembling, and I wet my lips, satisfaction making a smirk stretch
across my mouth, and I went to turn away from her to set the pliers upon the
tray, but her emerald eyes caught my attention and made me give pause. They
seemed dulled, as if she was lost in thought; I could practically see the cogs
turning in Elizabeth's head, and I watched as they slowly came back into focus,
and she blinked away a few tears, turning her gaze onto me. Her face was
pleading and her expression sincere, and she furrowed her brows as she stared
at me, her voice wavering softly as she spoke.
"P-please believe me, I had no idea. I... I wouldn't have went on a date with
him if I had known. I-I don't date dads." She bit into her bottom lip as she
watched me, looking for any sign that she had swayed me in the least.
Her words hit my heart, but not in the way that she intended. My father, not
giving a single word to my existence? That statement seemed to be true, and
they stung me deeply, hurting me beyond what I could have possibly imagined.
Mentally shaking myself, I took a steady breath; I couldn't focus on that now,
I would deal with it later, when I was alone. My thoughts returned to the rest
of her plea. She seemed to be trying to convince me to release her; how
laughable. While the first part of what she said may have been true, I could
tell she was lying about the rest, and that only seemed to incite my rage
further. I felt my face contort with loathing and wrath, my eyes hardening to
ice. "You lying bitch. Any other piercings, hm?" I stepped back up to her,
sliding my gaze up and down her form as I cocked my head to the side. "You look
like a fucking slut; I bet you've got your bellybutton pierced. Am I right?"
Without waiting for a confirmation, I yanked her shirt up, spotting the
dangling metal owl, which hung from the bar of the piercing. Smirking, I raised
a brow, grabbing onto the ball at the top with the pliers, my eyes flicking up
to her face. "Well, it looks like you are a slutty fucking cunt."
"NO, NO, NO STOP!" She cried, spit flying from her lips as she tried using all
of her body weight to get free or throw me away from her, but I didn't budge. I
was extremely strong, though I purposefully made myself look weak to avoid
suspicion. I took my time with this one, tugging on it with increasing
pressure, until she was practically keening, a gag catching in her throat from
the pain. I watched with eager eyes as the metal leisurely split the flesh
holding it in place in half, blood and meat clinging onto the bar as it came
free. I stepped away, dropping all three piercings into the trash bag-covered
bucket, a pleased sound rolling in my chest. She struggled to suck in air, her
words leaving her in a begging whimper. "Please stop. Please. Let me go... I w-
want to go h-home." Tears ran down her face, suppressed sobs making her
shoulders shake as she hunched over herself, curling up as small as she could
manage with her ankles and wrists bound.
"Isn't that too bad?" I turned away from her as my words made her cry louder,
dropping the pliers onto the tarp with a thud, and I turned to the pile of
random tools, looking them over. My eyes were immediately drawn to the
beautiful hunting knife, though I push the thought away; I'll save that
glorious weapon for later. Instead I pick up a curling iron, the barrel of it
about 2 inches wide. Inspecting it, I notice that it is wireless and requires
batteries, which I am grateful for. I was unsure if the attic had outlets and I
didn't think my father would appreciate a bloody extension cord. Undertaker had
thought ahead, having purchased the proper batteries for the wand, and I easily
ripped open the package, before carefully taking out the curling iron; wouldn't
want to damage the box. I slid the batteries into place before sealing the
handle back up, and I turned back to her, smile on my lips. "Those can't be
natural curls, can they? They're far too perfect, though it seems a few have
become mussed. Such a shame." I clicked my tongue as if I were disappointed,
approaching her slowly as I flicked on the power and turned it to the highest
heat setting it allowed. "We can't have that. I'll have to fix it for you."
It didn't take the curling wand long to heat up considering it was fresh from
the box and never before used, and once it had fully heated, I lowered it to
her arm, pressing the barrel firmly against her skin for a few seconds. She let
out a loud cry, jerking away from me as best as she could, trying to lean as
far away from the curling iron as was currently possible for her. A perfectly
cylindrical burn, red and irritated, raised upon her flesh from the contact,
and I chuckled lowly with enjoyment. As I moved to press it against her, her
mouth flew open and words began pouring out.
"Oh god, please no, no no." Elizabeth leaned as far to her right as she could
manage, her chest heaving as she sucked in rapid pants, her eyes full of terror
and locked onto the wand, her head shaking back and forth repeatedly.
I snarled at her, my brow raising as I gave her a condescending look, waving
the curling iron alarmingly close to her face. I watched as she winced away
from it, and I lowered my voice threateningly. "If you don't shut the fuck up
it'll be worse. Now fucking hold still."
She clenched her jaw, snapping her mouth shut as she raised her gaze to my face
and nodded once before she stilled herself. The fear on her face was delicious,
and as I began artfully decorating her skin with first degree burns, I hummed
to myself in thought. Perhaps it would be a fun game to make her disobey and
then punish her for it. I began leaving the barrel against her skin with
increasing lengths of time, watching as she fought not to squirm, a tiny
whimper muffled in her closed mouth. Her eyes began to gloss over once more as
pools of tears welled in them, and they slipped free from her lids, small
droplets clinging to her lashes. I raised the wand to her collarbone, pressing
it along the length of her clavicle, and held it there until I heard the
sizzling of her skin and caught a whiff of the stench of burned flesh. She
whimpered loudly, more tears spilling over and dousing her cheeks. One drop hit
my glove, trailing through the small spatters of blood. Lifting the curling rod
away, I study my handiwork: there are welts running along the bone, large and
angry looking, pulsating slightly and sending agony radiating throughout her.
The entire area was reddened and inflamed, the second degree burn looking
positively wretched. It pleased me immensely.
"Not so flawless now, are you?" I asked her, a vicious grin pulling at my lips.
Elizabeth's face wrinkled up in anguish and she shook her head slowly in
agreement with me, a small sob ripping from her at the thought.
This satisfied me very deeply, and I wanted to make her feel like the ugliest,
most grotesque creature to exist. I pressed the wand all along the lengths of
her arms, leaving behind welts and second degree burns, though she still
managed to keep her mouth shut and her body from trying to pull away. I nearly
frowned; this wouldn't do. I wanted her writhing in torment, screaming and
begging for it all to end. Without thought, I grabbed her hair and yanked her
head sideways, exposing her elegant throat, before pressing the curling iron
against it. Dragging it slowly down in a long line, I watched welts raise upon
her pretty flesh, marring it and transforming it into a hideous wasteland.
She yelped in extreme pain, the sensitive area of her body causing more than
simple discomfort, and her entire body tensed up, the sound of heaving hitting
my ears as her stomach threatened to expel its contents from agony and the
stench of scorched flesh. "Please stop! No more! God, please!" She cried out,
wriggling and squirming in an effort to stop the sensation, to move away from
the hot object. "PLEASE, HAVE MERCY!"
"Ah, ah, it seems you don't know how to listen." I shook my head and sighed,
giving her a sympathetic look. "I did warn you. You brought this upon
yourself." That was the only warning I gave as I lovingly stroked my fingers
through her hair, pushing it out of her face and tangling my fingers into it. I
gave her hair a harsh tug, pulling her head far back, before I placed the
barrel directly against her exposed forehead. I held it there firmly as the
minutes slowly ticked by, the only sounds in the room her bloodcurdling scream,
the sizzle of cooking meat, and my dark laughter. After what seemed like hours
I removed the wand, ripping away bits of charred skin in the process as I
stepped away, my hand falling away from her golden locks. Her forehead now
featured a repulsive third degree burn, some areas blackened, others an angry
red, and blood seeped from the deep, festering wound as it began clotting.
Large blisters were scattered around the injury, some having popped and oozing
a clear pus down the bridge of her nose.
Her head fell forward as her entire body tensed up from the violent heaving,
and she vomited directly onto her lap and the tarp in front of her feet, a
sickening splat hitting my ears. Puke coated strands of her hair and glued them
to her skin, and she released a low wail of agony, the pain and scent too much
for her. She continued to heave, though her stomach was entirely empty and
nothing was coming out. Choked coughs fled her lips as she sucked in ragged
breaths, and she raised glassy eyes slowly to me as my feet shuffled softly
across the tarp as I walked back over to the tray. I turned off the curling
iron and set it down onto the metal, picking up the hunting knife. The serrated
edge glinted in the light, and I caught her staring at the object in horror.
The crotch of her jeans began darkening in a slowly growing circle, soaking her
inner thighs as she pissed herself in fear. The dripping of urine on the tarp
was very faint, and it began pooling beneath the metal chair into a small
puddle.
Elizabeth shook her head slowly, her lips trembling as she whispered, "Please,
no. No, God..."
"There is no god here," I stated flatly before I set the knife down. The sight
of her bladder emptying itself out of terror was enough to tide me over for the
night. Picking up a syringe, I filled it with the sedative and walked back over
to her, injecting it into a vein on the uninjured side of her neck, before
capping the needle and tossing the entire thing into the small bucket. She
winced, though the drug began to immediately take effect, and her body went
limp in the chair. Her eyes drooped, and she watched me lazily, her eyes slowly
following my movements.
I grabbed a trash bag before I traipsed towards the edge of the tarp, leaning
down to remove each shoe cover and stepping onto the plastic wrap, proceeding
to throw them away. I pulled off the oversized raincoat next and shoved it into
the black bag, before finally slipping my hands from the gloves and turning
them inside out, disposing of them.
"Goodnight, Elizabeth," I hummed lightly, not sparing her a glance as I set my
foot onto the top step.
"W-wait," she started, hesitating as if she was thinking better than to speak.
I turned my head and gave her an expectant look, encouraging her to continue
and cease wasting my time. "W-what if I have to use the b-bathroom."
"Not my problem," I announced with a shrug, before I flicked my eyes down to
her soaked jeans. A wicked smirk curled my lips as I tilted my head to the
side. "Besides, it seems that you've got that already figured out." With that,
I descended the steps and firmly shut the attic entrance.
I released a small yawn, stretching my arms over my head and popping my back as
I began trudging down the hallway. I was exhausted, but I was in dire need to
be clean. First things first, shower and then bed.
===============================================================================
I had to choose. This was perhaps the biggest decision I was going to have to
make today, and I had to make it count. It was going to affect how the rest of
my day was sure to go, and a single error in my judgment and the entire day
would lay wasted at my feet. I could feel my heart palpitate, pounding against
my ribcage as a deep frown curled my lips. I was running out of time. I needed
to decide, and I needed to decide now, before it was too late. My eyes
flickered between the two choices, my brows furrowing in indecision.
"Come on, Ciel, now is not the time to waver. You must be firm," I said to
myself sternly, mentally shaking away my dubiety. "Right." Clearing my throat,
my eyes flickered between my options, before I brought a shaky hand forward and
grasped onto my selection, knuckles turning white from how hard I gripped it.
Swallowing hard, I nodded once as determination morphed my expression and
filled me with resolve. "I'll have the Cheerios."
I did not want to end up with a sugar crash later on, nor vomit from the now
overbearing sweetness, so I gave the Krave one final desirous look before
shutting the cabinet and turning to pour the cereal into my bowl. I filled it a
fourth of the way full, not wanting to push myself too far, yet feeling quite
ravenous. My appetite had returned voraciously this morning, and as I had not
been able to eat a single bite of food previously, I did not want to overwhelm
my poor, shrunken stomach. Pouring in an even smaller amount of milk, I slipped
a spoon into the bowl before stirring the Cheerios around unceremoniously,
glaring hatefully down at the bland cereal. With a sigh, I surrendered myself
fully, and brought a small spoonful of the cereal to my lips, chewing it slowly
and thoughtfully as I leaned against the counter. Swallowing hesitantly, I
braced myself for the urge to vomit that was sure to come, though I was
pleasantly surprised that I was not nauseous at all; instead, I seemed even
hungrier now that the food had hit my stomach, and I began carefully shoveling
it into my mouth, quickly making work of the small bowl. I drank the dregs of
milk before I set my bowl in the sink, making a mental note to take care of it
later.
I had more important matters to attend to. I grabbed a large pot from the
fridge, which was two-thirds full of chilled water that I had prepared the
night before, before I opened the freezer and took out a bag of gas station
ice. I smashed the bag onto the floor, breaking up the ice so that it would not
just be one large chunk, and then tore open the plastic, dumping the contents
into the pot. This brought the water level nearly to the brim, and after
tossing out the empty bag, I carefully grabbed onto the precariously full pan,
hands gripping tightly onto the metal handles. Striding out of the kitchen,
being careful not to slosh the liquid around in order to avoid any spillage and
slippage, I made my way painstakingly slowly up the stairs and headed down the
hall once I finally reached the second floor of our house. Reaching the rope to
the attic entryway, I set the pot down onto the ground momentarily, before
taking hold of said rope and giving it a strong yank, pulling down the stairs.
Picking the condensating container up, I tried not to jostle it as I strode up
into the attic, my eyes falling upon my passed out prey.
The stench of vomit, piss, and the iron of blood attacked my nostrils, and I
felt my breakfast turn in my stomach, my face wrinkling in displeasure. I
pulled the drop-down stairway back up into the attic immediately, not wishing
to infect my clean abode with the disgusting odor. Disinfecting the air would
prove to be a challenge later. Disregarding that for now, I began methodically
pulling on my clothing protection. I was once again wearing my old shoes, as I
dare not stand in this filth barefoot; I would surely track up the house and
leave evidence everywhere, as well as become much dirtier than need be. Once my
gloves, shoe covers, and plastic raincoat were on, I hoisted up the now-
freezing pot and walked over to the unconscious Elizabeth. Her head hung limply
forward, hair stringy and clumping together in places hanging in front of her
face. Dried blood and vomit speckled her skin and clothing, and her burns still
looked gruesome and possibly infected, as the skin around them was an angry
red. Without any preamble, I lifted the metal pot above her head and upended
it, instantly dousing her in freezing water. The shock of the sudden cold made
her jerk awake, gasping as her lungs spasmed in her chest, her body
instinctively acting as though she had just fallen into a frozen lake. Her
wide, delirious eyes flickered wildly around the room before they settled on
me, and terror twisted her features into a hideous mask as she leaned back as
far as she could, shaking her head back and forth repeatedly, tears already
welling. I turned from her and brought the pan over to the attic entrance,
setting it there to keep it contamination-free, and to remind myself to bring
it down later.
She whimpered as her eyes followed my every movement, watching me glide over to
my tray and toys, panicked pants fluttering past her parted lips as I began
filling a syringe with the Cyklokapron. I lifted it and tapped up the air
bubbles, squeezing them out and squirting some of the drug into the air. Facing
her, I took my time walking over to her, staring down at her shivering form as
she gazed up at me with a primal fear. My free hand grasped onto her soaked
hair, using it to tug her head to the side, and as I stuck the needle into a
vein, she sobbed softly.
"Please, just let me go," she whispered, as if it were a prayer meant for some
heavenly being and not a plea for her captor to release her.
"Be a good girl and shut your fucking mouth unless you're being spoken to." My
voice was saccharine sweet and cold, with an underlying threatening edge as I
sent the drug into her bloodstream. She immediately clenched her jaw so hard I
heard her teeth click and grind together.
As I stepped away from her, I found myself in the same predicament I had not so
long ago; there was a choice to be made, and whatever decision I made would
affect the rest of my day. I had to decide how to proceed with today's torture,
as the only firm plan I had in my head was to disfigure her to the point of
recognition being impossible. I wanted her to be the hideous creature in looks
as I knew her to be on the inside. She was certainly rotting away, her
intestines decaying from her horrid personality and her succubus-like ways. Her
looks were a front to lure in unsuspecting men, and once she sunk her harpy
claws into them, she was free to drain their livelihood before spitting them
out, leaving them a mere shell of a human being. Women were foul beings, to be
sure. I knew for a fact that, vapid or not, young or old, all women were
exactly like her. I couldn't let my father fall victim to another Rachel.
Shaking my train of thought away, I frowned inwardly at myself; I had let my
brain get carried away, forgetting about my prevalent need to make a decision.
I certainly didn't have all day to choose. Focusing myself once more, I turned
my eyes to the implements decorating the tarp. Normally the chaos of the items
would send my OCD into a terrible fit, the scattered nature of the items
somehow brought me a calmness, and my eyes settled onto a potato peeler. I bent
down, picking it up almost reverently, and turned it in my hands, studying it.
It brought back a warm memory for me, and I removed it carefully from its
packaging. This was it, the perfect way to begin our time together today.
Before I could begin using it, though, I had to remove her jeans, which were
currently plastered against her skin. I grabbed the gorgeous hunting knife and
approached her, watching her flinch in fright as I brought the menacing blade
down toward her crotch. Turning it so that the flat side rested against her
person, I slid it into her pants before turning it to use the serrated edge to
easily rip through the denim fabric. She let out a small cry as she tensed up
in preparation to be stabbed, though I merely continued to cut away her pants
until I had completely removed them from her body. I tossed them down onto the
ground carelessly, setting the knife back down upon the tray after removing any
stray denim from the blade and throwing the fabric shreds into the makeshift
trash bin. The peeler was once again in my hand, and after determining that the
tranexamic acid had had enough time to take effect, I moved back in front of
Elizabeth.
"Try any funny business, like kicking or trying to knock me away, and it will
be the last thing you ever do," I growled in warning, my hard eyes boring down
into her. Elizabeth shrank into herself, nodding silently as wide doe-eyes
stared up at me before flicking down to the implement clutched in my gloved
grasp. Slight confusion twisted her features, as though she didn't know what I
would be using it for, but she certainly understood that it could only cause
her pain.
My free hand steadied her leg, black rubber resting against her pale thigh as I
bent over and hovered above it, assessing the area I had to work with. I
gripped onto her flesh to make sure she stayed still, before resting the sharp
peeler against her upper thigh. She watched on in horror as I applied pressure
and dragged the blade down in a straight line, her skin coming up from the meat
beneath like that of a potato. Her body tensed from the pain, and agonized
sounds ripped from her throat as I lifted the peeler away. I grabbed the
extremely thin slip of flesh, examining the perfect rectangular shape. Blood
smeared over the creamy peach as my thumb gripped onto it, and a slow smile
grew on my face. Daddy would be so proud at how far I'd come from the first
time I had ever used this kitchen utensil. I tossed the strip into the
wastebasket, the raw, bloody meat hitting the garbage back with a sickly wet
smacking sound. The only disappointment I had with the peeler is that it took
quite a few strokes to remove an adequate amount of flesh.
Elizabeth trembled as she did her best to remain docile, and I continued to
remove strips of skin from her thighs and arms, exposing the stringy muscle and
yellow fat by going over and over the exact same spot several times. Hushed
yelps and hiccuping sobs fled her lips as her eyes shut tightly, and her mouth
formed silent pleas for mercy, no words voiced as to not incur my wrath to
avoid a worse fate. I took my time removing patches of her flawless flesh, no
discernible pattern left behind. I had to exert quite a bit of force to get the
peeler to lift away so much of her skin, even though the blade was exceedingly
sharp, it was meant only for use on vegetables, not meat. Still, it was
surprisingly efficient. Once I tired of this particular toy, I set it down and
looked over her arms and legs. What blood had managed to well up oozed down
away from the wounds, which seemed to weep trails of tears, though the majority
of it clotted immediately. I rose to my feet and dusted off my hands, humming
in satisfaction as I turned to select my new instrument of torment.
"Please, no more," whispered softly disturbed the air, small pants and gentle
weeping fleeing Elizabeth as the words struck my eardrums.
Anger instantly engulfed me; I had told her to keep her stupid fucking mouth
shut unless I specifically spoke to her. I had fucking warnedher. Apparently
slutty fucking cunts didn't know how to fucking listen. Intent on teaching her
a lesson, I snagged up a rope from the floor and circled around behind her
chair.
"You stupid fucking bitch, don't you know how to shut the fuck up? I didn't
give you permission to pollute the air with your fucking idiocy." I snaked the
rope around her throat, wrapping it a few times around my gloved hands, before
I started to tug on it, the braided fabric pressing into her windpipe. "I'll
teach you how to fucking listen," I snarled like an animal as I yanked hard
with both arms, my elbows jutting out behind me as I pulled the rope tight,
restricting her lungs from drawing air. Her throat rattled as she fought to
suck in a breath, her body thrashing and fighting as the lack of oxygen surely
made every single muscle and nerve in her panic. I loosened it around her neck
momentarily to allow her to pant and gasp, tears pricking at her eyes, before
once again pulling the rope taut and cutting off her oxygen. I narrowed my eyes
as I muttered darkly to myself. "I should be using a fucking wire."
I continued constricting and relaxing her windpipe, one moment crushing it so
that no air could grace her lungs, the next, allowing her to suck in coughing
lungfuls in a harsh punishment for her disobedience. Elizabeth's tears streaked
her cheeks, and she shook her head as she rasped out, her voice already seeming
to waver and fade from being compressed violently. "Please, p-please. I-I'll
listen. I'll be quiet, so pl-"
I cut her off, pulling so hard on the ends of the rope that I was amazed I
didn't sever her head from the sheer force. I threw my entire body into it,
leaning back as far as I could and restricting her breath for so long that she
very nearly passed out. Not wanting her to die so soon, I loosened my grip on
the rope slightly, my lips pressed into a thin line as I leaned forward to
glance over the front of her. Already a wicked bruise was forming all along the
length of her neck, the splotchy deep wine and perse impressions of the braided
fiber digging into her flesh. The ecchymosis stood out tremendously against the
inflamed epidermis from being rubbed raw. I was certain the trauma on her vocal
cords would last at least long enough to give me some fucking peace from her
idiotic mouth running. Far from finished with her, I let her suck in enough
lungfuls of oxygen to keep her conscious and among the land of the living,
before I pulled the rope tight against her windpipe once more. Her body writhed
like a worm, legs shifting and making the shackles dig into her ankles, her
eyes rolling back into her head as the lack of air and the struggle to breathe
made her face a purplish red. I almost considered letting Elizabeth die, but
then I recalled all of the suffering that I had gone through because of her,
and I knew that she had barely experienced the same kind of agony. Death would
be a kindness that this whore didn't deserve.
I released my hold on the ends of the rope, letting it drop onto the tarp as I
stepped back from her. Elizabeth breathed raggedly, her swollen throat
constricting her air intake in a similar way that the rope had. I made my way
back around her chair, glancing at her from my periphery as I picked up the
glorious hunting knife; her face was streaked with trails of tears and saliva,
snot dripping from her nostrils, and the discoloration of her cheeks was slowly
fading as oxygen was reintroduced to her blood. Because of the damage to her
throat, she couldn't beg or plead, or even cry out as I strategically began
slashing at her skin. I placed them artistically, decorating the lengths of her
arms, lacerating nearly every inch of her thighs. I took my time, enjoying the
way the exceedingly sharp blade pierced skin, dragging it along in short or
long strokes, almost as if I were creating a painting. The only sign that I was
causing her immense pain was the contortion of her expression, her watery eyes,
and the way she took shaking, shallow breaths.
Once I was bored of cutting her, as the blood clotted so fast that it barely
even oozed down from the wounds, I cleaned off the precious blade before
returning it to the tray. I opened a pack of sewing needles, picking one up and
heating it with a lighter. Make no mistake, I didn't do this to sterilize them
in any way as I cared not if she developed an infection, but because I wanted
what was to come next to be as excruciating as possible. Still running the
slim, pointed metal through the flame, I glided over to her and sunk down onto
a knee, avoiding the puddles of various bodily fluids and ignoring the stomach-
turning odor coming off of her. Flicking the zippo closed, I grasped onto her
pinky finger, holding it tightly between two digits, before sliding the
scalding needle beneath her nail and into the sensitive nailbed. I watched the
slim metal slowly disappear as it pushed its way as far as the cuticle, and her
nails were almost long enough to completely conceal the needle. The feeling was
so unbearable for Elizabeth that an animalistic keening sound ripped from her
throat in a most torturous scream, even though her vocal cords were most likely
completely shot. Her hand tried to jerk out of my grasp, but the instinctual
motion proved futile as the zip tie held it firmly in place. A cruel, delighted
smirk twisted my lips, a feeling of satisfaction in my chest; it pleased me
beyond imagining that her harpy talons were such a sensitive part of her.
Thoughts began blooming in my head as I began picturing the most gruesome ways
to capitalize on that, and I simply couldn't wait to inflict it upon her.
I took my time with each of her fingers, testing out different angles of
insertion, as well as wiggling them around to make her squirm even further. I
jerked one needle so hard to the left underneath one of her nails that I nearly
severed it from her nailbed entirely, and half of it no longer attached. Blood
spilled from the side, staining the glittery pink nail polish with rust, before
it immediately clotted. After there was one needle sticking out of each digit,
I paused in thought with a small hum, before I began treating the sensitive
meat beneath the nails as pin cushions, shoving in as many as I could to see
how many her fingers could hold. I ended up using half of the package of
needles by the time I moved on to her feet. I yanked her shoes off of her
before tossing them down, and immediately began giving her perfectly pedicured
toenails the same treatment. Countless needles were sticking out of her toes by
the time I was finished, her soft, rasping whimpers echoing around the room as
tears splattered against the exposed flesh of her thighs. I raised myself to my
feet, dusting off my gloves as I released a huge sigh, taking in the sight of
the tormented Elizabeth, who cowered before me as any woman in her situation
would be.
How completely and utterly dull this insipid blonde turned out to be. Really, I
saw no reason why my father would have any interest in her at all. Perhaps it
had merely been a pity date on his part. I bet she coerced him into it, with
her disgusting tits and her shrill, ear-piercing voice. I gave her a look of
disgust; how typical she was. When I demanded to be feared, she cowered before
me; when I demanded obedience, she obeyed. Every word out of her mouth that
hadn't been a plea had been exactly what she thought I wanted to hear, in an
effort to save her fat ass. She reacted precisely as any other woman, and I
found that to be excruciating boring. My face twisted in annoyance, and I
kicked the leg of the chair, jostling her. Torturing her was supposed to be
fun. She was supposed to show me that feisty fucking attitude she had, and give
me all the more pleasure in crushing her spirit. I ripped off my gloves and
threw them into the wastebasket before running my fingers messily through my
hair.
"Boring, boring, boring. How fucking mundane," I muttered to myself, yanking on
my silken locks. "I could fucking keel over from how fucking mind-numbingly
drab you are." I turned on her, snarling like a caged animal.
"You sound just like your mother. You know she thought you were the most
worthless cretin to ever exist. Now I can see why." As I heard Elizabeth's
words, I froze, my fingers still tangled in my hair, and I flicked my eyes to
regard her. Her face was streaked with tears, but it was contorted into an
expression of such anger and hatred that I did not think a woman like her could
ever possess. Her emerald eyes looked ever so much like their gemstone
counterparts as they hardened with her sudden fury.
A shocked smirk curled the corner of my lips as my eyes narrowed slightly, and
I snorted in derision. "Hah, so now you've grown a fucking spirit. You dare
speak about that vile woman, do you? What the fuck do you know? You're just a
blonde bimbo worth nothing more than a dry-hump." I uncurled my fingers from my
blae locks, bringing them down from my head, a few strands still clinging to my
hands, and I dusted them away. I selected another pair of gloves and began
slipping them on, tugging them up to my elbows.
"I know that she got further with your father than you ever could. Just think,
you wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him having sex with her. I'm sure it was
rough, wild. Everything you've ever dreamt of but can't have." Elizabeth
herself smirked at me, the cruel quirking of the lips almost a mimicry of my
own. The more I listened to her speak, the more I found that she sounded eerily
like Rachel; instead of her normal lilting, higher-pitched tone, it had more of
a deepness to it, almost robotic sounding, about as fluid as the assistant on a
smart phone. It surprised me that she could even form a voice at all through
all of the damage on her throat.
"You fucking cunt. How dare you. I'll have him, he will be entirely mine. He
loves me, he wants me. I know he does, he just needs a little help." This might
have been a bit of an understatement, as my father was perhaps one of the
denser men I had ever met. That was inconsequential, however, as I had to
defend myself against this two-cent whore. "And I have more of a chance with
him than you ever will. I'll actually get his clothes off." At this I grinned
at her maliciously. She would never again have a chance to touch my father, or
have him in her. If she truly had wanted him that badly, she should have taken
advantage of the situation. Too bad for her.
"Oh will you? That's funny, because the other day he didn't even notice your
existence. He went along with his daydream about me, and was too busy trying to
make sure our date would go perfectly that he forgot he even had a son. How
pathetic is that." Her mechanical laugh made my ears ring, her head tossing
back in amusement as she watched me with knowing eyes.
"Hold your FUCKING TONGUE you BITCH." My fist swung out without me making a
conscious decision to hit her, and my knuckles slammed directly into her
cheekbone, sending her head jerking back. That would teach her to toss her
fucking head in amusement. "You don't know a single fucking thing about him. He
does love me. He loves me. You're a worthless cow!" I clenched my other fist at
my side, trying to keep a hold on myself, my spine tingling with rage.
Elizabeth shot forward in her chair, spitting blood on my cheek. "He could
never love you! No one could ever love you! You should've died years ago!" I
could feel her spit oozing down my cheek, and disgust and hatred rose up in me.
She had just made a grave mistake.
I wanted desperately to yank on my hair, but because I was wearing gloves, I
could only bring my hands up before forcing them down, clenching them tightly.
"Shut up! SHUT UP!You're just like her! Just another fucking Rachel, trying to
get in the way! He's mine!My Daddy..." I glared at her, my entire body
trembling as I narrowed my eyes, and I took a menacing step toward her, still
trying to quell my hurricane of emotions, desperate to avoid losing myself.
"I'll teach you a fucking lesson. How dare you speak to me this way."
"Mine. Mine, mine, mine. I can still smell him. I can taste him on my lips. Can
you smell him on me, Ciel? The way he rubbed his body against mine was divine."
She taunted me, and with bruises blooming on her cheekbone she still found a
way to look at me with that loathsome amusement.
I heard an animalistic, guttural screaming, and I was shocked to find that it
was coming from me. I completely snapped, launching myself at her, my fists
flying at her face. I had no longer a single string of control over myself.
"Fuck you! Fuck you! I'll fucking kill you, you fucking slut! You disgusting
whore! I'll break your pretty face! He'll never look at you again without
repulsion!" I punched her repeatedly, dead set on smashing up that which she
seemed so proud of. Blood splattered against my raincoat, and I let out a drawn
out battle cry and a string of expletives. You're mine, right Daddy?
Right, Daddy? You belong to me. I'll show you Daddy, I'll break your pretty
toy. I'll tear her limb from limb, snap every delicate bone. You're mine,
Daddy. Mine, mine, mine. She can't have you. No one can have you. Only me.
You'll learn from your mistake, won't you Daddy? You won't dare to go after
another woman. I don't want to hurt you, Daddy... So don't betray me, and I
won't have to.
I don't know how long I hit her, but by the time I had worn myself out, I was
gasping for air, and her face was unrecognizable; it was completely swollen,
teeth jutting out of her lips at odd angles. Bruises danced across the expanse,
and as I slid from her lap, I looked down at my shaking hands, making sure the
jagged edges of her teeth hadn't cut through them. I was lucky to find that not
a single tear was in the heavy duty rubber. My knuckles ached terribly, and I
ripped the gloves off to find that the entire expanse of my knuckles were
covered in unsightly, dark bruises. I shook my head; it didn't matter. Nothing
a little makeup wouldn't fix until they healed.
I needed to get out of this room before I lost it again, and with a deep
breath, I strode over to a large mirror, dragging it across the attic on its
wheels, and set it directly in front of her. I sneered in delight. "Not so
pretty now, are you? No one could love a face like that, you hideous beast of a
woman. Not even your own mother could look upon you without disgust." I laughed
maniacally, harder than I had ever laughed in my life, until I ran out of air,
and nothing but silent chuckles left my lips. I gasped, trying to fill my lungs
as I bent over and leaned on my knees. Once I managed to get hold of myself, I
straightened up, watching with a raised brow as she stared at herself with
horror, tears welling up in her mostly swollen-shut eyes. "My Daddy will vomit
at the sight of you now," I said, happy as a child, with a singsong tone in my
voice. I turned away from her, the rattling sob in her throat the only
indication that she had heard me, and I changed out of my protective gear
before throwing open the attic and skipping down the stairs.
I slammed the entrance shut, making my way to the bathroom. I had to get her
disgusting spit off of my face. Walking inside the bathroom, I flicked on the
light and turned my face to the mirror, but stopped dead in my tracks as shock
hit me like a bucket of ice cold water. I swallowed hard, my eyes widening as I
took slow steps forward until my hips pressed against the counter, and I
hovered over the sink as I leaned even closer. I turned my head slightly,
staring at my cheek; where there should have been drying blood and spit, was
the smooth expanse of my flesh, not a single flaw nor splattering of bodily
fluid.
Dizziness swept over me, crashing in waves against my body as confusion wrapped
itself like a vise around my brain, squeezing tightly. My lungs constricted,
shallow breaths fleeing my lips, and I raised a trembling hand to touch my dry
cheek. Why? She had spit on me, spit her disgusting blood on my cheek. I had
felt it oozing down, even felt it drying and making my skin feel tight,
cracking when I moved my mouth. My fingers stroked over the bare spot, my eyes
laser-focused on it, and the world shifted out from beneath my feet. I felt
myself falling, falling...
"Oh," I said out loud as realisation struck me. "I must have wiped it off."
That must be it. I lost control of myself, and I could hardly recall everywhere
I had struck her face. It would make perfect sense that I had wiped away her
spittle in disgust while I was lost in violence. The world righted itself, and
I could feel my lungs relaxing, sucking in deep and even breaths. My dizziness
and confusion faded and a small, unstable laugh bubbled up. "Of course. Let's
be rational, Ciel." Shaking away all of that odd uncertainty, I picked up my
face wash, squeezing a dollop into my palm. Just because I couldn't see it
didn't mean that there wasn't invisible residue, microscopic germs writhing on
my cheek. I lathered the soap with cold water, before scrubbing it over my
face, until my skin was red and oversensitive. Water splashed against my flesh
until all of the scrub had been washed away. I hadn't bothered to pin back my
hair, so by the time I was done, my fringe was sopping wet and clinging to my
forehead. I grabbed onto the nearest hand towel and removed the excess water
from my now ruddy visage. I tossed it onto the counter, not bothering to mop up
the counter, small puddles decorating the surface messily with bits of face
wash foam splattered onto the mirror.
Leaving the bathroom in disarray, I traipsed through the hall and down the
stairs, making my way into the kitchen. It was already late afternoon, nearly
what one would consider a proper dinnertime, though I decided to have a late
lunch. My stomach was growling loudly and cramping fiercely from hunger. It
really had been much too long since I had had an appetite, and I was going to
take advantage of it by eating my favorite food. I really didn't feel like
cutting up potatoes, so I strode directly over to the refrigerator and yanked
open the freezer. As much as my father tended to prepare homemade meals, he did
keep at least one package of frozen fries for me to make on my own, though he
himself would never prepare them. I grabbed onto the jumbo bag and shut the
freezer, turning and walking over to the oven. I preheated it to 400 before
emptying half of the bag onto a large baking tray, spreading them out evenly
and salting them to my tastes. I stood there, leaning against the counter,
waiting for the oven to heat up while I gazed down at the cellphone clutched in
my hands.
I was wondering how my father was doing. Did he miss me? Did he wish that he
was at home with me rather than stuck with a bunch of idiots from work on a
business trip? What if it wasn't a business trip? What if he was off seeing
some woman behind my back, like he had been doing with Elizabeth? What if he
hadn't bothered to contact at all since he left because he was too busy in the
arms of some whore? Don't be silly, I thought coolly, brushing those thoughts
away. Daddy won't ever betray me again. He's a good Daddy. Isn't that right,
Daddy? You're going to look at me when you get home, aren't you? You're going
to look at me. You're going to love me. Love me, and only me. Right? Right...
The beeping of the oven, signifying that it was to temperature, drew me out of
my thoughts, and I mechanically opened it, the heat washing over me as I shoved
the tray onto the rack inside, shutting it gently. I set a timer for 20
minutes, and then made my way over to the fridge, pulling it open to grasp onto
a cold can of Coke. It certainly was not my preferred soda, but it would do in
a pinch. Plus, I could use the caffeine that was in it, as I had forgotten to
make myself coffee this morning. I had been too focused on food. The satisfying
crack of the perforated metal resounded in the kitchen as I opened the can, and
I took a large swig from it, feeling refreshed as I brought the can away and
let out a relaxing breath. I was finally coming down from the intense rage that
had so recently consumed me; the sweat on my brow was drying, and my muscles
lost much of their tension. My body felt as though it were made of jello, and I
used the counter for support. I stood there, staring off into space as I let
myself relax, my eyes lidding halfway as soft, deep breaths were inhaled and
exhaled past my lips. Too soon, an annoying ache began in my lower torso,
informing me that my bladder was full.
Flicking my eyes to the timer, I decided I still had enough time to use the
facilities before it went off, and I set my Coke down before heading upstairs
and into the bathroom. After relieving myself, I washed my hands, my orbs
taking in the mess I had left in my prior visit. My senses had finally come
back to me, and my face twitch with horror and disgust. How could I have left
the bathroom in such disarray? I pulled out a few cleaning supplies, spraying
the mirror with the special glass cleaner, before saturating the entire counter
in some potent solution with bleach. Scrubbing hard with a sponge, I made sure
to clean every inch of the surface, before rinsing the cleansing implement and
wiping away the residue from the ceramic surface. Using paper towel, I rubbed
the foam from the mirror with circular motions until it was literally squeaking
with cleanliness. I rewashed my hands, giving a satisfied huff, before I left
the bathroom and headed back downstairs.
By the time I returned, the oven timer had hit less than a minute, and not
caring to be patient as my hunger was reaching painful proportions, I stopped
it and yanked the oven door open. With an oven mitt, I pulled the tray out,
setting it onto the stove-top, and shut the door before turning the knob all
the way to off. I dumped the fries onto a plate unceremoniously, grabbed my
Coke, and sat at the table, my legs crossing on the wooden seat. I scarfed down
each and every fry, ignoring how they scalded my tongue, pausing every so often
to take several gulps of Coke. Once my plate was empty, I belched, something
that I normally would never do, but I let it slide this one time seeing as I
was in a state of complete tranquility. Still hungry, I decided that dessert
would be the best course of action. Rising up onto my feet, I walked over to
the pantry and started climbing up the metal shelves, knowing that they could
support my weight, and began pushing all the sweets on the top shelf around to
search through them. My father liked to put all of the little snack cakes,
candy, and the like on the very top shelf, out of my reach, as if to deter me
from consuming so many of them. This hardly stopped me, as I was quite agile
and had been climbing these shelves from the time I had begun living with him
into the present.
Pushing Dad's oddly favored Sno Balls out of the way, my eyes fell upon the
ultimate jackpot of cavity-inducing treats: Twinkies. My eyes lit up, and I
grabbed onto the box, dropping down off of the shelf and clutching them to my
chest. I absolutely adored Twinkies, and really all of the assorted snack
cakes. The only thing I truly detested and found sickening were the Sno Balls,
and that was because I actually had tastebuds. I ripped open the brand new box
and pulled a twinkie out hastily, quickly unwrapping it and taking a bite of
it. The soft cake and cream filling hit my tongue, and I was in heaven. I ended
up sitting on the floor in front of the pantry, leaning back on one hand as I
devoured the Twinkies. I ate the entire box.
===============================================================================
After I had finished off the Twinkies, I did the dishes and cleaned up whatever
mess I had made in preparing and consuming my food, and then made my way back
up to the attic. I could hear her soft sobs even through the ceiling, which put
a pep in my step. She must still be gazing at her grotesque face. She must be
feeling so crushed; a woman's face is everything. Without physical beauty, they
are worth nothing, especially when they had no intelligence to offer. I climbed
up the final staircase, my eyes searching Elizabeth out; she was indeed staring
at her reflection, seeming unable to tear her eyes away. One could barely make
out a single human emotion on her swollen, mangled visage, though I could see
the anguish in her expressive emerald orbs. I dressed in my protective gear,
snapping the gloves after pulling them all the way up to my elbows, and slipped
my shoes back on before placing the covers over them. I strode over to my tray,
lifting up one of the syringes equipped with hypodermic needle, and filling it
with the tranexamic acid.
Clearing my throat drew a petrified whimper from her, the sound rough and
garbled up in her throat. I would be surprised if she could even manage to form
coherent speech anymore with the way her broken and jagged teeth pushed through
her lips. I hadn't noticed earlier but a few of those pearly whites had ended
up scattered on the floor, knocked out from the force of my fist hitting her
jaw. Her terrified eyes fell on me, widening as much as was possible, and she
shook her head slowly as I began approaching, sounds of distress getting caught
in her throat. It almost sounded as though she were begging for mercy, but I
couldn't make out a word. Smirking, I injected the Cyklokapron into her
jugular, humming softly to myself. I was sure that the previous dose was
wearing off, and it needed to be replenished; as much as I enjoyed watching my
victims bleed out, I didn't want her dying from blood loss. Not yet. I wasn't
done with her.
As I waited for a sufficient amount of time to pass for the drug to kick back
in, I grabbed onto a small wooden stool, encasing it in multiple trash bags to
protect it, tying them off tightly until I was satisfied with the amount of
layers covering it. Wood would be impossible to get any stains out of the
grain, and I didn't want to take the risk of anything getting on it. I set it
down in front of Elizabeth, the dulled thunk muffled by plastic and the fabric
of the tarp, and I picked up my trusty pliers before seating myself. My feet
were spread far apart so as not to touch any of the puddles of bodily waste,
setting the pliers on my raincoat-covered thigh. I leaned down and began
loosening one of the shackles before removing her ankle from it. Elevating her
foot with one hand, I grasped back onto the pliers, yanking out the needles
that had been glued in place by the clotted blood. Her leg jerked weakly each
time I plucked out a small section of the metal, dropping each one into the
wastebasket. After removing every needle from beneath her toenails of the one
foot, I lifted up the other one, leaving it shackled. I repeated the process
until both feet were free of sewing needles. Keeping the pliers in hand, I
adjusted my grip and positioned the mouth of it at the free edge of the nail
and clamped down on it.
With a swift jerk upwards, the sickening rip of meat hit my ears, the nail
coming up off of the nail bed. An agonized cry left Elizabeth, and she writhed
like a worm drying up in the sun. I twisted the pliers around, working the nail
away from the cuticle until the entire structure was torn from its place. I
could tell her torment was excruciating from the way her muscles spasmed
involuntarily and her whole body seemed to curl in on itself as her back arched
so sharply her spine should have snapped. Elizabeth threw her head back, her
matted and stiff hair ripping away from her skin from the sudden motion.
I could feel a grin spreading over my face, my eyes lighting up as I watched
her moan and squirm. She truly was vermin, a bug to be squashed beneath my
foot. She wriggled just like an insect, her limbs thrashing in an almost
centipede-like manner. I hardly believed that a human could contort in such a
way and it was happening right before my eyes. I was almost mesmerised by those
fluid motions, watching her slowly cease as the pain became a persistent throb,
lessening to a dullness as her brain sent signals to nerves in an effort to
minimize her suffering. I certainly could not allow her a single moment of
peace, so I gripped harder onto her ankle, causing her to wince from the
shifting of her tarsals, and I tore off the second toenail, not nearly as
cleanly, some bits of nail still stuck to the bloody flesh. Elizabeth screamed
her throat raw as I slowly made my way to her pinky toe. Some nails I took my
time on, enjoying the clean tear, the nail whole and undamaged with cuticle
attached; others I yanked off harshly, wanting to see that mesmerising vile bug
dancing in agony.
I took a small break, leaning back to watch Elizabeth in her convulsing dance;
she truly reminded me of a centipede, and I almost wished that I had thought to
get one to let crawl around in her ear, see how bug-like she could become.
Pushing away that small disappointment, I turned to her other foot, yanking it
up by the tarnished and tainted shackles, tearing another raspy yelp from her
as I was as rough as I could possibly be. My hold on the pliers shifted so as
to provide my hand with more comfort, and this time I decided to start with the
pinky and work my way in. With ease I popped the nail up like the tab on a soda
can, the ripping sound it caused was very different from that cracking pop,
though not any less satisfying. Rotating my wrist, I loosened the keratin
structure from the last bit of nailbed that was holding it in place, removing
it cleanly. I studied the curvature, the cuticle, still attached to the bottom
of it, before tossing it away. Too many parts of her were pretty; they had to
be damaged beyond repair, so that she would forever be as grotesque as she was
on the inside. I didn't spend as much time on that foot, taking as little care
as possible, and ended up with patches of nail still stuck to the meat beneath,
cuticles jagged and chunks of flesh missing.
My eyes flicked up to the hands bound at her sides, head cocking to the side. I
had to remove those harpy claws of hers, so that she would never again be able
to hook them into another victim. She would never be able to drag my father
down again. I eagerly began removing the needles from beneath the sparkling
pink talons, excited to start extracting them from her fingertips. If it had
hurt her toes so immensely, it had to inflict a pain more intense to her
digits. Once every needle was gone, I immediately clasped the pliers onto her
index nail, assessing it to decide how exactly I would rip it off. Should I
yank forward? It was sure to rip more chunks of meat off that way. Or should I
continue to pop them upward? That seemed to be excruciatingly painful. After
contemplating for a few moments, I licked my lips and settled on trying each to
see which made her dance for me more. I tightened my grip on the handles,
making sure that the nail was held firmly between the clamp of the pliers, and
I tensed my muscles up, ready to begin harshly pulling. Sucking in a breath, I
began to jerk my arm back-
-and froze completely as the familiar ringtone began to chime, my back pocket
vibrating with a frenzy. My father was calling me. I blinked, letting the
pliers drop from my hands as I quickly scrambled to my feet and began yanking
my gloves off, tossing them down carelessly as my now bare hand began sifting
through plastic, searching for the fabric of my jeans. Finally, I found my
pocket, my fingers clutching onto my phone like a lifeline, before I yanked it
out and looked at the screen, ready to be deceived by my own desires. Warmth
spread through me as I read Daddy Calling... scrolling across the screen,
though my smile fell as I hesitated to answer. Wouldn't he have called me last
night, or any time during the day, if he had really wanted to talk to me so
badly? It was already nearly 7 o'clock at night.
I brushed off those negative thoughts. I was sure that he had just been busy;
it was a business trip, after all, and they were sure to be bustling around
doing whatever the fuck they were required to do. I had a feeling that he was
probably miserable with boredom, having to give up his weekend simply because
his boss deemed it so. Ceasing my hesitations, I moved my thumb, letting it
descend to the accept call button, and just as I am about to hit it, Elizabeth
speaks up.
"Oh, is that my Daddy calling~?" I freeze, rage hitting me like a bucket of ice
cold water, before coiling in my gut and making me sick with hatred. In the
back of my mind I wondered how she had managed to speak so clearly and so
coherently through her broken face, but I barely paid that thought any
attention.
Raising my gaze to her, my phone went silent as I missed his call, lowering my
arm to my side. "Pardon me? Your Daddy?" My voice was full of incredulity as my
brow quirked. I slid my phone back into my pocket, reminding myself to get hold
of him later.
Her mangled face somehow managed to portray a smug expression, her emerald eyes
darkening with a cruelty that could rival my own. "He was never yours, you
know. He never will be. Yet he was so eager to be mine after a single day. Why
do you think that is? Is it because you're ugly? Maybe it's because your father
thinks you're getting fat. He did say that you felt heavier."
Her vicious words hit my skin and burst upon it like petals made from sharpened
steel, each one causing my insecurities to flare up. I shouldn't have eaten as
much as I had. I shouldn't have dared to let a single Twinkie even brush
against my lips. My eyes flicked down to my stomach, picturing it bulging over
the hem of my skinny jeans, button straining against the fat, trying its
hardest to hold it all in. I suddenly felt sick, my stomach twisting and
rolling uncomfortably, practically begging for me to spill its contents
everywhere. I was disgusting, a sickeningly obese creature. I never wanted to
eat again; each morsel that had touched my tongue was an explosion of calories.
I knew it. I knew Daddy thought I was fat. Rightly so, because I was. I was
grossly disproportionately wide considering my short stature. How could a man
as fit as he was ever desire someone so horribly overweight. I wanted to vomit,
the anxiety gripping my heart in a choke-hold, threatening to make me black
out. The world spun and spun, dizziness overtaking me. I felt myself sway
dangerously towards the tray, and subsequently, the hunting knife. The one
thing that seemed to make my panic and self-loathing subside, even if only
momentarily, was my burning fury. It consumed me in a vengeful fire, using each
and every thought of insecurity as fuel. It burst forth from me like a fiery
explosion, my body trembling from the force of the uncontrollable emotion
swelling and pouring out of me.
"How fucking dare you! You vile fucking temptress. What is so desirable about
you?!" My eyes flicked up to take in her blonde hair; I recalled how it had
been shiny and smooth, the way the light managed to make her ringlets look like
spun gold. It may be matted and filthy now, a shadow of its former glory, but
when properly taken care of, her blonde hair was silky and full of volume.
Elizabeth very nearly had the flaxen tresses of that woman. It was only a few
shades too light, but that was hardly discernible to the less-than-critical
eye. To me, it looked too much like her hair, and it sickened me all the more.
I felt as though I were standing in front of Rachel once more. My fists
clenched, and I ground my teeth together to stop myself from stomping my foot
like a petulant child. "Daddy is mine. Mine, mine, MINE. He has always been
mine, will always be mine. He loves me. He does. I know it."
"He doesn't love you. Admit it, you know you're disgusting. You don't even
compare to me. Look at you, you're as flat as a board. Your Daddy likes
curves." To emphasize her statement, she released a flirtatious giggle that
made bile coat my throat, and I nearly vomited when she began wriggling
sensually, showing off her curvaceous figure.
I could feel myself snapping again, losing control. I barely recognized the
voice that left my mouth as my own. "Fuck you! I'll teach you a fucking lesson!
Let's see how PRETTY you are when I've finished with you! I'll take EVERYTHING
from you!" I stood there, cold sweat beading on my brow, gasping and panting
for air, my entire body trembling uncontrollably. My next words came out in a
whisper, each one forced past my teeth as if I were struggling to form words.
"Like you tried to do to me."
I turned away from her, my eyes pricking with water, but I quickly blinked it
away. I would not let my prey see any of my weaknesses. Let her try and poke
holes in my armor; I'll keep every painful emotion hidden away behind my mask,
where they should be. I was the predator here; she was my victim, my toy.
Gloves were pulled onto my hands, and I quickly disposed of the previous ones
I'd thrown on the floor. I hadn't planned on my next course of action, but her
outburst of mouthiness decided it for me; the hunting knife sat on the tray,
glinting comfortingly in the light. I picked it up, turning it this way and
that, letting it relax me. I would need a steady hand, after all. I was feeling
particularly violent and murderous, and it would have been so easy to slit her
throat and let her die. But I couldn't allow such a merciful death; if she was
going to die, it would be in the most horrifically brutal way possible. Prior
to that, I would inflict the most excruciating torture upon her, until I was
fully sated, as a cat would toy with a mouse. Striding over to her, I lifted my
chin haughtily before grasping onto a section of her hair and yanking her head
up by holding the lock straight. I lay the knife at a low angle, the sharp edge
of the blade resting just against her hairline.
It was as easy as sliding a spoon through softened butter; the hunting dagger
cut into the flesh of her scalp, my hand pushing it forward and sliding beneath
the flap of recently detached flesh. I curved my wrist upward and completely
removed it. Elizabeth thrashed about in the chair, her throat making non-human
sounds, hardly even recognizable as a scream. I held the chunk of meat and hair
aloft, waving it in her face as a vicious grin split my lips; it was so wide
that I was sure I'd ripped my cheeks open. Smacking her with her own skin, I
left a smudge of congealing blood across her cheek, before I threw the lock,
scalp and all, into the trash bin. I artfully removed patches of hair still
attached to flesh, not desiring to completely scalp her, only to remove enough
hair that she looked as if she had mange. The blood clotted thickly on the
skull, soaking into her hair and making it stick to her remaining flesh before
it fully congealed. Her tortured moans were husky and broken, her throat raw
from repeated abuse, from both her constant screaming and my previous
strangulation.
I paused to admire my work; her hair was barely recognizable as blonde anymore.
The golden matted locks were stained from her blood, having turned the color of
rust. Large chunks of meat were noticeably missing, and no amount of styling
would ever fully hide the hideous scar tissue that would have remained. I
cleaned off the hunting knife with a sanitary wipe, removing all traces of
blood and flesh, before tossing the square cloth into the waste receptacle.
As odd as it might be for me, I was beginning to feel the tedium of the lesser
tortures. I had grander plans for the coming day, ones that I could not wait to
begin, but for those I needed to be in pique condition. A full night's rest was
in order if I wanted to have the proper amount of energy to carry out my
desires. I pulled off one of my gloves to check the time on my phone, and after
a small internal debate, I decided that using one of tomorrow's methods as a
finale of sorts to end the night wouldn't hurt. Besides, I wanted ample time to
carry out every act I had in mind for tomorrow; I didn't want to rush, but I
could only do so much in a given amount of time before my father came home. If
worst came to worst, I would have to wait to finish until after he retired to
bed. If luck was on my side, he would have no need to enter the attic tomorrow
at all. I had no worries about Undertaker showing up at the wrong time: the man
had a knack for appearing exactly when I needed him. It had been that way since
our very first encounter. However weird and unnerving it may have been, I still
appreciated his efforts to lend a creepily long-nailed hand.
Tucking my phone away once more, I very carefully slid my hand back into the
thick rubber, careful not to get any of Elizabeth's DNA on me. I grasped onto a
meat tenderizing mallet that rested near my feet, shifting it in my palm to
have it perfectly balanced. I took a few practice swings through empty air, the
heavy metal cutting through it with a sharp whoosh, displacing the pungent
oxygen around us and sending the settled odor particles whizzing through the
air. Once satisfied with the force in which I swung, I grabbed my covered stool
and moved it in front of Elizabeth, lifting her unshackled leg up and placing
her foot atop of the black trash bag. I studied her once perfect leg, noting
the evenly spaced holes in her ankles, the long rectangles of missing flesh,
and the dried blood coating and chipping off of her creamy skin.
I undressed her small foot with my eyes, mentally removing skin, tissue,
muscle, ligaments, until all I was left with was bone. I could picture them
perfectly; in total, there are 26 bones in the human ankle and foot. A
collection of seven tarsals made up the ankle, and connected to them 5
metatarsals, making up the majority of the foot. The toes were formed from 14
individual phalanges. I deeply regretted the fact that I would not be able to
break her femur, tibia, and fibula, as I had nothing heavy enough to do much
damage, nor was I strong enough to break them on my own. Instead I decided to
inflict the intended havoc upon the arm; my eyes rose up to study the slim
limb, imagining her flesh melting away in the same manner as I had done with
her foot. The humerus, located in the bicep area, was considerably smaller and
weaker than the femur, and could be snapped easily enough with the right amount
of force. Likewise, the radius and ulna that composed the forearm were just as
weak, if not more so; if I recalled correctly, the most common bone fracture to
be reported occurred within the upper limbs. The three bones that were the
constitution of the appendage were affixed in the center by three joints that
formed the elbow: the humeroradial, the humerounlar, and the proximal
radioulnar.
After I finished studying her appendages and choosing the best course of
action, I grabbed onto her thigh and calf, forcing her to bend her knee. I
placed the sole of her foot flat on the stool, and held it in place by firmly
grasping her ankle. It didn't take much force at all to mold her limb in the
way that I wanted it to go, for Elizabeth was very nearly passed out. She was
reaching the point of not being able to handle much else, but I could not have
her fall asleep on me now. I wasn't yet done playing with her. I ignored her
near comatose state, as she would rouse soon enough.
I started with the toes. The mallet came down hard and fast, completely
pulverizing the bones in her first two toes. The snapping sound of bone
breaking echoed around the room, mingling with animalistic cries of the newly
awakened Elizabeth; the pain had ripped away whatever small peace she had been
about to receive in the form of being blissfully asleep. I made my way through
the remaining three toes, slamming the utensil down several times to ensure
proper breakage. She stared up at me with tears pouring down her face, those
emerald eyes pleading for relief, for one small ounce of mercy. She searched me
for any sign of humanity or compassion; we both knew she had found none when I
gave her the most pleasant smile I could muster, and proceeded to smash the
metatarsals in her foot into oblivion. She sobbed and choked on her own breath,
her throat still constricted and raw. Her head bowed, unable to meet my gaze
any longer.
There were 26 bones in the ankle and foot... and I intended to break them all.
The ankle was a bit harder to manage, but after grabbing hold of it and jerking
it to one side as brutally as possible, it gave a sickening crack and pop, a
broken chunk of jagged bone ripped through her skin, the white stained pink
with blood. She fought as hard as she could, the agony far too much for her to
endure without the fingers of insanity loosening the hold of logic. Elizabeth
yanked ferociously on her hands, making the zip ties bite into her flesh and
rub her wrists raw. Her head fell forward and she vomited, bile the only thing
that spilled from her lips, as she had long ago lost the contents of her
stomach. She heaved violently, her entire body quaking and trembling from the
force in which her stomach contracted. I yanked her leg out harshly, laying her
ankle out on the stool, and gripped onto her leg to keep it still as I could
manage with the way her body writhed. I began hammering away at the tarsals,
swinging the mallet downward as hard as I possibly could. I could hear the
bones grinding together, cracking and shattering into millions of unfixable
pieces.
Elizabeth's head lolled, her eyes rolling back in her head though her lids
remained open; she had momentarily blacked out from the excruciating pain that
radiated out from her foot. I kicked her leg off of my stool, studying the
mangled appendage. Already dark, angry bruises were forming from the abuse, but
they were only the tip of the proverbial iceberg. I took everything off of the
tv tray, setting it on the ground for now, before I brought it over to her
side. First things first, I took her arm in my hands, one gripping her bicep as
the other held tightly to her forearm, and I positioned my leg so that it was
resting just beneath her elbow. With one swift, brutal motion, I brought my
knee up as forcefully as possible, slamming it into her elbow and efficiently
severing the joints. The violence of my movement pushed bone through the inside
of the junction of her arm, and it tore the flesh audibly, the sick ripping
sound of meat seeming to linger. Elizabeth heaved harshly, her breathing so
shallow it barely resembled breathing at all. She panted like a dog and seemed
on the verge of passing out.
Backhanding her, I snarled, "Don't you fucking fall asleep. We're not done
yet."
Using scissors, I cut the zip tie from her wrist and laid her arm out on the
table, tying it down with rope so that she wouldn't be able to pull it away,
not that she possessed the strength to do so. My fingers grasped back onto the
mallet's handle, and I tightened my hold on it as I raised it over my head. I
targeted the ulna first, as it was the smaller of the three bones, and would
shatter much more satisfyingly. I brought it down like a hammer of justice,
pounding her flesh as hard as I could manage. I soon heard that shiver-inducing
crunching and snapping of the bone, but I was far from done. I took my time
smashing it into as many pieces as possible, before switching my ministrations
to her radius. It got the same treatment, shattering into thousands of pieces.
I set the mallet aside on the tray momentarily, then untied the rope, picking
up her limb. I began slowly twisting her entire forearm in a clockwise motion,
having to exert a majority of my strength to even get the tissue to budge. One
might think that it barely took any exertion at all to twist flesh, yet it
actually required an almost inhuman amount of strength to even get it to move,
let alone to spiral it. I was disarmingly weak and fragile looking, and I used
that to my advantage; someone who looked as dainty as I could never be capable
of such horrible violence. Truthfully, I had been strength training on my own
under the careful guidance of Undertaker from a young age; I was nothing but
hardpacked muscle beneath my skin, a fact that I kept perfectly concealed in
order to remain undetected.
Splinters of bone pushed up through the rubber-looking flesh, piercing skin and
causing Elizabeth to stir and scream brokenly. Blood spilled from each puncture
sight, and the tiny slivers of white stood out from her at varying lengths, up
to an inch. Satisfied with the state of her forearm, I picked the mallet back
up off of the tarp and gave her a cold smirk.
I ignored Elizabeth's now nearly silent cries, her body shaking like a leaf. I
pounded the heavy meat tenderizer into her bicep, in the same exact spot, until
the telltale snapping hit my ears. It was indeed the stronger of the three,
taking more effort and several long moments to manage, and by the time I had
broken the bone, sweat was beading at my brow. I was hardly done with the
humerus, and moved up, aiming at another spot and swinging downward as hard as
I can. I used as much brutal force as I could, wanting this to hurt as much as
possible. I knew I had managed when Elizabeth's torso curled forward and she
began gagging and dry-heaving, her bile already coating her legs. I twisted her
elbow around, having it jut out at an impossibly wrong angle.
Sucking in panting breaths from the exertion, I dropped the mallet, letting it
hit the attic floor with a muffled thud, and hovered over her. With the last of
my strength and adrenaline, I grabbed onto her upper arm and expertly twisted
until her it resembled the lower section, visibly removing her shoulder from
its socket with a loud, cringe-worthy pop. The final blow was too much for
Elizabeth to bear, and her entire body went limp as she slipped into
unconsciousness. She was free of me for the rest of the night.
===============================================================================
After I had closed up the attic for the night, I lazily made my way towards the
bathroom, knowing a shower was necessary if I wanted to crawl into my bed. As I
headed down the hall, I pulled out my phone, remembering that I had to let my
father know that I was sorry for missing his call and reassure him that I was
perfectly fine. The last thing I needed was for him to call the cops in his
worry for me, or worse, rush home and find Elizabeth in our attic before I was
fully done with her.
My eyes widened a bit as I noticed I had received a text message from him, not
realizing that he had sent it around the time I missed his call. I quickly
opened the text, a joyful smile pulling at my lips and my heart fluttering in
my chest as I read the message several times: Hey Ciel, is everything all
right? I'm not trying to be overprotective, just checking on you. You know you
can call if you need anything. Love you.
My smile fell momentarily; I felt extremely guilty now for doubting his love
for me. Of course he cared about and missed me, he was my Daddy. I couldn't
believe I had missed his call, purposefully, for that matter. I never missed
his calls, no matter what. It was eating at me, and I almost dialed his number,
but I stopped myself. He was most likely already asleep, and I didn't want to
risk waking him. As much as I wanted to hear his voice and reassure myself that
everything was all right and I was forgiven for missing his call, sending him a
text message would be best. I quickly typed out the message, my thumbs speeding
over the keys, and I read over everything before hitting send, to make sure it
sounded perfect.
Everything's fine, Daddy! I'm just working on my homework. I promise I'll call
if I need anything. I love you. <3
I wasn't normally the type of person who used emojis or included hearts in my
messages, but when it came to Daddy, it was entirely different. Even if he was
an older man and wouldn't add them himself, I'm sure it still felt nice to
receive, and it was one of the ways I tried to convey my love for him, however
stupid and teenager-like that was.
Satisfied with my response, I put my phone back in my pocket and made my way
into the bathroom. I was ready to unwind and relax for the night.
===============================================================================
I lifted the hunting knife up away from the whetstone, studying the freshly
sharpened edge. It glistened in the light filtering in through the window, and
I smiled at my extremely blurred reflection, admiring the exquisite shape of
the blade. I set it down gently onto the tv tray, selecting a fresh pair of
gloves that I slid onto my hands. I used a pair of scissors to cut the
remaining zip tie off of Elizabeth's wrist, and then grabbed onto each of her
arms, yanking harshly so that she toppled out of the chair and onto the floor
with a heavy thud. The entire movement of her body, added to the fact that I
was pulling harshly onto her recently broken arm, woke her abruptly from her
slumber, and she whimpered weakly from the impact, the tarp hardly cushioning
her fall. Once I had her on the floor, I dragged her forward so that her body
was splayed out, rolling her over so that her back was resting on the blood-
stained blue urethane-coated canvas. She looked up at me, her emerald eyes
dulled with pain, and she sucked in shallow pants of air. I injected her with
half of the dosage of Cyklokapron that I had been giving her.
I studied her disfigured expression, the way she trembled with fear and dread
of what was to come. Her mind was very nearly broken, and I would relish in
snuffing out the light in her eyes. I slid into a raincoat, letting it drape
over me, before leaning down to pick up the breast ripper that Undertaker had
included in the bag of toys. How the man had managed to get his hands on a few
medieval torture devices, I wouldn't know. Perhaps he robbed a museum or some
such nonsense. I didn't care to question it too much, as it wasn't important.
What was important was that I now had a tool to remove her prized assets.
I couldn't blame my father for being attracted to her large breasts; it was in
the male's nature. It hurt me to think that he may never recognize his true
feelings for me because he was blinded by a female's wiles and sexualized form.
I could never have these on my person, those disgusting balls of fat resting on
their chests, but I could remove hers. I tested the device, opening and closing
it. The four prongs were quite sharp, sliding together neatly. I smiled,
pleased that I would be able to use such a historic item. Turning back to
Elizabeth, I ripped open her filthy shirt easily, unclasping her bra and
tossing it into the trash. Her breasts were completely exposed to me, caked
with dried blood and bile that had soaked through her thin top.
Jumping right into it, I lowered the ripper down, hovering over her as I rested
the cold metal against her ribcage, around her tit. Once I had it fully
encircled, I used both hands to squeeze down onto the contraption, locking it
onto her flesh. The teeth punctured into her skin and fat, and I straightened
my spine out as I yanked harshly upwards. The sound of meat tearing mingled
with her screams. Her throat had still not recovered, so her cries were raspy
and low. Large chunks of her flesh came free, sliding down her torso, flopping
onto the floor, and blood began clotting as fast as it had started to spill. I
stared down at her disfigured breast, the dehydrated piss-yellow of the fat
standing out sharply against the deep red of her blood. I laughed manically as
she writhed on the tarp like a worm, lifting up a few pieces of newly removed
meat.
"No more curves for you," I chuckled darkly, dumping the chunks away with the
rest of the waste.
I used the same method to remove most of her other breast, disposing of it just
as easily. Her skin paled beneath the deep bruising on her face, and she gagged
on bile. I kicked her roughly, rolling her onto her side so that she wouldn't
drown in her own vomit. After she was done I shoved her onto her back once
again, watching her struggle to draw breath as sweat coated her skin with a
sickly sheen. I leaned down to pick up the bottle of lavender-scented lotion
from its place on the floor amongst the devices I had been using. I twisted off
the cap, wafting the scent of it up to my nose.
"You seem to really like this aroma," I commented, not really expecting her to
be listening to me. "You certainly coated yourself in it that night in the
restroom." I lowered myself onto her, making sure the raincoat provided
sufficient protection as I straddled her waist. Elizabeth stared at me with the
barest hints of confusion in her green eyes, and I set the pump onto the tarp,
swirling the creamy contents around the container. I leaned down close to her
face, letting my breath hit her skin as I lowered my voice to a near-whisper.
"It clung to him like the stench of vomit. I wonder if it tastes as horrid as
it smells."
I gave her a vicious smirk as I pried her mouth open, forcing it wide and
keeping it that way with my fingers. I upended the bottle, dumping the contents
into her mouth, watching the white liquid hit her tongue. She gagged and
choked, sputtering on it and sending it spraying over my raincoat. I held the
bottle secured with the hand keeping her mouth open, and used the other to
pinch her nose shut. She had no choice but to swallow the lotion, her stomach
heaving beneath me as it tried to reject the chemical-filled liquid. I
backhanded her harshly after I removed the bottle from her mouth.
"You're going to fucking keep it down. Tell me, does it taste revolting? Just
like the stench of you, it's sickening. You make me want to vomit." Against my
better judgment, I gathered up as much saliva as I could muster and spit
directly in her face. Elizabeth sobbed and gagged, shaking her head as she
shook with fear.
I leaned away from her, reaching out and picking up a stray spoon, and took
hold of a jar of formaldehyde. After unscrewing the lid and setting it close
enough that I could reach it but far enough that it wouldn't be knocked over, I
righted myself atop her. I turned the spoon around in my hands, humming to
myself as I tilted my head to the side. Now would be as good a time as any to
withdraw Undertaker's payment. He more than deserved twice the normal amount
for all of the assistance he had given me in the past few days, not to mention
the fact that the last item I had given him was not the normal exchange for his
services. I was sure that this would more than make up for everything, and
hoped that he wouldn't see the need to send me on one of his "errands". It
wouldn't be so bad if I were getting paid to run it for him, but seeing as how
he would view it as my owing him, I wouldn't see a single cent. Brushing off
those thoughts for now, I returned my attentions to the task at hand. This was
always the most interesting part.
I pried her eye open, holding the lid firmly out of the way, before slipping
the spoon inside, circling around the orb with the concave curve of the metal.
She bucked like a wild horse, her entire body convulsing as she thrashed, but I
held her head still, not wanting to damage the eyeball in any way. I wonder
what it looked like and felt like to her, having her eye slowly popped out by a
cold metal spoon. I twisted my wrist, and with a small slurp, the orb slid free
of its socket, dangling by the optic nerve and extraocular muscles. I did the
same with the other, rotating it around in the socket, loosening up the
eyeball, before tilting the spoon like a lever and watching it pop free. Once
both were out and tangling, I rose to my feet and walked over to the tray,
picking up my hunting blade. She cried and screamed, her stomach heaving up
lotion, which she choked on and swallowed back down before she could vomit or
asphyxiate on it. I strode confidently back over to her, bending at the waist
and picking up the delicate sphere, slicing the muscles and nerve to completely
sever the eye. I dropped it into the formaldehyde, turning back to the other
orb and cutting it free as well. Once both eyes were in the jar, I twisted the
lid back on and lifted it up, studying the floating emerald irises with a low
hum.
"I don't know what Undertaker sees in these. They're hideous." I set the jar on
my tray, turning back to regard Elizabeth; she was practically foaming at the
mouth, spit flying up and splattering on her face. The optic nerves and
extraocular muscles lay against her bruised cheeks, and I looked down my nose
at her like the scum she was.
I picked up an extra large bottle of hydrogen peroxide, quickly twisting off
the lid. "This is peroxide," I said, quoting my memory. "We wouldn't want you
to get an infection." I dumped the entire contents all over her, watching the
liquid splatter against every wound. I poured some into her eye sockets, her
entire body convulsing as though she were having a seizure, and she screamed
like a banshee, her spine arching sharply. The peroxide began foaming up inside
some of her wounds, a telltale sign of infection, and a wicked sneer curled my
lips as I watched her silently scream and writhe. She truly was a disgusting
centipede. Chuckling to myself, I moved to grab the vial of sedative and a
syringe; after filling it with the proper amount of liquid, I shoved the needle
into her neck, injecting the contents. I threw them away and watched her as her
movements became subdued.
I walked away from her as she rolled sluggishly onto her side, dropping the
brown bottle into the waste and stripping out of my gear. I had time for a
break, as I'm sure my father wouldn't be home until late in the evening. I left
the attic, Elizabeth laying on the floor in the fetal position as she sobbed
softly, trembles running through her body, though the sedative kept her from
moving around too much. I put her out of my mind, letting it wander to more
meaningless thoughts.
"Perhaps I should read a book," I hummed.
===============================================================================
I was heading back up to the attic when my phone rang, startling me. I quickly
pushed the stairs back up, pulling my phone out to read the screen. It was 4:07
pm, and it was my father calling. I lifted the phone to my ear, startled by the
sudden call. "D-Daddy?" I murmured, sounding bewildered to my own ears.
"Ciel," he said, his voice sounding very slightly distorted through the
speaker. "I'm headed home now. I'll probably get there around five so I should
be able to make dinner."
"Oh, okay. That sounds good. I'll be waiting for you. I love you!" I made
myself sound as cheerful as possible, though internally I was panicking.
"Love you too," my father replied, before hanging up the phone.
"Fuck," I said aloud. "Shit." I knew I shouldn't have taken such a long break.
I didn't have the time to act out my last few plans before he got home. I would
have to wait until he went to bed and was actually asleep before I could carry
out the end of it and get rid of her. I pinched the bridge of my nose as I
tightly closed my eyes. There was no way I could let Undertaker know not to
come until much later without making it back after my father. I couldn't leave
him alone with Elizabeth in the attic; there was a chance that he would happen
upon her. I wouldn't allow such a thing.
Now wasn't the time to panic. I had to act fast. I ran to my room, throwing
open the door and checking to make sure there was nothing that could act as
evidence or bring about any suspicion. Not finding anything incriminating or of
interest, I quickly grabbed my key and fled my room, picking up a random book
from off of my desk, one from my last library venture that I hadn't yet been
able to read, before I slammed my door and locked it. The key was then thrown
over my head and tucked into my shirt, safely hidden against my chest. I
sprinted down the hall and took the stairs two at a time, sliding on my socks
as I rounded the corner and precariously threw myself towards the basement.
Dropping the book carelessly onto the hall floor, I flew down the basement
stairs and jumped onto the concrete, landing softly on my feet. I grabbed all
of the clothing from the laundry chute and threw it into the washer;
thankfully, they were all colors and no whites, so I didn't need to sort them
and risk not getting them washed in time. I was certain that there was no blood
or any traces of Elizabeth on them, but I wasn't going to take any chances. If
there was the possibility that some minuscule, microscopic amount of her DNA
was on any of my clothing, I had to get rid of it. I started the machine up,
letting it begin filling with water, while I added the soap and softener. Once
I had that done, I slammed the lid shut and darted back up to the first floor,
gasping as I was slightly out of breath.
My next destination was the kitchen; I had left the coffee machine on all day,
and there was still some of the brown liquid boiling away in the pot. I was
sure that it was thoroughly burned by now, and the pot was sure to need
cleaning. I walked into the room, and the pungent scent of burnt coffee
assaulted my nostrils, making me wrinkle my face up in distaste. I turned the
machine off, dumping the contents of the pot down the sink, before carefully
rinsing it with warm water so as not to crack the hot glass by exposing it to
cold water too suddenly. I washed the pot, scrubbing away the caked on residue,
and leaving the glass pristine. After drying it, I returned it to its home,
turning back to the minuscule amount of dishes in the sink. I knew my father
wouldn't want to have to come home and feel like he had to do any cleaning
before he made dinner, and I myself felt the need to wash them, or else in my
eyes they weren't clean. I quickly set about washing them, moving as fast as I
dared for them to still be considered clean, and I set them into the drying
rack. Once done with that, I dried my hands on the hand towel and strode out of
the kitchen.
The sound of my father's car pulling up made my heart stutter, and I darted
towards the living room, almost forgetting the book I had left in the hall. I
doubled back and scooped it up, before spinning on my heel and flying toward
the living room; I dove for the couch and landed on it, scrambling into a
sitting position. I slowed my breathing as best as I could, forcing myself to
take deep breaths as I opened the book to a random page. I could hear him
fumbling with the front door lock, and I counted my lucky stars as I had enough
time to relax my racing heart and calm my lungs. By the time the front door
opened, I was pretending to be completely engrossed in my novel, flipping the
page and letting my eyes roam over the black words, yet not absorbing anything.
The door flew open, and I flicked my irises up, peeking up through my lashes to
secretly watch the door. I had my nose buried in the book so that it appeared
as though I were reading and completely unaware of his entrance. I watched as
he pushed the door shut, immediately releasing his suitcase to begin yanking
his dress shirt out from his trousers. I stifled a chuckle at the endearing
sight, observing as his long, slender fingers expertly loosened the tie enough
for him to rip it off of himself. I felt my lips curl into the faintest smile,
but I banished it from my face and flicked my eyes back down as he began
walking towards me.
"Hey buddy," he said, almost making me cringe at the choice of pet name, but
his warm hand mussing up my hair in that way of his made up for it. "How was
the party?" My father asked jokingly, but I decided to give him a bit of grief.
I flicked my eyes up to his face, finally lifting my head out of the book. I
raised one brow, my head tilting slightly to the side and causing my hair to
shift. "It was great. Polynomials and trigonometric identities sure know how to
party," I stated sarcastically, watching him flinch slightly.
"Tough crowd," he sighed softly, almost seeming disappointed by my lack of
humor. And I thought my biting retort was hilarious. "I figured you wouldn't
have gone crazy, but that's really all you did? You just worked on homework?"
"I read a couple books," I amended, changing my mind and going soft on him,
shrugging my shoulders though my voice took on a gentler tone when I next
spoke. "And I missed you." It was certainly true, I had missed him dearly. I
wish he had never had to leave me, but at the same time I was relieved that he
had to be gone. It made it much easier to have my way with Elizabeth.
My father chuckled softly, the familiar sound warming my heart, and his hand
once again descended upon my head to ruffle my hair. He turned away to go grab
his suitcase, his voice trailing over to me from the door. "You read, did
homework, and missed your old man. I've never heard of a teenager being so
docile, Ciel."
I laughed softly, amusement at his words making my lips curl into a smirk. Oh
yes, I was certainly the most docile teenager in existence. Just ask the girl
in our attic, Daddy. She'll vouch for me. I turned my attentions back to the
book, making it appear as though I weren't listening to his every step as he
moved towards the stairs. "I'll start dinner in a little while. First, though,
I need to put away my things."
I simply replied, "Okay, Daddy," and then held my breath.
My father's soft groans and the sound of his shoes hitting each stair on his
trip up pricked at my ears, and I turned my head more toward the stairs to get
a better angle for listening. I heard a loud exhale of relief as he paused at
the stop of the stairs, and my body tensed up. I swallowed hard, willing him to
keep walking to his room. There's no reason to go anywhere near the attic,
Daddy. Just go to your bedroom. Stay away from the rope, and we won't have any
problems. As he began walking down the hallway to his room, I could hear the
fading footsteps, and I felt my body begin to relax. His footsteps stopped
abruptly, though, and I perked up, my eyes widening as I launched myself off of
the couch. Had he heard something? I ran to the kitchen, grabbing the nearest
knife, which I held behind my back. As I silently sprinted back to the stairs,
I heard him drop his suitcase and move to the attic entrance. Shit, shit, no. I
climbed the stairs as swiftly and as quietly as I could, and I stopped dead in
the hallway as I watched in horror as my father grabbed onto the rope and began
to pull.
"Daddy, what are you doing?" I blurted out, trying to keep the panicked edge
out of my voice, merely sounding curious. My grip on the knife shifted, and I
pressed it closer to my back, keeping it out of his view.
His body tensed up visibly, and he spun towards me as he released the rope, his
eyes wide as he regarded me. "Oh, Ciel," he gasped softly, looking like I'd
nearly scared him out of his skin. "I was going to go up into the attic. Have
you heard any strange scratching noises? I'm afraid we might have rats or
something."
That bitch. She must have heard him and thought she could get his attention.
Looking for a knight in shining armor? As if I would allow such a thing. I felt
my lips pulling down into a frown, and I looked at the ground as I thought as
fast as I could. "I have, actually."
"I'll go check and see if we have any poison; that should take care of them."
He thought they were rats, which was good for me. But dread filled me. If he
went up to the attic, I'd have no choice...
"I can do it, Daddy," I said, raising my gaze from the floor to look at him and
give him a soft smile. "It's dusty up there, anyway. You don't want your
allergies to flare up." Don't argue, Daddy, I thought sorrowfully, tightening
my hold on the handle of the knife until I was sure my knuckles were turning
white. If you argue, it'll be bad. If you go up there, I'll have to kill you.
Please don't make me do that, Daddy. I don't want to hurt you, but I will if I
have to.
He gave me a very stern look, eyes hardening and brows furrowing, and he opened
his mouth to protest. I felt sadness stab at my heart, but a reluctant
determination came over me. "Yeah, but-" he started, but was efficiently cut
off by the ringing of his phone.
Instant relief flooded me, and I quickly shoved the knife into the waistband of
my trousers while he was distracted, the blade pointing upward and resting
against my back. I was happy that I wouldn't have to kill him. I pulled my
shirt over the knife and then crossed my arms over my chest as I waited
politely for him to finish his conversation on the phone. From the sounds of
it, the caller was none other than a drunken Bard; he sounded highly upset, and
I sent a silent thought of appreciation to the man. Thanks to him, I wasn't
forced to destroy the man I loved.
"Ciel, it's Bard. He needs m-" my father started, giving me an apologetic look,
but I cut him off before he could finish his sentence in my excitement to get
him to leave.
"Go, Daddy," I said, giving him an understanding smile. Don't sound too eager
or else he might not leave, and then we'll have a problem on our hands. Once
he's gone, things can proceed as planned. "I'll take care of your suitcase and
those pesky attic rats for you."
"I'm not sure I'll be home in time for dinner..." he said, looking upset that
he'd have to leave me to fend for myself again.
I giggled and waved away his worry. It was better for me that way; I wasn't
planning on eating, I didn't have time, nor was I hungry. I had too much to do,
and not enough time to do it. "It's okay, we'll eat dinner together tomorrow
night."
He came over and hugged me, and I stiffened, hoping he wouldn't push the knife
into my skin or feel it beneath my thin shirt, but he thankfully didn't seem to
notice. He darted down the stairs after releasing me, and I watched him run his
fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it. As soon as his car had
pulled out of the driveway, I placed the knife onto a table in the hall, and
turned towards the attic. Time to deal with the little rat problem.
Pulling the rope down, I stormed up the stairs and glared hatefully down at
Elizabeth, a cruel sneer curling my lips. "That was a close call. You were
almost saved. It's too bad. For you." I pulled the attic entrance closed and
shoved my feet into my shoes, followed by the shoe covers. "You've really
fucking pissed me off this time, you fucking cunt. You're going to get exactly
what you deserve."
She cowered in fear, unable to see me, but hearing my angered movements made
her flinch, and when I walked too close to her she shrank into herself,
whimpering and sucking in tiny gasps. I finished pulling on my gear, stomping
over to the tray and picking up the hunting knife. I held it up in the light,
admiring the blade for the umpteenth time, before I turned back to her. I
slowly walked over to her, my head tilting to the side. My foot came down upon
her hand, and I ground my heel into it, as punishment for clawing at the
ground. "I should have removed those fucking talons when I had the chance."
She cried out, yanking on her arm in a weak attempt to get her hand free. I
raised a brow at her actions, observing her futility. It amazed me the amount
of self-preservation she possessed. Too bad it was going to get her nowhere.
Her stomach making an odd gurgling sound made me pause, before a half smirk
twisted the corner of my lips. The lotion must have been causing her intense
pain as her body had no choice but to digest it. It was essentially poison. I
was surprised she had yet to vomit. We'll take care of that.
I pushed her onto her back with my foot, making myself comfortable on her
thighs. I trailed the knife along her lower stomach, before turning it upwards
and tracing along the bottom of her ribcage. My voice was ice cold when I
spoke, completely void of anything but cruelty. "I bet your insides smell like
lavender now. Shall we find out?"
I didn't even hesitate; I raised my hands above my head, both clutching tightly
to the handle. In one swift motion I plunged them downwards, exerting as much
force as was possible, and sank the blade deep into her gut. I twisted and
turned my wrists, guiding the knife as I cut open her skin in a jagged line.
The tranexamic acid had worn off long ago, and her blood flowed out of her in
rivers, the dark red so deep it was almost black; it was mesmerising, pooling
up beneath the wound and spilling over. Elizabeth gagged and sputtered, the
thick, warm liquid flecking her lips as she coughed it up. Her face paled
immensely, her mind going into shock from the intensity of the wound and the
pain it caused. I leaned toward her face, keeping far enough away to not be
decorated in her blood, but close enough that my voice would register.
"I thought I had broken you mentally, but you still had some smidgen of sanity
left in you. I'm going to fucking snuff it out," I growled, my teeth clenched
together, and I pushed my hand into her body, grabbing onto the first slippery
organ I could get my fingers around. I began pulling it out, and I looked down
to see what I was holding onto. It was her large intestine, looking like a
giant worm. My rubber glove was completely soaked in the thick blood, and I let
the intestine hit the tarp with a splatter. A low laugh left me, starting out
small and subdued, but as I began yanking on her organs, ripping them out of
her body, it got louder and louder, and soon it didn't even resemble the sound
of a human laugh. I crushed her kidney in my fist, letting the sticky meat slip
out of my hand and hit her stomach. Taking her hands, I placed them on her
abdomen, my voice tinged with laughter and shaking so hard from my mirth that I
would be amazed if she understood a word. "Can you feel them? All of your
fucking insides have come outside. They're spilling out of you."
I watched her entire body freeze, her dainty hands coated in blood as she tried
to press the laceration shut, as if she could stop her life from flowing out of
her, or will her intestines back inside. I picked up my hunting knife again; it
was completely soiled and would need to be thoroughly cleansed. I stood up
momentarily to throw her legs open, and I kneeled in the blood, making sure the
raincoat protected my pants. I was already sure that the shoes would have to be
disposed of, as the covers had been completely soaked through.
"Time for the grand finale," I said giddily, the remnants of laughter in my
body coming out as a half-mad giggle. My fingers hooked into her panties and
yanked them down around her ankles. "I hope that this is the last thing you
feel," I murmured, and then as brutally as possible, I sheathed the knife
inside of her vagina. Elizabeth let out a long, drawn out scream, chilling and
haunting enough to curdle blood. I thrust it into her several times, pushing
deeper. Blood spilled out of her in gushes, and I twisted the blade around
inside of her, desperate to mangle and ruin her. She had tempted my father with
this, and I was going to take it away from her.
Elizabeth fell silent, the blood flow slowly ebbing as she completely bled out,
and even though I knew she was dead, I continued to rape her with the hunting
knife, grunting from the exertion. I finally tired myself out on it, and I sat
on my haunches to look at her corpse. My most macabre piece of art; every ounce
of my rage and anger had been poured into this, and it was made all the more
beautiful by the silent scream on her face. Her mouth was open as far as it
could go, her skin stretched in excruciating agony. Her life had ended in
torturous misery, exactly as she deserved.
I sucked in deep breaths to calm my racing heart, my gaze sliding down to take
in my appearance. The raincoat was unrecognizable, the clear plastic completely
saturated in the sticky, slowly drying blood. The gloves were getting stiffer
and harder to move my hands in, they were so coated in her essence. I rose to
my feet, pulling the gloves off and throwing them away, before carefully
removing the parka. I added that to the trash, exchanging the shoe covers for
new ones. They were no longer necessary for shoe protection since I would be
throwing them away, but they would keep me from tracking blood all over the
attic. After putting on new gloves, I carefully dragged Elizabeth towards one
side of the tarp, then flipped it up over her feet. I circled around to the top
of her head, doing the same thing there, before grabbing onto the stool and
wastebasket. I used those to prop up the other end of the tarp so that no blood
would spill out. My goal was to wrap her up carefully like a corpse burrito,
and not allow anything to leak from it before we could get her into a bodybag.
Once I got everything set up, I tossed the flap over her body, beginning to
painstakingly roll her towards the other side. She was even heavier now that
she was dead than when she was unconscious, which was weird considering all the
blood and flesh she'd lost these last few days. Once I got her close to the
propped up edge, I stopped pushing her and grabbed onto the draped-over end; I
folded it into itself once, like a person would normally do with wrapping
paper, as an extra precaution against spillage. I wrapped that over-top her,
and then carefully taped the seam with duct tape. This makeshift bodybag was
certainly not efficient, and if you moved her the wrong way, blood would make
its shot at freedom, but it would do until he could get here.
Certain that Undertaker was on his way, I had to work fast; I still had to have
time to shower, finish laundry, and put my father's clothes and suitcase away.
He needed no more reasons to come up into the attic, and I was hoping that if I
took care of the suitcase, he wouldn't see a need to come up here. Especially
because I'd taken care of the rat. I grabbed a fresh trash bag and shoved all
of the tools, ones I had and hadn't used, into it, for they would all need to
be disinfected and properly cleaned before they could be returned to whatever
stores they had come from, and put back into circulation. They would most
certainly be put on clearance, as none of them were broken or damaged, but all
of them had been removed from packaging. If anyone had ever wondered why an
item was marked down, it was because it had been previously purchased and
returned. People never did question, though; all they saw was a sale, and if
luck was on my side, all of the evidence here would make its way into
households all over town, untraceable to me.
With the last item in the bag, I sealed it off before stuffing it into another
bag as a precaution. I pulled the plastic wrap down from all of the boxes and
paraphernalia that my father kept in the attic; now that there was no mess
being splattered everywhere, it no longer needed to be protected, and I would
move everything back into its exact place after I had cleaned. I threw them
into the wastebasket, before untying the knot and setting the bucket carefully
onto a box, managing to avoid touching it with my dirty glove. I did the same
with the stool, setting it up and out of the way after I had taken the black
bag off of it. I shoved all of the trash into the main bag, full of flesh and
needles, before I tied it off and triple-bagged it; the last thing I needed was
for something to break through and everything to go spilling out. Good thing
Undertaker got the heavy duty bags.
Speak of the devil, and he shall arise, the saying goes. As soon as the thought
was completed in my brain, the attic stairs dropped down, nearly giving me a
heart attack, and Undertaker popped his head up.
"I figured you'd want me to let myself in," he said with a chuckle, and I
walked over to him, stopping him on the last step.
I held up my gloved hand to ward him off as he started to ignore me and lifted
his foot. "Don't step in. I can't have you tracking contaminated shoes through
my house. I already have enough shit to clean and not enough fucking time. Do
you have the bodybag?" I raised a brow at him, almost expecting him to tell me
that he didn't because he thought I wouldn't need one.
"That I do; s'right here, kekeke." He pulled it out of his cloak of mysteries,
passing it off to me, and I quickly unfolded it, looking it over to make sure
it was perfectly in tact.
"You didn't steal this off of a corpse, did you?" I asked absentmindedly, not
really caring for an answer either way. Once I had deemed the contraption
acceptable for use, I shoved it back into Undertaker's arms and turned away
from him. "Unzip it and get ready to lift. You had better be wearing gloves." I
grasped onto the upper end of the tarp and slowly began dragging it along the
plastic-wrapped floor, making sure that I let nothing spill out. I grunted as I
tugged on the dead weight, not really paying attention to where I was going.
"You have to be careful, there's a lot of fucking blood in here, and I'm sure
it's not all dry yet."
I could hear him fumbling with the bag behind me, and I very nearly walked off
of the attic floor and fell into the hall below. I would have easily snapped my
neck if Undertaker hadn't caught me. I thanked him grudgingly, before dropping
Elizabeth with a huff. A sweat was breaking out on my brow from exertion. This
was not the first time I had thought this, but the fucking bitch weighed a ton.
I turned to look at him, almost forgetting myself and resting my hands on my
hips in annoyance, but I stopped myself. I didn't want to have to throw out
this shirt. I gave him an irritated glare. "Where are your fucking gloves?"
"Oh, I apologize, little lord," Undertaker snickered as he reached into his
black cloak, digging around momentarily, before withdrawing heavy duty rubber
gloves. He pulled them onto his hands as I ignored his comment, refusing to
dignify it with a retort. I didn't have the energy for his witty banter.
"Hurry the fuck up," I snarled, turning towards the bodybag. No way in fuck I
was lifting her again; I'd just hold it open for him to shove the cow in there.
"Oh, and not that there's really time to discuss it, but I don't see why you
wear that stupid fucking cloak when you're not disguised. It seems very
impractical to me."
"I wear it for aesthetic reasons, of course. Don't I look more like a mortician
this way? It suits my name." His explanation made him burst into that unstable
laughter of his, and I rolled my eyes.
"Oh, of course, that makes perfect fucking sense," I muttered, holding the bag
wide open as he began to transfer her into it.
"I knew you'd agree with me," Undertaker stated loudly, and I sighed in
exasperation. Leave it to this bastard to misinterpret my words. I knew he did
it on purpose to grate on my nerves, but for the love of fuck, I wish he
wouldn't insist on making me want to strangle him when the clock was ticking
down. I had no idea when my father was going to get home, and I really didn't
want to push my luck and end up being caught.
I remained silent as he finished tucking Elizabeth into the bodybag, and I
zipped it up before I moved out of his way. He lifted her up and walked
backwards down the stairs before setting her down in the hallway. He turned his
gaze up to me expectantly, and I ducked back into the attic, out of his sight.
"Give me five minutes, and you'll have everything I need you to dispose of."
I heard his chuckling response but chose to ignore him as I removed everything
from the tv tray, throwing it into a new bag, before I placed the tv tray
itself inside of it. I knew that it would not be missed; my father had stopped
using tv trays when I had come to live with him, and I knew that they would
remain untouched forever, because I was never planning to leave him. I lifted
up the hunting knife, caked in blood and flesh, giving it one last desirous
look. I wanted to keep it; it was perfect in every way, but I knew that people
who kept souvenirs of their murders always got caught. With a sorrowful sigh, I
wiped the handle with a sanitary wipe to remove any fingerprints of mine, slid
it into its holder so it wouldn't rip through the bag, and shoved it in with
everything else. Once everything contaminated with her DNA was in the bag, I
tied it off and brought it and several other bags to the entrance, setting them
down for Undertaker to grab.
I ran to the back of the attic, lifting up the plastic wrap away from the wood.
Once a sufficient amount was moved I quickly took off my shoe, cover and all,
and placed my sock-covered foot onto the actual floor. I carefully did the same
with the other, setting them both down onto the plastic wrap. I began pulling
it up from the floor all at once, wrapping it in on itself around the shoes,
and once all of the plastic was off of the floor, I removed the gloves I was
wearing, opened a new trash bag, and shoved everything in. I sealed it and
passed it down to Undertaker, who set it with the other bags.
"That should be everything that needs to be disposed of. I do have your payment
ready." I turned back to look at the attic, which was oddly barren after
becoming used to the setup I had had, and took Undertaker's original canvas bag
into my grasp, setting the jar gently inside. Elizabeth's emerald orbs bobbed
around in the formaldehyde, seeming to look at me for one last accusing moment,
before I closed the bag and brought it down the stairs.
Undertaker took it from my hands, opened it to study his payment, and gave a
hum of approval. "Your removal is as clean as always. They are such pretty
eyes." He sighed, his gaze raising up to me, and he took a step closer to me.
His gloveless hand came up to cup my jaw, and I met his gaze unabashedly as he
studied my eyes, before they settled on my right one. "Curious," he mumbled to
himself, which made me furrow my brows in slight confusion before I brushed it
off. "Your eyes are the most intriguing, of course. Save them for me, will
you?"
I dislodged his hold on my jaw by backhanding his arm and jerking my head away.
"You'll get them over my dead body..." I said, pausing momentarily to cock my
head to the side. "Although, that is the point."
My little "joke" made him laugh like it was the funniest thing he had ever
heard in his life. That trademark kekeke of his echoed in my hall, and I sucked
in an impatient breath before I began herding him towards the stairs.
"You have your payment, now kindly take all this shit and get the fuck out.
You're wasting my precious time."
"As you command, little lord," he chortled, picking up all of the trash bags
first and making his way downstairs.
I didn't have the time to babysit him or correct his idiocy, and I instead ran
back up to the attic. I had placed cleaning supplies here for myself prior to
this series of events for a fast clean up, and I was thankful that I had had
the foresight to do so. I had no need to do a deep cleaning, nor did I have the
required half of a day to be able to do so; all that really needed to be done
was disinfect and remove all traces of the stench. I climbed up onto a couple
of boxes pushed up under the window, perching precariously on them as I threw
open the attic window. First I had to air this place out. I scrubbed the entire
expanse of the floor before I began pushing everything back into its rightful
spots, on the off chance that my father did decide to come up here. Once
everything was properly positioned, I sprayed enough air freshener to kill all
of China, and it absorbed the funk that had been clinging to the stagnant air
for days. I positioned a small battery-powered fan in the window, pointing it
outwards so that it would suck all of the contaminated oxygen out, thus
purifying the attic once again.
Leaving it to do its thing, I grabbed all of the cleaning supplies and flew out
of the attic, shoving the stairs back up. I made mental note to take the fan
down and shut the window when I went to take my father's suitcase up there, but
first I had to put these chemical cleansers away and take a shower. I returned
them to underneath the sink in the bathroom, tearing my clothes off as I kicked
the cabinet door shut. I ripped open the shower curtains and jumped in, turning
the water on. I took the quickest shower I could manage whilst still being very
thorough, stumbling out completely drenched. I shut the water off and grabbed a
random towel, quickly drying off. My hair was still dripping it was so
saturated with water, but I couldn't care less right now. I dropped my clothing
and the towel down the laundry chute, then sprinted into my room, where I
grabbed a random pair of boxers and tugged them on. I ignored my father's
suitcase for now, storming down the stairs in a hurry and stumbling towards the
basement.
I threw open the basement door and took the stairs two at a time, landing hard
on the concrete with an oomph. I walked over to the washer and dryer,
transferring the wet clothes to the latter and tossing in a few dryer sheets
before starting it. I picked up the articles I had just sent through the chute,
shoving them into the washer and dumping the soap and softener in. I slammed
the lid down and started the cycle.
Having no idea what time it was, I rushed back up the stairs, pushing the
basement door shut without stopping, and I rounded back to go up the main
staircase. Once I had reached the top, I paused to suck in panting breaths of
air. After my lungs had stopped seizing, I turned toward my father's room,
striding over and throwing open the door. I dragged his suitcase inside,
unzipping it once I reached the middle of his room. I dropped to my knees,
hovering over the contents, and sucking in a deep breath. Nothing smelled off.
I leaned even closer, pressing my nose into the fabric of one of his dress
shirts, and took a huge inhale, drawing his scent deep within me. They smelled
of my father; no women's perfumes lingered on them. I finally felt myself
relax; I had never doubted that it had been a business trip, but since he
randomly decided to start dating once again, I could never be too careful. I
began putting his clothing away, folding what needed to be folded, and hanging
up any of his suits.
As I was hanging up a suit, I paused, the barest hint of a flowery scent
hitting my nostrils. I brought it to my nose, breathing in deeply. It was most
certainly the aroma of a woman, but I felt no need to see it as a threat;
whatever contact they had had was brief, perhaps a bump to the shoulder.
Besides that, there was a distinct older woman fragrance to it, and if my
father's deceased date had anything to show, it was his preference in more
youthful persons. I finished putting away his things, but I turned back to his
closet and grabbed one of his t-shirts. I removed it from the hanger and
slipped it on; it hung off of me like a dress it was so baggy, but I didn't
care. It was his. I wanted to sleep in his essence.
Grabbing the suitcase, I exited his room and shut the door, carrying it over to
the attic entrance. I reached up and grabbed the rope, pulling the stairs down.
I climbed up and set his suitcase near the opening in the floor, in case he
needed it any time soon. I slipped all the way inside to take the fan out of
the window, shutting it off and setting it where it belonged, before I pulled
the window shut. I left the attic for hopefully the last time; I was getting
tired of walking up and down the stairs. I closed the staircase up, and trudged
to my room, where I fell onto my bed, face-first into a pillow. I released a
drawn out groan, my body melting into my mattress. It was so comfortable, and I
could finally relax.
===============================================================================
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I knew, a loud thud crept up the
stairs from the living room. I groaned softly and opened my eyes, glancing at
the clock on my nightstand; it was just after eleven at night, and I shut my
lids tightly again, a small whine in my throat. I was exhausted, and I just
wanted to sleep. In no way was I prepared to go to school tomorrow after my
long weekend; if I could just pass out right this second, and have no dreams, I
would get approximately 6 hours, 53 minutes, and 17 seconds of sleep. I took a
relaxing breath, and just as I was about to succumb to unconsciousness, I
remembered that I left my bedroom door wide open. With a long-suffering sigh, I
shuffled to the edge of my bed and slid onto my feet, not bothering to open my
eyes. I dragged my feet over to the portal and grasped onto the handle to shut
it silently. No need to make my father think I was awake. I had gotten up just
in time, because I heard him trudging up the steps in what he must have thought
as quiet in his drunken state, but really he sounded like a heard of elephants
falling off of a cliff and making impact with the ground below. I turned away
from the door and headed back toward my bed, my ears pricking as the noise in
the hall stopped; it seemed as though he had come to a standstill. He must have
been listening for rats. You won't be hearing anymore, Daddy. I took care of
her for you. I thought groggily, sliding back beneath the covers.
Sleep was futile, I soon realised, as my bladder was protesting and demanding
to be emptied. "Whyyyyy?" I moaned, completely irritated, and I rubbed at my
eyes. "I just want to fucking sleep." My whispered voice had the edge of a
whine, and I kicked my blanket off of me violently. I quietly stormed over to
my bedroom door once again, throwing it open silently.
A murderous aura surrounded me as I stalked down the hall to the bathroom. I
didn't bother to shut the door or turn on the light, which was something I
would normally never do, but it proved how tired I was. After taking a long,
relieving piss, I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, drying them on the
hand towel before treading out into the hall. I was about to go back into my
room, but a sound caught my attention, causing me to freeze and listen.
My father groaned again, and my head turned toward his bedroom door so fast I
nearly snapped my own neck. I felt my eyes widen considerably; he must have
been highly intoxicated, because he was normally a bit more cautious than he
was currently being. I silently tiptoed over to his door, leaning against the
frame and peeking through the tiny crack. I daringly laid my hand against the
wood and gave it a small push, opening it a few more centimeters so that I
could have a better view. I was certainly not disappointed; his large, slender
fingers were wrapped around his dick, sliding up and down the turgid flesh. His
head was tilted back, eyes shut tightly in pleasure as he let his imagination
run wild with whatever fantasy he was having. I felt my own orbs lid, my body
feeling entirely too hot at the sight of him. I licked my lips, and had to bite
my tongue to stifle a responding sound when he grunted.
My own cock was throbbing to life, straining against the fabric of my boxers
within moments, and I sucked in a shallow breath, trying to be as quiet as
possible. I rested one arm against the wall, leaning against it to hold myself
up as my other hand slipped inside my boxers. I slowly curled each digit around
the heated protuberance, mimicking his motions as I drank in ever movement and
sound he made. My hand squeezed around my dick when I saw his hips buck up, and
my thighs quivered weakly as my entire body tensed with need. I imagined him
thrusting roughly into me, and my eyes nearly fell shut, though I stayed
focused on him, my gaze dropping down to stare in fascination at his large,
thick cock. Fuck, I wanted it in me so badly. His shirt was saturated with his
scent, and it washed over me, crashing over my senses and swallowing me up,
sending me into a feverish fantasy. I wanted to be perched atop him, slamming
down as I road him like my life depended on it. I wanted it to stretch me, rip
me apart, fill me up; I wanted to be so full of his warm cum that it was
positively oozing out of me. All of my mental images had my back arching so
sharply it should have broke in half, and I moved my hand as fast as I could as
my stomach began to coil. I panted loudly, hoping that he wouldn't hear me, but
he seemed as lost in his own ministrations as I was becoming.
When I saw his cum shoot out and splatter on his stomach, I slammed my forehead
silently against the wall, my eyes shutting tightly as a tiny moan escaped my
trembling lips. My body felt so taut before my release hit, and I weakly fell
to my knees as I came into my own hand. I sucked in ragged breaths, trying to
calm my palpitating heart as my member softened in my grasp. A few minutes
passed before I pulled my hand out of my boxers, and I unsteadily got to my
feet. I took one last look at him through the crack; he was completely passed
out, his breathing soft as he peacefully snoozed.
A tiny smile creeped its way onto my lips, and I turned around, feeling sated
and languid as I made my way back into my bedroom. I shut the door behind me
with my clean hand, walking over to my nightstand and opening a drawer. I
pulled a packet of sanitary wipes out, before removing one and using it to
clean all of my essence from my hand. I used another one to wipe my flaccid
dick clean, and tossed both into the wastebasket next to my desk. Finally, I
crawled back into my bed, my body going weak as soon as I was fully under the
covers, and I snuggled down deep into my pillows, burrowing into my blankets,
until only the top of my head peeked out.
It didn't take long for me to fall asleep, and it was thankfully deep and
dreamless. I didn't realise that, in my exhausted state, I had forgotten to
lock my door.
Chapter End Notes
     Aaaaaaaand, there you have it. Did any of you chicken out? Who puked?
     FEED ME YOUR THOUGHTS. I want comments for days. FOR DAYS PEOPLE.
     CHOPPITY CHOP.
     But really, joking aside, I really am truly curious about your
     thoughts and opinions on the characters thus far. It would make me
     very happy to see what all of you dear readers think.
     Now I shall retire to my mancave and engage in a small coma. I'm
     riggety riggety wrecked, son.
     Kisses and Love, Always Love, Ritsy
***** Suspicious Sebastian *****
Clad in a luxurious tuxedo, the silken bow tie squeezing my throat ever so
slightly, I strode forward, my posture as straight as it could possibly be. So
straight, in fact, that it was amazing that a human spine could be so
vertically proportioned. As I started to weave through small groups of
elegantly dressed civilians, eyes would occasionally flicker in my direction,
though they never lingered long and they brushed my presence off easily.
"So far, so good," I breathed, practically holding my breath as I continued on
my way. The further I traveled inside the building, the more people there were,
and it was getting more and more difficult to avoid the various guests.
"Excuse me," a woman called out as I accidentally bumped into her, though her
tone sounded irritated rather than apologetic.
"Bitch," I muttered, though I didn't turn back, for I didn't want my brewing
annoyance to distract me from my goal.
I proceeded down a long corridor, my pupils glancing over the aesthetic designs
on the walls with mild interest. Clearly someone had good taste.
Turning a corner, I stopped in my tracks, my eyes widening momentarily as I saw
a man in all white attire, talking to a few people nonchalantly. That was him.
I could spot him from a mile away. Hell, I could practically see red as I
stared at the man. If he was scared of getting found, however, he didn't show
it; he wasn't doing a very good job at hiding.
A few more people brushed past me, making me promptly step to the side to avoid
hitting them. "This place is too crowded," I said, my orbs scanning the area.
"I need to find someplace quiet."
As if on cue, the male in white ended his conversation with the guests and
started to tread upstairs, a single man from the group walking beside him and
continuing to chat. I smirked, easily tailing them, though keeping my distance
as I slowly padded up the stairs; I couldn't afford to get noticed, and I'd
feel incompetent if I was discovered otherwise.
Reaching the top of the staircase, I turned my head to the left, catching the
figures of the two men disappearing into a room down a far hallway. Taking a
step forward, I intended to follow them, though I froze and cursed when I saw
two security guards blocking the passage.
"Not those fucking brutes," I hissed in rage, my brows furrowing momentarily.
"I'll have to find another way around."
I chose to walk in the other direction, padding down the opposite corridor and
entering the first door I saw. A grin spread across my lips as I observed a
balcony through two glass doors at the back of the room, and I hurriedly
sprinted over to it. Throwing the doors open, I stepped onto the balcony, and,
much to my glee, I observed that the balcony circled around the entire manor,
allowing me to enter the chamber the two men were in easily.
I carefully treaded along the balcony, crouching slyly and moving cautiously
when I was afraid more guards could possibly be glancing out the window, and,
though it was a bit tedious, I eventually arrived outside of my desired
location. Peering in through the glass window, I studied the man in white and
the other male, noting that their lips were moving and hands gesturing in a
deep conversation.
Clearing my throat, I composed myself, before I grasped a hold of the gun
hidden in my suit jacket, my hand gently pulling it out into view. Steadily, I
raised my weapon, aimed it at the man in white, and fired.
The man collapsed instantly, and his counterpart was overcame with an
expression of panic, immediately crouching down to see if the male was okay.
"Yes! Nailed it!" I proclaimed victoriously, throwing my arms up into the air
in accomplishment. At about that time, Bard entered my cubicle carrying a box
of doughnuts, and a look of amusement on his face as his eyes flicked over to
my computer screen.
"You know, Sebastian, if you're going to be acting like the world's greatest
assassin, I have to wonder why you haven't taken out our boss yet."
A look of embarrassment washed over my face and I quickly paused my game,
clearing my throat nervously. "Well, it's not like I haven't thoughtabout it."
"Oh, I'm sure you have, considering you're procrastinating so easily."
"Hey, I work hard! Everyone deserves a break, right?"
Setting the box of doughnuts down in front of me, Bard raised a cynical
eyebrow. "We've been at work for thirty minutes."
I flashed him a sheepish smile, my hand rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly.
"Okay, I mightbe procrastinating."
"No better way to procrastinate than with a video game, right?" Bard mumbled,
his hand reaching inside of the doughnut box and taking out a pastry covered in
powdered sugar.
"I agree. Procrastinating like this is heaven." My eyes continued to stare at
the pause screen of my game, my arm extending as my fingers brushed along the
surface of a raspberry-filled delight. Before I could grasp it, however, a
female voice made me freeze, and both Bard and I turned to look toward the
door.
"You may just be able to procrastinate all day," one of our female coworkers
stated, her confident stride evident as she smoothly strolled into the room. I
looked her up and down, noting that her faded lavender hair was pulled up in a
tight bun today, rather than her usual high ponytail. Sophisticated-styled
glasses adorned her face, perched low on her nose so her deep blue eyes could
be seen more clearly. Her typical lilac lips were curled into a small smile,
and her arms folded across her chest. She wore a white blouse, the shirt
practically fitting her like a second skin, and it was unbuttoned at the top to
accommodate her large breasts, her cleavage pushed up and nearly spilling over
the material. A tight pencil skirt flattered her tiny waist, though the garment
looked as if it was about to split at the seams considering her large behind.
Finally, a dangerously tall pair of stilettos adorned her feet, making her legs
seem more slender and her figure even curvier than it already was. If her
description hadn't given it away already, she was known as the official office
crush, for she was, to put it simply, the hottest coworker we've ever had.
"Hannah," I greeted, surprise coloring my voice as I glanced up at the gleaming
sapphires she had for eyes. "What brings you here?"
"Didn't you know? No one is where they're supposed to be today, including
Bard," she snickered in her low voice, flashing my friend a wink as she looked
over at him. Bardroy was already a lost cause, however; drool was already
forming at the corner of his lips as he stared at her chest.
"Why's that?" I asked, retracting my hand from the doughnut box and instead
using it to tug on my tie. As Bard had already pointed out with his ogling,
Hannah's shirt was unbuttoned a bit more than it would be on a usual basis, so
that naturally made me question if I had to wear a tie at all.
"The boss isn't coming in today," Hannah answered coolly, crossing one leg over
the other as she suavely sat herself atop my desk.
"H-he's not?" I stuttered in shock, puzzlement contorting my features as I
pondered if what Hannah said was actually true. She simply stared at her long
talons in a bored manner, her pupils studying her oxblood nails as if to search
for any chips in the paint.
"Haven't you noticed? It's nearly nine and he's still not here. His office is
still dark and locked up tight, and if you know the boss, you know that if he's
not here on time, he's not coming."
My brows furrowed as I let Hannah's words sink in. So she was merely assuming
that he wouldn't be coming in today; she didn't have solid facts to back up her
suspicions. Bard must've finally snapped out of his trance, because he spoke
up.
"She's probably right," he said as he turned to me, his hand running through
and mussing up his blond hair. "The boss has never done anything like this, has
he?"
"I've worked for him since I was in high school," Hannah proclaimed, her claws
clicking as she drummed them against my desk. "And never once did he miss work
without at least calling first."
"So this is new for him," I breathed, my eyes widening slightly in thought.
"Maybe he's dead."
"Hallelujah!" Bard cheered, throwing his arms up in celebration. His
spontaneous action made Hannah giggle in amusement, and in return, her laughter
made him blush like a school kid.
"He could be. I just figured I'd let you men know, in case you wanted to
consider procrastinating." With that, Hannah slid off my desk, easily landing
on her spiked heels. She gave my shoulder a tender squeeze and flashed Bard a
dazzling smirk before she sauntered out the same way she came, sensually
swinging her hips as she did so. My friend drank in the sight until she was out
of view, before he then wolf-whistled in awe.
"God damn, is Hannah sexy. I don't think I've ever met a woman more tempting
than her, and I've seen a lot of strippers."
I raised a brow as I stared at my friend, shaking my head as I started to roll
my sleeves up. "I'm starting to see why Mey makes you sleep on the couch now."
"Come on, man, don't be like that!" Bard groaned, his hand slapping my back
harshly in disbelief. "You see a woman like thatand you're going to try to
brush it off? You're not God's gift, Sebastian."
"Hey, I agree she's hot, and I guarantee she's perfectly capable of giving me a
boner," I said, my newly exposed forearms falling to my sides once I've tugged
my tie off and loosened the collar of my shirt. "And believe me, I would fuck
her in a heartbeat, but I don't feel like getting every STD known to man,
including the ones that haven't even been discovered yet."
I had no ill will toward Hannah; she was a nice woman, and she was indeed a
temptress. This was no surprise to her, for she already knew that it was what
she did best. Her body could obtain her anything and everything she ever
desired, and she used that to her advantage. Plus, she seemed to be a
nymphomaniac anyway, for every week she was cheating on her husband with
someone new. Everyone who knew Hannah was aware of this, as well; everyone
excluding her husband, at least. If it wasn't for these facts, I'd have no
problem - no, I would be dyingto sleep with her, but I never lusted after
anyone who had a million previous sex partners, and I wasn't one to assist in
ruining a marriage.
"Anyway," Bard breathed, thankfully deciding to change the subject. "I guess
we're off the hook today."
"Yeah, I guess so," I agreed, sighing as I glanced back over at my computer
screen. I didn't like believing that I was clear to fuck around without knowing
if I truly am or not, but after Hannah assuring us that she was positive he
wouldn't be showing up, I was inclined to assume that he wouldn't be. "So I
guess we can just do whatever, huh?"
"Guess so," Bard shrugged, picking up his box of pastries. "Grab the doughnut
you want so I can leave. I'll be watching porn for the rest of the day."
With a chuckle, I retrieved my raspberry-filled doughnut, allowing Bard to
leave and do his thing. A tranquil smile was carved into my lips as I leisurely
enjoyed my breakfast, taking steady bites in between playing my game. From the
loud laughter and chattering I could hear, everyone else was taking advantage
of their free day as well.
As long as the boss never showed up, everything would be fine.
 
===============================================================================
 
It would seem that I needed to place more trust into Hannah's intuitions, for
as she had predicted, our boss never showed his face once today. His office
remained dark and locked, while, unlike usual procedure, the cubicles
surrounding were filled with boisterous conversations that would probably serve
to give our boss a heart attack had he witnessed it himself. Going off an
assumption, I was fairly sure that no one did an ounce of work today; even the
ass kissers of the building seemed to be celebrating our employer's
disappearance. What a surprise that was.
"If only we had more days like this at work," Bard huffed as we exited the
building, his hand raking through his usual mussed hair. Though his appearance
was its regular state of distress, his eyes seemed to be lighter than usual;
perhaps all of that alcohol consumption last night helped knock him out.
"I agree. It's a shame work has to be hell every day."
"Yeah..." My friend sighed, his words trailing off. We continued to stride
toward our vehicles, though I watched his blue eyes float up to the sky
thoughtfully as we walked, his orbs seeming to be clouded with a million
pondering questions. "Oi, Sebastian, you think we deserve better than this?"
My eyes widened a bit, a single eyebrow arching in reaction to his inquiry. I
glanced over to him, trying to study his expression carefully. "What do you
mean, 'do we deserve better than this?' We talk about leaving this place to
find a different job all the time."
Bard frowned a little, and he shook his head slightly. "Yeah, I know that. But
do you think we deserve better than allof this? This town, this job, these
lives, our families. Do we deserve better than all of this? We go through a lot
of shit, man."
His elaboration of his question practically blew me away. He was basically
asking me if I felt like I deserved the chance to run away from everything I
had, simply to try to find something better. It was a selfish thing to wish
for, obviously, but everyone believed the grass was greener on the other side,
and I suppose Bard and I did go through quite a bit of shit. For me, I had went
from the most promising boy in town to a victim of domestic violence, which was
possibly the most embarassing thing for a man to admit in his life. Then, I
discovered I had a child out of the blue, and I was expected to instantly be
prepared to be a father of a boy who had already started growing. I did love
Ciel, but I'd be lying if I said it hadn't been troublesome. Although, would I
leave him? Would I leave this town and this job in pursuit of something else?
"No."
"What?" Bard blinked, startled by my sudden statement.
"No," I shrugged, brushing off his inquiry. "I don't think we deserve anything
better."
"B-but why?" He was completely flabbergasted at this point. "With all the shit
that happened with Rachel, and then the way Mey's been, and then Ciel-"
"We chose our paths, Bard. We could've went to college and picked up every girl
on the beaches like we planned, but we both decided against it. I chose to stay
with Rachel, and you chose to stay with Mey. You're still choosing to stay with
Mey, and I made my choice to be a proper father instead of giving Ciel to some
orphanage. We made our choices, and we deserve every consequence that comes
with them."
Bardroy remained silent for a while, his expression utterly blank. He appeared
to be lost inside himself, his complexion revealing a deadened part of him that
I had never seen before. Was Bard that upset with life?
Eventually, though, he blinked, and his face returned to his normal neutral
state. "I hope you're right, buddy."
I watched as he turned his back to me, trudging toward the opposite end of the
parking lot where his car surely resided. His posture was hunched, a fist
haphazardly jammed into his trouser pocket. As I continued to stare after him,
a feeling of uneasiness made my stomach churn, nausea threatening to make me
light-headed. I had never seen Bard act so... Off. It was almost as if he felt
like something was sure to go wrong soon.
And, though I was never a religious man, I prayed that wasn't true.
 
===============================================================================
 
Tuesday morning started off quiet and uneventful.
Last night, Ciel seemed to shovel in his dinner as if he had been starving for
weeks, and he actually ate a few servings instead of his usual one. I had no
idea I was such a great chef, though maybe the cafeteria lunch at school was
just revolting yesterday. I helped him a little with his homework last night,
though I never spoke a French word in my life, - correctly, anyway - and I
received C's in math my entire high school career so I wasn't sure that I
provided much help.
I didn't get adequate sleep last night, for the entire time I was worrying
about Bard, though when I texted him about his wellbeing he simply replied
"Still stuck on couch. Nothing new here."
However, Tuesday morning, Bard seemed to be back to his usual self, and he even
seemed a bit more cheerful. Perhaps he had been nervous about confronting Mey
after work yesterday, but I wasn't sure.
Our boss was actually here today, though he showed up an hour earlier than
usual, (according to Hannah) and his blinds were drawn closed in his office, so
no one knew what to expect; it was peculiar for the boss to shut himself inside
his office, especially with the blinds lowered, for he liked to keep a watchful
eye on everything at all times.
Taking a long drink of my steaming coffee, I let out a sigh. The office was now
entirely silent, save for the clicking of keys and the soft ringing of phones.
It was depressing, really, considering how lively it was yesterday. Everyone
had seemed to love all of their coworkers yesterday, and now we were back to
being isolated today. Maybe we would all be better if our boss dropped dead;
however, taking into consideration his odd behavior and his disappearance
yesterday, it was possible that he had a threatening illness, so I didn't want
to joke about that.
"M-Mr. Michaelis."
My eyes tore away from my computer screen and flickered over to the doorway,
where I noticed Diane standing, her hands clasped together politely.
"Sebastian, Diane," I corrected, setting down my mug so I could lace my fingers
together. "Please don't make me feel older than I am."
"O-oh, I'm sorry!" Diane gasped, her cheeks lighting up in embarrassment. I
gave her a small comforting smile, and she took a deep breath before she
stammered. "S-Sebastian, the boss wishes to speak with you."
My smile fell as I stared at her, and once she noticed my happy expression
fade, she averted her gaze to the ground nervously. "Did he mention why?"
She shook her head, and my lips curled down into a small frown. I stood to my
feet, though, and adjusted my tie before I grasped my suit jacket off of the
back of my chair and slipped into it easily. Approaching the door, I nodded to
the secretary. "Thank you, Diane."
She nodded back, stepping aside so I could exit my cubicle and travel down the
cramped walkway toward my boss' office. I swallowed uneasily as my eyes focused
on his closed door, the entrance appearing ominous somehow and making anxiety
prick at my heart.
"Oi, Sebastian!" Bard called out in a whisper, leaning toward the doorway of
his cubicle as he watched me stride by. "What's going on?"
"I don't know," I confessed, clearing my throat to prevent my voice from
cracking. "I guess he wants to see me."
Bard's face fell at my words. "Shit."
I tipped my head in agreement and continued walking forward, wringing my hands
together as I did so. What could this be about? My performance yesterday? Or,
rather, my lack of performance yesterday? Perhaps he was going to discuss what
happened at the company trip. Oh god, he was going to fire me for showing up to
dinner wigged out of my mind. Or fire me for supposedly "going to get food"
before dinner. I could just hear his words now.
"That steak cost me a fortune and you wasted it all, Michaelis! Get out of my
sight and never come back!"
Fuck. I was going to lose my job over a plate of cooked beef.
Opening my boss' door, I slid inside, words immediately spilling from my mouth.
"Sir, about the company dinner, I was really planning on eating the steak but-"
I stopped speaking as I locked gazes with my employer, his eyes hard as stone
and his lips set into a grim frown, making his wrinkles appear more pronounced
than usual. Flicking my eyes to the right, my heart stopped as my gaze locked
with another pair of orbs, equally as hard and shimmering a portentous gold. I
had seen this man before, it seemed, though not in person, for his stature
intimidated me greatly. He was perhaps only a few inches taller than me, though
I could see his bare biceps flexing and bulging with simple motions, his broad
shoulders and muscular chest making his shirt cling to his frame; it was a
wonder it hadn't ripped yet. A flawlessly polished badge was pinned over his
left breast pocket, the honorable title LIEUTENANT glinting at the top of the
emblem even though there was no light to make it shine. A name tag was perched
over his opposite pocket, the little gold plate presenting C. FAUSTUS in neat
black lettering.
Lieutenant Faustus gave me a curt nod, signaling for me to shut the door behind
me. I did so sluggishly, my back leaning up against the wood as I felt every
ounce of energy leave me. My face had paled, a cold sweat forming at the nape
of my neck and dampening the collar of my shirt. Was I going to jail for
getting stoned at a company retreat? Was I going to a special place where I
would be surrounded by other men who had been caught getting stoned at various
company retreats? Was it really that illegal?Maybe I'd be locked up with
infamous drug lords from around the world, guys who had cut off people's limbs
simply because they gave them a weird look. Lord help my soul.
"Mr. Michaelis, I need to take you down to the station for questioning," the
lieutenant spoke up, his words making my heart practically drop into my stomach
and dissolve in my digestive acid. Fuck. I knew I shouldn't have done drugs. My
mom always told me they would get me in trouble if I ever did them. Dad told me
I'd be a failure if I got involved with drugs. But I didn't listen. I didn't
listen to them. Mom, Dad, I'm sorry. I should've listened. I should've heeded
your warnings. Now I'm going to get raped by a gang of drug lords.
My thoughts came to a brief halt when I watched the lieutenant pull out a pair
of handcuffs, the metal reflecting somehow in the nonexistent light of the
room.
"H-handcuffs? For questioning?" I croaked, barely able to find my voice.
"They're merely a precaution," he said smoothly, gently yet firmly grasping a
hold of one of my arms. "In case you were to attempt to hurt someone."
Oh no. They think I'm violent. They think all of the drugs have gone to my head
and I'm no longer a decent human being. They think I can't control myself. What
if I have to go to rehab? What will happen to Ciel when he finds out his dad is
a drug addict? He'll be afraid of me. He'll think I'll hurt someone. I've never
felt the need to hurt anyone when I got high. I just felt relaxed. And I
consumed a little more than usual. That's it. That's all. I'm not a bad person.
Or am I? I knew I shouldn't have touched that weed. That vile, awful weed. It's
turned me into a monster!
"I-I don't do meth or anything like that." I mumbled over my shoulder to the
lieutenant as he clasped a cuff around one of my wrists.
"That's good to know," he said breathily with a raised brow, almost as if he
was trying to hold back laughter. He clicked the free cuff around my other
wrist, the metal digging into my skin slightly and making me wince. Faustus
opened the door of the office before he gripped onto the chain of the cuffs
with one hand and placed his other on my shoulder to guide me.
Gulping, I began to walk forward slowly, shame contorting my features solemnly.
I kept my eyes to the ground, practically flinching as I heard people gasp in
surprise as they watched me walk by.
"Sebastian!" Bard exclaimed, darting out of his chair and over to the doorway
as fast as a speeding bullet. From the corner of my eye I could see his face
turning red in anger, a vein bulging in his forehead; he always hated cops.
"Hey, buddy, what the fuck do you think you're doing with my friend? He did
nothing! You hear? Nothing!"
"You'd be wise not to harass a lieutenant of the police force," Faustus
growled, though he continued to guide me forward. Before Bard could speak up
again, I flashed him a small reassuring smile, letting him know that it would
all be okay. From the way his complexion went from angry to sympathetic, it
seemed he understood.
As I strode toward my unknown fate, however, I was unsure myself if everything
would truly be okay. And, once we were outside and I was being led into the
back of a police car, I was fairly sure one of two things would happen: I'd die
here in the back of this car from pure anxiety, or I'd die in prison from who
knows what. Neither sounded very appealing.
My eyes were sorrowful as I glanced up at the huge building from the car
window, noting the various faces of my coworkers watching me out their windows.
Tears started to prick at my eyes when I saw that Bard was one of the
onlookers, his arm held high in the air and his fist clenched. This was a
symbol from our football days, for our team would always wish each other well
with this gesture that silently told us to "stay strong out there." Though he
couldn't see it, I had my fists clenched as tight as I possibly could with the
cuffs around my wrists. It was possible that I'd never see this building again,
and that fact filled me with dread, as much as I hated coming here every day.
No matter what, though, I'd stay strong out there.
 
===============================================================================
 
The room was practically empty, though it seemed inhumanely small. It felt like
the walls were closing in on me with each passing tickfrom the clock on the
wall. The claustrophobic sensation made me even more tense.
Glancing up at the dark grey walls, I searched for something, anything to
distract my mind with. There was a desk in front of me, and an empty chair
across from where I sat. It was just like all of those crime dramas I'd
absentmindedly watch at night when nothing else was on. Besides the desk and
the other chair, there was a single clock on the wall, ticking mockingly. I was
sure someone had to be watching right now, for I could see a little illuminated
red light on the camera attached to a corner of the opposite wall. I couldn't
imagine solitary confinement; just sitting here alone for fifteen - or twenty
minutes, had it been? - was enough to drive me insane.
Why am I herekept repeating in my mind. I was starting to believe that I
wouldn't be in an interrogation room simply for getting high in a hotel room.
No, there had to be something more. Or perhaps the laws had just gotten a bit
stricter since I was a kid.
Looking down at my still cuffed hands in my lap, I blinked as I stared at the
shining metal binds. Was there a reason I was still cuffed? I wasn't sure if
this was proper protocol or not. But, then again...
"They're merely a precaution. In case you were to attempt to hurt someone."
I heard the lieutenant's voice in my head once again. Well, I certainly
couldn't hurt anyone when I'm trapped in a room alone, so what's the deal?
Unless they're there to protect the officers who plan to question me.
Something didn't add up. I had a completely clean record - well, except for a
couple speeding tickets. However condemning going over 25 is, though, that
certainly didn't justify me as a violent person. No, these handcuffs were still
clasped onto my wrists for a reason, I just wasn't informed of said reason.
The soft click of the door handle made me perk up, and I watched as the
entrance to the room slowly swung open, air displacing from the heavy wood. Two
figures stepped inside, both of them appearing stoic, yet one was a bit more
grim than the other. I blinked, dumbfounded, as I watched my boss approach the
desk and take a seat across from me, his stony eyes piercing mine as he calmly
rested his clasped hands on the table. The other vistor, Lieutenant Faustus,
easily shut the door behind him as he took a few small steps into the room, his
arms crossed while he stood behind my boss.
After a few moments of tense silence, I finally found the courage to break it.
"W-what's going on? You haven't told me anything."
"We just need to ask a few questions, that's all," the lieutenant replied
coolly. His golden eyes revealed the faintest hint of comfort, as if he wanted
me to be at ease. This was overshadowed by fiery determination, however; that
emotion was made very clear.
"Sir?" My eyes flicked over to my boss. "Why are you here? Are you even allowed
to be in here?"
"Merely to observe," he responded, though the words were hissed through his
teeth and there was a bite to his tone. Yep, I was still on his shit list.
"He is allowed to be in here," the lieutenant answered. "If his presence makes
you uncomfortable, however, I will ask him to leave."
My boss turned and shot the police officer a deathly glare, his typical grim
expression contorting into one of pure anger. I forced myself to suck in a
breath, albeit a shaky one. I didn't want to come off as a weakling to my boss,
even though he consistently scared the shit out of me. No, I was a man! On the
outside, anyway. So I would pretend that I had just as much bravery on the
inside.
"No, it's okay," I said, shaking my head as I cleared my throat. "I don't mind
him being in here."
I saw a brief expression of satisfaction flash across my boss' face before it
settled back into its normal grim appearance.
"All right, then," the lieutenant spoke, his eyes narrowing a bit as he focused
on me. "We'll start with asking what you did last week."
"Last week?" I repeated, my eyes widening a bit. The officer nodded.
"You can recount last week's events, can't you?"
"Well, yeah," I said, shrugging my shoulders. "But I'm not sure they'll be
worth knowing."
"Oh, you'd be surprised," Faustus breathed, his gaze turning threatening. I bit
my inner lip anxiously, before I averted my eyes as I recalled last week.
"Nothing special happened. I went to work every day, came home, and went to
sleep. I may have went grocery shopping a couple times. And I stop at the gas
station every morning before work for cheap coffee."
"And this is your usual routine?"
"Yes. I mean, once in a while I'll go to the bar or work out, but other than
that I just go to work and go home," I confirmed honestly. The lieutenant
stopped his questioning for a moment, as if he were inwardly analyzing my
responses for flaws. My boss remained silent, his eyes staring through me the
entire time.
"Well, there's a problem with your story."
"T-there is?" My mouth practically fell to the floor, brows furrowing in
protest. Faustus nodded, his golden irises darkening.
"Mm, there is. According to text message history and security camera evidence
from a local restaurant, you met up with a young lady at Rhonda's Place on
Thursday."
"Oh! Elizabeth!" I exclaimed aloud. I had completely forgotten. "Yes, that's
true. It totally slipped my mind."
Lieutenant Faustus raised a skeptical eyebrow. "A date completely slipped your
mind? Do you go out often?"
"I- Well, no, I-"
"Because if you do, then your supposed 'routine' would be a lie."
This atmosphere was intense. I could feel beads of sweat forming at the nape of
my neck, making the hair on my neckline stick to my skin uncomfortably. One
thing those boring crime dramas did get right was the nerve-wracking
questioning. My heart was pounding so fast I felt like it would explode.
"Yes, it slipped my mind," I breathed in a faux composed tone, letting out a
long exhale. "I did go on a date with a girl on Thursday."
"And how did that date go?"
"Well. I guess it went okay." My face twisted up in uncertainty. I actually
didn't know if it went okay or not, since she never spoke to me after that.
"What do you mean by that? Did something else happen that 'slipped your mind?'"
Faustus was very persistent. He approached the table, standing beside my boss
as he glared down at me. I gulped nervously, before I shrugged. "I mean that I
don't know if it went okay or not. I thought it went well, but I never heard
from her after that."
"Is that so," Faustus hummed, his index finger rubbing his lower lip in
thought. "Sit tight, Mr. Michaelis; there's something I'd like to show you."
With that, the lieutenant quickly exited the room, leaving my boss and I alone
in an unbearable silence. His stony eyes continued to stare me down, their gaze
observing my every move and gesture. I flicked my orbs toward the ground in an
attempt to avoid the awkwardness, though I could still see his glaring from the
corner of my eye. After a few long minutes, the door to the interrogation room
opened once again, the lieutenant returning, yet this time he was wheeling a
small TV into the room, the remote gripped firmly in his hand. He positioned
the television directly in front of me, before he turned toward my direction as
he spoke.
"We have some security footage we'd like to review with you."
I blinked, my brows furrowing slightly. "O-okay."
With a click on the remote, a picture immediately popped up on the screen,
depicting a restaurant atmosphere in black and white. I could clearly see the
visage of Elizabeth and I dining in the corner, though our images were blurred
greatly.
"If only they could afford decent fucking security cameras," Faustus murmured
under his breath. All of us - including my boss, who had eagerly turned around
to face the TV - were watching the peaceful scene of two figures smiling and
eating a meal.
Then, suddenly, I flinched.
The officer instantly caught it, his thumb pausing the tape at the exact moment
I moved, the camera capturing my shocked expression.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Faustus narrowed his eyes at me. "What was
that about, Mr. Michaelis? Everything seemed to be going well, and then you
jumped out of your skin all of a sudden."
"I- Well..." I trailed off for a moment, my expression falling into one of
shame. I couldn't tell them the truth; they'd think I was a lunatic. And,
besides, I wasn't even sure of what happened. Was it a PTSD thing? I had never
been diagnosed with PTSD, but I was pretty sure that flashbacks were common.
Was it reallya flashback though? After I had gotten a hold of myself, however,
it felt like I dreamt up the entire situation. Perhaps it was both?
"Mr. Michaelis?"
I blinked, my thoughts momentarily subsiding as I glanced between my boss and
the police officer, both of the men looking at me quizzically. "O-oh, well, I-
" I cleared my scratchy throat, my dried tongue fruitlessly licking my lips.
"She startled me. That's all."
"She startled you?" Faustus asked, promptly rewinding the tape and playing it.
He paused it in the same place after watching it once again. "And how did she
startle you? It seemed like all she did was reach her fork toward your plate.
Or are you typically a selfish man when it comes to your food?"
"I am," I confirmed quickly, flashing him a sheepish smile. "I'm very selfish
when it comes to my food." My boss let out a snort at my proclamation, where as
the lieutenant rose a skeptical brow.
"That's interesting. It appeared that you actually pushed your plate toward her
in offering," Faustus hummed. My heart dropped at his words, tears of sweat
dripping down my collar. He was right. I had pushed my plate toward Elizabeth
in encouragement. Fuck, was I terrible at lying.
The lieutenant, at least for the moment, seemed satisfied with my answers, for
he let the tape play a little longer before he popped the DVD out and hastily
put a different one in. Before playing this disc, however, he flicked his eyes
over to me.
"What did you two do after dinner, Mr. Michaelis?"
"We went out in the parking lot," I answered honestly. "And we talked for a
while before we left."
Lieutenant Faustus made a small, pleased grunt before he clicked a button on
the remote, and once more another glimpse of scenery was splayed out across the
television. This time, it recorded a bunch of various parked cars, and a single
couple holding hands was walking across the lot casually.
"Cute," Faustus remarked, though it seemed more spiteful than anything. Three
pairs of eyes observed as the couple made their way over to a convertible, the
girl sitting on the hood while the man, - aka, my awkward self - stood looking
at the sky. Eventually, all three of us stiffened as Elizabeth and I began to
wrestle atop her car, my cheeks tinting an embarrassed red while I witnessed my
actions. I bowed my head and squeezed my eyes shut, my skin prickling with the
humiliation of knowing my boss and a police officer were watching such a
shameful thing. They probably thought I was a sex-driven douchebag.
"It seems you forgot to mention the part where you dry humped each other," the
officer mumbled. I kept my head down, gritting my teeth as I spoke.
"I didn't mention it, but I do remember doing it."
"Oh, good. I'm glad it didn't slip your mind," my boss hissed, and my eyes
widened in surprise when I heard him finally utter words. His statement must
have shocked Faustus as well, for he blinked in bewilderment for a few moments
before an amused expression lit up his face.
"Yes, that is a good thing. So, Mr. Michaelis, would you say that this whole
display was completely consensual?"
"Absolutely," I replied promptly, not missing a beat. "Elizabeth pulled me on
top of her."
"It would seem that way," the lieutenant agreed. I caught a glimpse of my boss
shifting in his chair, his shoulders tensing underneath his suit jacket.
"Okay, you've questioned me," I said, my orbs focusing on the officer. "Now,
can I know what's going on? I want to know why I'm being questioned and I
haven't been told anything."
Faustus sighed, his large arms crossing over his chest as he regarded me. "That
girl, Elizabeth, has been missing since Friday."
My face went blank. I swore I felt my heart stop. Disbelief made my body
shudder slightly, the blood in my veins running cold. Elizabeth was
missing?How? Why? What happened to her? So many questions ran through my mind,
fast enough to make me dizzy.
"E-Elizabeth is missing?"
"Yes, she is. We received a call from her mother Saturday morning. Apparently,
she never showed up for work Friday night."
Color drained from my face in panic. I couldn't believe she was missing. What
could've happened to her? Elizabeth didn't seem to be one to skip town,
especially since she openly stated that she was so spoiled by her parents. That
meant that something bad must've happened.
"I-I didn't do anything," I blurted out. "Elizabeth and I weren't even that
involved with each other-"
"See, I have a hard time believing that, Mr. Michaelis," Lieutenant Faustus
interrupted, his hand digging into his trouser pocket before he pulled out a
plastic bag, a cell phone nestled inside. Slapping a pair of latex gloves on
his hands, he then opened the bag and grabbed onto the mobile device, pulling
it out and showing it to me. "This is Elizabeth's. We found it in her car,
which was still parked in front of her house as if she never even left for
work. Interestingly enough, the phone was found in the passenger seat, which
leads me to believe that someone was with her the night she went missing. That
isn't the important aspect, however."
I gulped as he put the phone on speaker and called a number, a few soft rings
echoing through the room. Eventually, an automated woman's voice answered,
telling us we had no new voicemails. Hitting a designated number, Faustus
waited as the voice briefly silenced, before it proclaimed 'You have five old
messages.' I cringed as he allowed them to play.
"Can't we talk about this? Look, if it's my age, I get it. I'm not the youngest
man, I know, but I swear I'll do anything to make this work. You honestly have
no clue how happy you made me the other night. Please, please call me back."
"Elizabeth, please. At least tell me what I've done to vex you. I deserve an
explanation before you just leave me."
"Elizabeth, come on. I'm serious. Don't act like this. Just talk to me."
"I'm very sorry if I scared you at dinner; I promise it won't ever happen
again. I don't usually behave that way. Please, Lizzie."
"WHY WON'T YOU ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE?!"
I winced visibly at the last message. My voice sounded so malicious, so rage-
filled that it scared me to hear it again. Both men were staring at me, their
eyes ominously dark.
"As I'm sure you already know, this doesn't sound very promising for you, Mr.
Michaelis."
I shook my head, tears threatening to fill up my eyes as panic made my heart
flutter. "Lieutenant, please, I know it seems bad but I promise I never-"
"What the fuck did you do to my daughter, you piece of shit?!" Suddenly, my
boss sprung out of his seat, balling his fist up and he immediately crushed his
knuckles into my jaw with a bone-shattering force, my body flying back as the
chair tipped over, and I hit the ground with a heavy thud, the chair clattering
beside me.
"Mr. Midford, get a hold of yourself!" I heard the lieutenant shout. "We don't
need a lawsuit on our hands!"
"That bastard did something to my little girl! Where the fuck is she, huh, you
fucker?! Where the fuck did you take my daughter? You better tell me now or so
help me, I will rip you to shreds with my own fucking hands!"
"That's enough! I'm going to page another officer to escort you out-"
"You're going to let the bastard get away with this?! You'll regret this,
Claude! I'll destroy your fucking career!"
The voices started to get muffled and distorted as my skull ached, my thoughts
swimming as dizziness threatened to pull me into unconsciousness. My temple hit
the tiled floor hard when I fell, and an intense pain radiated through my
brain, making my limbs twitch in agony. My vision was blurred, and I blinked
repeatedly, cringing at the unpleasant sensations in my head.
"Mr. Michaelis, are you all right?" The voice I heard sounded soft and far
away, though I felt strong arms wrap around me and carefully pull my body up
off of the floor. "Can you stand?"
I made an attempt to talk, but it felt as if I'd swallow my tongue, my words
probably turning out slurred and incomprehensible, so I settled for simply
shaking my head. The lieutenant held me up with one arm while he grabbed the
chair and set it upright with the other. Gently sitting me down in the seat, he
studied me carefully for injuries.
"Fucking bastard. He could've broken your jaw," he growled. "Are you all
right?"
"F-fine," I breathed, lowering my head as the dizziness continued to nauseate
me. Although my stomach felt uneasy, there was something else that was
unsettling; I had went out on a date with my boss' daughter. I didn't even know
he had any children, let alone a daughter that appealing! Had I known they were
related, I wouldn't have gotten involved at all.
"Mr. Michaelis? You're not blacking out on me, are you?"
"Nn, no. I'm okay," I assured, the dizziness slowly beginning to fade. The
officer gave a grunt as he reached down, his hands hastily uncuffing the metal
binds on my wrists.
"Would you like me to drive you to the hospital?"
"I'm fine, really," I huffed, rolling my shoulders back with a groan. "It's
just a little bruising. I would've done the same thing in his position."
The officer nodded as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, relief
clearly evident in his eyes from my words. "He's pretty overwhelmed. Like you
said, I suppose any father would be. At any rate, I'd like to keep you all day
for questioning, if you don't mind."
"That's fine, but..." I trailed off momentarily, a frown curling my lips. "I
need to be home at my usual time. I don't want my son to know this is going
on."
"You have a son?" Faustus asked, flinching back a little in shock. I nodded
grimly, and he frowned.
"All right. We'll make sure you're home at a reasonable time. We'd like to
question you tomorrow as well, so when you leave for work in the morning, come
to the station instead. We've already ensured that you'll be on paid leave
while we get this case sorted out."
I nodded slowly, my brain sluggishly processing his statements. As long as Ciel
didn't find out about this, everything would be okay. I couldn't imagine the
look he'd give me once he found out that I was the suspect in a girl's
disappearance. He'd hate me. Hell, I'd hate myself.
"Mr. Michaelis?"
I blinked, glancing up at the lieutenant. "Yeah?"
He was frowning, his golden eyes glimmering with an emotion I couldn't quite
pinpoint. He seemed to be completely serious, though a hint of compassion shone
in his irises. "You claim to have a son, which I don't doubt. If you do have a
child, then you must understand what Mr. Midford is going through. I don't have
any children, but I can imagine that losing one is the most painful thing a
parent can go through. For his sake, and for the sake of your child, I'd like
to know the honest truth: did you do something to Elizabeth Midford?"
Sucking in a deep breath, I stared into his eyes, my gaze unwavering. "No, I
didn't do anything to her."
Faustus' frown deepened slightly, though the corner of his lip curled up
hopefully. "I'd like to believe you. Currently, the evidence isn't in your
favor... But if you didn't do it, we'll find a way to prove it."
I gave him a small smile, nodding my head in agreement. For the time being, it
seemed like Lieutenant Faustus really wanted to believe I was innocent. I was
thankful for his kindness, even though his main goal was finding out what
happened to Elizabeth.
"All right, Mr. Michaelis. Let's continue the questioning."
 
===============================================================================
 
As soon as my butt sank down into the leather seat of my car, I was completely
lost.
I didn't know what to do.
Luckily, Lieutenant Faustus was kind enough to give me a lift back to my work
so I'd be able to retrieve my car, and he left me with a reminder to go to the
station in the morning. I had to slyly sneak into my vehicle, for I was worried
people may be able to see me from their cubicle windows, but I was convinced
that no one had. Now, I could go about my own business as if nothing ever
happened, but there was a problem.
In about thirty minutes, it would be my normal time to arrive home, however, I
didn't feel like I could go home and face Ciel. School had already ended, which
meant he was probably either currently working on his homework or playing his
violin in the living room. I could admit I wasn't the smartest man, but I knew
well that my son wasn't lacking in the intelligence department by any means. He
noticed when my face was sunken in grimly, or when I was excited beyond my
normal demeanor. As soon as I walked in the door, he'd pipe up, "You're really
chipper today. Bard brought you an extra doughnut this morning, huh?" Or "Are
you okay? You look glum. You must have had extra reports to file."
He was right every time.
It didn't matter how hard I tried to conceal my emotions, Ciel could see
through me as if I were a freshly polished window. Because of this, I was
terrified to go home. I couldn't imagine walking through the door and him
turning to look at me with piercing eyes.
"You look terrified, Daddy. Almost as if the lieutenant of the police force
took you in for questioning today."
"Ah!" I exclaimed, jolting suddenly at the dreadful thought. My knee roughly
slammed into the bottom of my steering wheel, and I flinched as a surge of pain
shot through my knee cap before it began to numb. "Fuck," I gasped, running my
hands through my hair in exasperation. I was officially a fucking mess.
Just then, I felt a strong vibration in my trouser pocket, and I leaned to my
left as I crammed my hand inside of it and dug around for my phone. Pulling my
cellular out, my screen lit up and I clicked onto my new message.
Oi Sebastian, if you're not someone's buttfuck buddy already, then go to the
court ASAP. I'll be there after the warden cuts our binds for the day.
I let out a sigh of relief after reading Bard's message. At least I wouldn't
have to go home. I jammed my key into the ignition and hastily fired up my car
before I impatiently threw my car into reverse and smoothly pulled out of my
spot. I felt relieved that I'd get to avoid my son for a while longer, however,
I couldn't shake the feeling that I had forgotten something.
 
===============================================================================
 
I stepped out of my car, my arms crossing over my chest as I shut the door. A
cold breeze suddenly kicked up, and I winced, stifling a shiver. Goose bumps
would only make me feel more frigid. Slinking past the rusted and broken chain
link gate, I stepped onto the cracked concrete court. I could still clearly
remember when the court was first painted, the ground reeking of the smell, yet
us kids didn't mind at the time.
Looking up, I noticed half of the chain net was missing, probably due to
careless kids hanging on it and what not. The other half that still remained
was badly rusted, its color a deep, dark brown. I could also easily recall when
the chain was brand new; in fact, Iwas one of the lads who helped install it,
along with Bard and a couple other boys. We had to borrow a ladder from Mr.
Smith down the street, since we had yet to hit our growth spurts, and we were
all still only about 5' tall. Everyone was constantly fucking around, so a five
minute job turned into an hour, especially since the boys would shake the
ladder furiously whenever someone tried to climb on it, and we'd be unable to
keep our balance. Boy, did that leave us bruised and scraped up at the end of
the day.
I smiled to myself as I thought back on all of this. It felt like it all
happened a couple years ago, when really, it had been over twenty. The paint on
the concrete was severely chipped, and so faded that you could hardly tell it
had ever been painted on in the first place. The chain link around this place
was no longer shiny and new; instead, it was dented badly in most areas, and
rusty in others. And, to top it off, even the little kids that played here
aren't the same. Bobby B. committed suicide a couple years ago after his wife
passed away from cancer. Nigel is locked up in prison again, since the bastard
keeps beating his wife to a pulp in his drunken states; he used to be the
nicest boy we knew. Carl "Burger" Burggs is a heroin addict who is supposedly
living with some girl a few towns away, and Patters, the prissy rich boy who
always acted like he was better at everything, is currently working as a bus
boy. Oh, the irony.
Then, you have Bard and I, who haven't changed much, except for in size.
Granted, our parents aren't around anymore either, so that makes a big
difference. It was always embarrassing when Mom would pull up in front of the
court and yell "Time to come home, Bassy!" The boys referred to me as "Sea
Bass" for quite a while thanks to that.
"Those were some good times," I sighed, my reminiscing smile curling into a
solemn frown. It was a shame that things had to change after high school. Our
gang of friends stuck with each other from elementary to our senior years, but
after that, we all split up.
Our plans to go on a road trip crumbled. I wasn't able to go, because I had
newly proposed to Rachel, and I had to dedicate my time to looking for a decent
job and a place to live for us. Bard chose to stay behind since I couldn't go,
for we were best buds, and he wasn't that close with the other lads, anyway.
Bobby's dad had suddenly fallen ill, and one of our newer companions, Charlie,
wanted to focus on getting ready for college. The only ones to carry through
with the trip was Nigel and Burger, and even they returned eventually. The last
time we all saw each other was at Bobby's funeral, but by that point, we knew
it wasn't the same. We all had our own lives, our own families, and our own
worries. We didn't need each other anymore.
"Looks like you're deep in thought."
I turned slightly, glancing over my shoulder and catching a glimpse of Bard.
His tie was loosened to the point that it was amazing that it was still hanging
around his neck, and the sleeves on his dress shirt were rolled up to his
elbows. He casually slid through the broken gate and began approaching me, his
hands stuffed in his pockets.
"Remember the day we hung that up?" I asked, my eyes flicking up to eye the
chain that was still fastened to the rim.
"Oh yeah," Bard said with a proud grin, one that was identical to the
accomplished smile he wore as a child on the exact day. "Nigel and Bobby, man.
If it wasn't for those jackasses, we could've actually played a game that day.
But they just had to screw around, and bruise everybody's tailbones for it."
"Haha, yeah," I nodded with a sorrowful smile. "Bobby had one hell of an arm on
him, though."
"Yeah, he did," Bard breathed, his lips falling into a frown. "I miss that
motherfucker. He bailed me out of trouble with my Pops so many times."
"Bobby and Burger were the best at that. Nigel was an expert at helping anyone
sneak out of the house, and then Charlie was stuck driving us all around since
he was the only one with a car."
"A shitty one, at that," Bard laughed, the contagious sound making me chuckle.
"But back then we all thought we were kings in that crappy little beater."
I nodded, and the conversation briefly fell silent. The chilling breeze
continued to kick up fallen leaves around us, and the rusted chain would sway
back and forth slightly. I knew it was killing Bard to keep the conversation so
casual; he hadseen me get escorted out of work in handcuffs, after all. I think
he was simply trying to find a way to approach the subject in a manner that
didn't come off as rude or accusing.
"You can ask," I whispered, flicking my eyes in his direction. "I don't mind."
Bard's expression relaxed; I could tell he was grateful that I mentioned it
first. He cleared his throat, his dress shoe grinding a pebble into the ground
as he regarded me. "It's not that I think you did something, Sea Bass, but...
Didyou do something?"
"No, I didn't," I sighed, frowning at the cracked cement. "But there's evidence
- quite a bit of evidence - that says otherwise."
Bard raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Like what?"
I took a deep breath, my nervous eyes scanning over the area in attempt to ease
my anxiety. It was better to get this all out at once, and I did exactly that,
speaking fast enough where Bard couldn't interrupt. "Elizabeth's missing. I
guess she never showed up for work Friday night, and her mother reported her
missing Saturday morning. Apparently, I'm a person of interest because I acted
a bit... Off, during the date, and when we went to say goodbye things got a bit
heated. I think the lieutenant believes it wasn't completely consensual. And
when we were away at the company trip, I called her phone and left some urgent
messages that came off as a little crazed, I guess."
"Okay, wait, wait, wait," Bard demanded, holding his hands up to stop me. "You
acted offon the date? I thought you told me it went great."
"Well, it did," I assured, scratching the back of my head uneasily.
"So what do you mean by 'off?' Did you hurt her?"
"No! No, I'd never! I just- I flinched a little."
"You flinched?"
"Yeah."
"And, what? Why did you flinch?"
"I don't know. I just did. I mean in person it wasn't that bad, but it looked
weird on the security camera."
Bard's brows were furrowed, his face scrunched up as he tried to make sense of
the situation. I averted my eyes to the ground, shame threatening to tint my
cheeks red. I knew the thought of hurting Elizabeth never crossed my mind, but
the evidence seemed so incriminating that I couldn't help feeling guilty.
"The worst part is, our boss is her father."
That took my friend off guard completely, for he nearly jumped out of his skin
in surprise. His eyes were as big as saucers, pupils practically concealing his
irises. "You're shitting me, right?"
I sighed, my complexion sullen. "No."
"Fucking hell, Sebastian," Bard groaned, his hands gripping his short blond
hair in frustration. "Do you have a death wish?"
My sadness was quickly replaced by anger, and I spat my words at him like
venom. "If I did, I would've allowed Rachel to kill me years ago!"
Silence immediately fell over us. Even the light breeze settled down, the
leaves freezing in their places on the ground. I felt upset that such an
argument had to take place here. Granted, many fights had taken place on this
court, but Bard and I were always the ones to break them up. Those little
disagreements were over the game, however. Our situation was on a more serious
subject.
"I wouldn't have went out with her had I known," I whispered softly, almost in
a soothing voice in apology to Bard. "Hell, if I'd known this was going to
happen, I wouldn't have spoken to her at all."
"I know, " he breathed, giving me a sympathetic glance. "I know you wouldn't
have."
For the rest of the time, my friend and I stood there in silence, the only
sounds being the rustling of leaves and the creaking of the chain link fencing.
Never had we been so solemn in a place that normally filled us with peace.
 
===============================================================================
 
I cautiously opened the front door, slyly slipping inside and shutting it
behind me as silently as I could manage. I stood there for a minute, my eyes
assessing the area around me. I was hoping I could make it up the stairs and to
my room without getting noticed. It would be easier that way.
"Daddy, where have you been? I was worried."
No such luck.
My son, who had previously been reading a book, had slammed it shut before he
darted over to me, his arms wrapping around my waist and hugging me tightly
while he stared up at me with a pout on his lips and his brows furrowed. "You
didn't call me."
"Shit. I did forget," I confessed under my breath, a soft sigh leaving me. I
had already slipped up. I was sure Ciel was already suspicious, so I just had
to play it cool and keep him distracted. He couldn't analyze me if I was too
busy analyzing him. "I'm sorry, Ciel. It slipped my mind. Bard wanted to play
some ball after work and I forgot to let you know that I'd be home late." I
ruffled his hair in apology, hoping he'd be satisfied with that.
Unfortunately, he didn't seem to be, because his pupils flickered back and
forth as they studied each one of my eyes carefully, examining every inch of my
features. I swear he'd be a perfect detective, he seemed to scrutinize so well.
"Well... It's okay... If Bard needed you, Daddy, then I forgive you."
I gave him a genuine smile, forcing myself to stifle a sigh of relief. Well, at
least for now, his curiosity seemed quenched. Mussing up his hair once more, I
stepped past him and began to walk toward the kitchen before I mussed up my
own. "So what sounds good for dinner?"
Ciel followed after me, his tone light as he spoke. "Anything with potatoes.
How was work?"
The corner of my lips threatened to twitch downward; I was grateful that my
back was to my son for now. I was unsure if his question was meant to prod for
information, or if it was meant to be a simple, light-hearted inquiry.
Of course it was meant to be a light-hearted inquiry, you idiot. He's not an
actual detective. Being stuck in an interrogation room all day has made me
paranoid as all hell.
"About as good as filing reports get," I replied equally as cheerfully,
chuckling at my own words. If only I could've lied this smoothly as a teenager;
it would've saved me from a lot of trouble. I headed over to the stairs, giving
Ciel a brief backwards glance. "I'm going to change into something more
comfortable before I start on dinner. Maybe we'll have stir fry."
"Stir fry sounds good, Daddy."
I gave a small nod before I started my ascent up the stairs, more and more
relief coming to me the further I distanced myself from my son. I didn't
usually change as soon as I got home, but I didn't care about this being
unexpected. If my lie were true, that would mean I had played basketball in my
suit, which would've been difficult and very sweat-inducing. And, the truth
was, being interrogated by police was equally - if not substantially more
sweat-inducing. At this point, it felt like this suit was a second skin, and
that was one of the worst sensations; I already hated dressing up, and this
made me hate it all the more.
As soon as I got to my room, I peeled my clothes off in a hurried fashion,
breathing a tranquil exhale once I was free of the professional attire. I
grabbed a pair of boxers and jeans, and I easily dressed in them, relishing in
the feeling of casual apparel. Striding over to my closet, I stretched my arms
nonchalantly as I opened the door and reached inside. My eyes widened in
surprise, however, when the tips of my fingers met empty clothes hangers.
I scanned the clothing items, trying to assess everything I had. It seemed that
none of my work suits had been touched; however, at least six of my t-shirts
were missing, possibly more.
"I just did laundry," I murmured to myself, scratching my head in confusion.
The laundry chute was barren this morning, too, when I dropped my underwear
down. Something didn't add up.
As if a light bulb switched on, I realised something: I did remember seeing one
of my t-shirts in Ciel's laundry basket the other day. I figured that it had
gotten mixed in with his clothes, since we only had one chute, and that
happened quite frequently.
"But it's not in here. He must've kept it," I mumbled, my brows furrowing. I
wasn't sure why Ciel would steal my clothes. It was possible that he didn't
realise he had them, but I doubted that. I was quite a bit bigger than him, so
he should notice the obvious difference in shirt sizes when he folded his
clothing.
Maybe he's grown. That's always a possibility.
I'd be lying if I didn't find my son to be abnormally tiny. He was very short
for his age, and I didn't understand why. Even his doctor stressed how he was
underweight every time we visited, and I was unsure what to do about that
because Ciel easily consumes fatty foods - and normal sized portions - without
a second thought. His height was something I didn't understand, either, for
Rachel was a taller woman, taller than most of the other girls in high school,
and I stood at a solid 6'1". It was possible that he simply hadn't hit his
growth spurt yet, for everyone knew that girls matured faster than boys, it was
just odd to me that he was in high school yet he still appeared to be a young
middle schooler.
Shrugging those thoughts off, I grabbed onto a navy blue tee and tugged it over
my head, the soft cotton caressing my skin in a more appealing fashion than my
dress shirt. In all honesty, I should've showered, since I had been sweaty all
day, but I didn't want to act even more odd. A shower tomorrow morning would do
just fine.
Climbing down the stairs, I looked to my side to see Ciel heading back toward
the couch with his book in his hand, and I spoke up. "Ciel, have you been doing
laundry? My t-shirts are almost all gone."
Ciel froze in his tracks, and his voice was quiet as he answered. "It must have
slipped my mind. I'll do some before I go to bed. Sorry for forgetting."
I frowned deeply, unsatisfied with his answer. That was an obvious lie. The
fact that Ciel lied to my face so easily made my stomach churn unpleasantly. We
had promised each other we'd have no secrets, and we'd never lie to each other.
Was he breaking the promise? Well, not like I was one to talk. I wasn't being
completely truthful at the moment, either. "The laundry chute was empty this
morning," I continued, making it known that I saw through his lie. Walking up
behind him, I put my hands on his shoulders and squeezed them gently, my eyes
trying to judge the width between his shoulder blades. It did look like he may
have grown a bit. "Have you been wearing them? Did you hit a late growth
spurt?"
Ciel cleared his throat before he nodded, his tone now nervous as he realised I
knew he wasn't telling the truth. "I-I think so. My clothes are getting a
little too tight, and your shirts were just more comfortable. I'm sorry for
lying, Daddy. I didn't want you to be mad at me." He tilted his head back to
look at me, his eyes pleading.
I gave him a soft smile. I disliked that he lied to me, but I supposed I could
understand where he was coming from. I'd hate it if I had to wear clothes that
no longer fit, although I didn't know that it had gotten that bad for him. I
removed my hands from his shoulders to give him a pat on the back. "I figured
as much. We'll go shopping this weekend to find you some better fitting
clothes. After all, isn't homecoming approaching? You are planning on going,
aren't you?"
I was hoping he'd say "Yes," for I had been looking forward to Ciel's
homecoming. Now that he was finally a freshman, he'd get to experience so many
new things that he didn't get to do at his other schools. I was aware that he
didn't have proper formal wear for such an occasion, but I would easily break
the bank to buy him attire for it. After all, everyone should get to experience
the excitement of homecoming. Plus, I was curious to see what girl he'd take to
the dance. Ciel had never mentioned any females, nor had he ever brought one
home. I knew my son seemed to be more of a loner type, but I wanted to see him
go out and expand his horizons. He would have much more fun dancing with a girl
than he would staying home reading a book, I could guarantee that.
"A shopping trip sounds like fun," he said with a smile, though it fell a
little at the mention of homecoming. His voice remained light, however. "I was
thinking about it, but I don't know if I'll be able to. I don't have anyone to
go with."
"I'm sure you could find a date easily," I said with a smile as I strode toward
the refrigerator. "Plus your old man would be disappointed if he doesn't get to
embarrass you by making you take pictures." I stated this with a chuckle, but I
hadn't been joking whatsoever. I knew it was typically a mother thing to do,
take a million pictures and gush over them, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't
want to do the same with my son. I may not post them all over social media like
some parents, but I could guarantee they'd be plastered all over the walls.
Ciel sat down at the kitchen table and gave me a gentle smile. "I'll hurry up
and find a date then, Daddy."
"I look forward to it. Oh, and are your classes going well? Im assuming I'll
have to go to a parent-teacher meeting soon and I'd like to hear good news." I
was trying to keep him distracted, and so far, it seemed to be working. Turning
to look at him expectantly, he continued to smile as his fingers drummed along
the cover of his book.
"Oh, of course, Daddy. My grades are very good, especially thanks to your help
with my homework. All of my teachers like me."
"Oh, good. Then I'll help you with it after we finish dinner."
And I did exactly that.
I helped Ciel with every piece of homework. Both of us found it tedious the
entire time, but I was more relieved that we were both preoccupied with
something. For the rest of the night, he was unable to question me about my
day, and that made me happier than ever.
I know we promised not to lie to each other, but it seemed that neither of us
had kept it.
This was for his own good, anyway.
 
===============================================================================
 
I stared at the glass door in front of me for a few minutes, my teeth anxiously
biting into my lower lip while my fingers fidgeted. I had arrived earlier than
I was supposed to, but I figured I might as well head straight here, because
there was no way I'd be able to eat breakfast in my nervous state. I knew that
it was simple questioning today, but still. I always felt uncomfortable around
police in the first place, even when I just got pulled over for speeding. For
some reason, I was always afraid they'd arrest me for something bad that I
never even committed.
Now I see that my reasoning wasn't so ridiculous.
"Mr. Michaelis?"
I blinked, startled when I saw the form of another person in front of me. I had
zoned out for so long that I hadn't even noticed a presence other than my own.
It was Lieutenant Faustus, and he was currently holding the door open for me,
his golden eyes looking me up and down quizzically. "Mr. Michaelis? You're
early, aren't you?" As if to confirm his suspicions, he glanced down at the
watch on his wrist, squinting as he read it. "Why, it's not even five."
"I know," I confessed, frowning a little. "But I just figured I'd come straight
here."
Faustus studied me for a few moments longer before he beckoned me inside,
shutting the door behind us. My pupils scanned over the area, and I was
surprised to see every desk empty.
"I'm the only one here right now. The rest of the police force doesn't show up
until 5:30 unless there's an emergency or an extremely important issue," he
explained, sitting himself in a black office chair. He gestured to a chair next
to his, and I slowly sat down in it.
"An extremely important issue like finding Elizabeth?"
The lieutenant had reached for a coffee mug sitting on the desk in front of
him, though my words startled him, his orbs widening for a brief moment. He
turned his whole body in my direction to face me, his eyes now narrowing
fiercly. "I'm uncertain if you're trying to convict yourself or if you truly
are a man with half a brain."
Shame coursed through me at his words, and I bowed my head, my voice lowering
to a whisper. "The latter."
Faustus frowned at my unexpected answer, before he stood to his feet with a
sigh and strode over to small table that held a coffee machine, various
creamers, and sugar packets, as well. "Want some coffee?"
I glanced over my shoulder to look at him, though his back was to me. "Sure, if
it's not a bother. I drink it black."
"Surprising," he murmured under his breath. "I'm the only officer in this place
that drinks straight black coffee. I think the men around here are too scared
to put some hair on their chests."
I cocked my head to the side upon hearing his rambling; I wasn't sure if he was
complaining of their poor choice in taste or their poor choices in general. I
never thought I'd hear the lieutenant speak such things about his fellow
officers.
"Here," he said, setting a steaming mug down in front of me. My eyes stared at
the dark liquid for a while before I lifted the cup to my lips and took a
hearty gulp of it. Caffeine was my savior at this point.
The lieutenant watched me closely as I inhaled the coffee, taking casual sips
out of his own mug here and there. When I felt that his golden irises had been
lingering too long, I set my mug down and spoke up. "Shouldn't you be
questioning me?"
Faustus shook his head. "I told you, I'm the only one here. Technically my
'office hours' haven't even started yet, so just relax for a while." Taking a
glance up at the clock on the wall, he raised his brows thoughtfully. "We can
even get breakfast if you'd like."
My eyes widened at the suggestion, shock and puzzlement making my mind have a
shortage. Mr. Faustus had proven to be quite an enigma so far. One minute, the
man was ready to rip your heart out, the next, he was proposing breakfast. I
couldn't figure out if he considered me an enemy or a friend. Perhaps both.
"Uh, I really don't need breakfast."
"I beg to differ. I can hear your stomach growling from here."
I blinked, embarrassment threatening to tint my face red. I hadn't realised my
stomach was growling, yet I still shook my head insistently. "I-I promise I'm
fine."
He shrugged, seeming indifferent to my answer. We sat in silence for a few long
moments, the tension a bit awkward. Normally, I could strike up a conversation
with just about anyone, but the lieutenant was an exception. For one, I had no
idea how to approach the guy. I found myself comparing him to Rachel in the
fact that I was always walking on eggshells around them, though Rachel was much
more malicious. I truly believe that Rachel would've killed me if she had the
chance, and I trusted that Faustus would not.
In my desperate desire to find a conversational topic, I instead found myself
to be observing his features. I had seen him before on the news, so I knew his
appearance well, but now it seemed much more real. In his neutral state, his
lips resembled an almost grim frown, and his golden eyes were narrowed
slightly, with his brows furrowed. He seemed very stern, which I supposed that
matched his personality quite well. My eyes trailed down his face and to his
chest, - a ping of jealousy hitting me at how well-defined his muscles were
compared to mine - then down his arm, - which was, again, more defined than
mine - and down to his hand...
My eyes froze on his fingers that rested on the desk, my pupils focusing in on
a single digit. I was so surprised by my discovery, that I actually hadn't
realised I blurted it out until I heard my empty voice. "You're married."
The lieutenant blinked a few times before he glanced down at the golden band
around his left ring finger. His cheeks turned pink for a brief moment, before
he muttered in a deep, throaty rumble. "Actually, that's a promise ring."
I leaned back in my chair in shock, my face twisting up in utter confusion. "A
promise ring?You mean like what the girls used to make us guys buy them in
school to prove we were a thing? Or do you mean the 'I'm-from-a-religious-
family-and-plan-to-keep-my-virginity-and-this-ring-serves-as-a-reminder' kind
of thing?"
"Neither," he responded lowly, his flush darkening slightly. "My significant
other and I... We don't see each other much. My job keeps me pretty busy to the
point where even home seems like a distant place sometimes. Neither of us are
ready to get married, but we both worry that one of us may lose our feelings
since we hardly ever get to see each other. So we got promise rings to prove
our commitment to each other when we're not able to assure one another with
words."
I sat there, my jaw practically to the floor. This man had a promise ring?The
lieutenant who could virtually make anyone piss their pants just with a single
glare was thatromantic? I couldn't believe it. But then again, my boss is
married, and he had a daughter who wasn't the most repulsive creature on Earth,
rather the exact opposite. I suppose anything is possible.
"Anyway," he coughed, clearing his throat in attempt to also clear up his
reddened complexion. "You have a kid, don't you? Where's your ring?"
"Single dad," I confessed, a solemn smile curling my lips at the confession.
"I've raised my son by myself. His mom and I split when she was still pregnant.
I actually had no idea at the time."
"Oh, I-I'm sorry," Faustus quickly apologised, shame making his expression turn
grim. "It was wrong of me to assume you were married just because you have a
kid. I mean, you were involved with Elizabeth Midford, after all. I guess I
wasn't thinking."
"It's not a problem. Oh, and I didn't mean to go silent on our first
conversation; I think having a promise ring for that purpose is pretty
honorable these days. She's one lucky girl."
Faustus smiled, though for some reason it looked sad. "Yeah, they're a great
person."
A draft made small strands of my hair sway, and both of us turned to look as
the entrance swung open, a group of officers filing in. As soon as they saw me,
their expressions turned cold, but they nodded to the lieutenant as they passed
by.
"We probably should've waited in my office," Faustus breathed as he stood to
his feet. "Seems like they woke up on the wrong side of their beds."
"You're associating with a possible kidnapper," I said flatly, my darkened eyes
glaring down at the empty coffee cup in front of me. "I can see why they'd be
upset."
Lieutenant Faustus gave me a brief sympathetic glance before he patted my back
roughly in reassurance. "Innocent until proven guilty. Let's get ready for
questioning."
I nodded, standing up to follow the officer. He allowed me to get a quick
refill of coffee, the simple action seeming to piss off the other policemen,
before he led me back to the same interrogation room I had gotten to know the
day before.
For once in my life, I wished I was rather filing reports.
***** Concerned Ciel *****
Chapter Notes
     Here's the latest chapter. Hope you all enjoy. I'm gonna go fuck my
     girlfriend now. Ritz out.
My feet were slowly carrying me down the hallway, padding softly across the
wooden expanse. I don't remember how I had gotten there, knowing only that I
needed to go to my father's room. It was still deeply night, and I was
exhausted, but some unknown thing was pulling me closer to him. An invisible
string attached to my chest kept me moving farther and farther from the
comforts of my bed, and along with it the growing desire to be cradled in his
arms and breathing in his scent. The hall seemed longer than normal, so much
longer, and it felt like someone had put it through photoshop, stretching it
and expanding it and blowing it up until it was completely out of proportion. I
felt dwarfed by the height of the warped walls, which curved inward, leading me
nearer to his door. Desperation to reach him made me widen my stride and move
faster, trying to conquer the distance between us.
I walked past the attic, the normally thin rope engorged and pulsating with
life. It snaked out, brushing against the skin of my arm before attempting to
curl around my wrist. It constricted and I yanked my hand away, jumping back
from the attic as the stairs dropped down suddenly with a deafening, thunderous
crack. I flicked my eyes up, staring into the impenetrable blackness. I
swallowed hard; for some reason, I was inexplicably afraid of what was up
there. I could feel my terror rising, and the sound of a door slowly creaking
open made me jump out of my skin. I tore my gaze from the pitch black hole in
the ceiling, ignoring that it almost seemed liquidous, dripping down onto the
stairs and oozing from the attic like it was a gaping wound. I turned my eyes
to my father's bedroom, seeing that his door was partly ajar. I put the attic
and whatever lay inside out of my mind, instead walking towards the entrance
with a purpose. A sticky warmth beneath my foot took me off guard, sending my
appendage sliding backwards and my body hurling forwards.
Unable to stop myself from crashing to the floor, I threw my arms up in front
of my face, instinctually trying to protect it as I cried out in shock, and my
entire front slammed into the ground with a sickly squishing sound filling my
ears. I nearly gagged, but the wind was knocked out of me, and as I soundlessly
gasped, trying to get my air back, I opened my eyes and pushed myself up onto
my elbows, looking down at the large puddle I hadn't noticed before. It looked
almost black in the darkness, and I felt confusion twist my features. Had
someone spilt paint and forgotten to clean it? Whatever it was, it was all over
me, and that annoyed me to no end. I had just taken a shower not that long ago.
Carefully, I pulled myself up to my feet, my legs shaking slightly as I tried
to retain my balance. My hands smudged dark prints onto the wall as I used it
to support myself, my body wobbling and threatening to topple over at any
moment. I cautiously walked forward and tried not to fall again; I was
surprised that my father hadn't woken with how loudly I made impact with the
floor just outside of his room.
"Daddy?" I called softly, rounding the doorjamb and stepping into his room.
"Daddy, can I sleep with..." I trailed off as I raised my eyes. Shock punched
me in the stomach, and I nearly doubled over. Panic seized my heart and my
brain refused to take in the scene before my very eyes. "No, oh no. No, no, no.
Daddy..." My voice was weak, sounding strangled as my throat tightened up with
anxiety.
There was blood everywhere.
The entire room was splashed with an impossible amount of blood, as if someone
had thrown buckets of deep red all over the walls and floor. The ceiling was
spattered with it, and it dripped down, hitting my cheek and trailing down it
like a tear. It hadn't been paint that I had slipped in. I was soaked to the
bone in warm, sticky, suffocating blood. My stomach tightened and wrenched
painfully like I was going to vomit, and my eyes widened even more as I quaked
and trembled in fear. The metallic scent was overpowering, it was everywhere
and-Oh, god. I could see a foot, peeking out from next to the bed, near the
wall farthest from me. Against my will, I took a hesitant step forward, slowly
walking towards the foot. I was getting closer and closer, helpless as I
struggled against my own body.
"Daddy," I mouthed, unable to find my voice. It was like it had dried up, my
throat closing up and forming a huge lump that I could scarcely breathe past. I
shook my head wildly as my feet continued to carry me closer, ever closer...
I didn't want to look. I don't want to. I don't want to I don't want to
Idon'twanttoIdon'twantto I DON'T WANT TO I DON'T-!
But it was too late. His body lay sprawled out, spread eagle and completely
nude upon the floor. It was horribly mutilated, large gashes running along his
muscles and chunks of flesh ripped out. He was coated in blood, and it still
seemed to be spilling from him. He couldn't have that much blood. He couldn't.
My eyes flicked up to his shoulders and neck, to the spot where his head should
be. I felt dizzy, my vision blurring and my skin getting hot. I was short of
breath, gasping rapidly as I backed up as fast as my feet would allow. I
slipped again, my feet flying out from beneath me, and I landed heavily on my
back.
The floor was warm and sticky. I was laying in his blood. I was laying in my
father's blood. Oh fuck, oh no, god.I scrambled to my feet, twisting my body
sharply to face the exist. I ran, fleeing the sickening scene as fast as I
could. I only made it as far as the attic, before an odd sound came from above
me, making me freeze in my tracks. I looked up. A mistake, I realised too late.
Soft thuds echoed through the warped hallway as something rolled slowly down
the steps, hitting my toes as it came to a stop. I swallowed hard, steeling
myself before looking down. My father's sanguine eyes stared up at me, sheer
terror frozen on his face. His dead orbs stared at me accusingly. I swallowed
hard.
"Ciel," I heard someone call from above with a laugh in their voice, and my
blood ran cold.
I could no longer stay on my feet. My legs turned to jelly and gave way beneath
me, and I crumbled to the floor. I was once again a little boy, trembling in
fear. I pulled my legs up to my chest, my eyes widening as tears pooled in
them, and my chest heaved with hyperventilation. I shrank back as far as I
could, watching that ebony hole wavering and moving like it was made up of a
mass of spiders all writhing, trying to escape. I could never forget that
voice.
A pristine white high heel came into view, followed by a slender leg. She
stepped down onto the step, the void seemingly spitting her out from
nothingness. I felt true horror, unable to look away as she slowly came into
view. As she stepped down onto the last step, I finally looked up to her face.
It was impossibly disfigured, her skull smashed and caved in, with one of her
eyes crushed beyond recognition in its socket. Her wounds were saturated in
old, dark, sickly brown blood, the clots visible even from this distance. Her
once flaxen hair was stained, matted down and sticking to her throat.
Rachel's broken face twisted into a mimicry of a smile, and I felt warmth pool
between my legs as I relieved myself in fear with a whimper.
"Ciel baby, Mommy has missed you so much," she cooed, her voice raspy and
wheezing as if her windpipe was crushed and straining. "You've been a very
naughty boy." Her gaze seemed to move to my father's head, her warped smile
only growing. She walked closer to me, and I flinched back as she leaned down
and scooped it up into her arms, cradling it against her bare chest.
"You're not real," I whispered brokenly, my eyes leaking tears as I stared at
her in horror. "You're dead."
Her laughter was strangled and cruel, her mangled head tossing backward with
deep amusement. "Ciel you foolish boy. You always were a fucking idiot. Did you
really think I would leave without my beloved?" She lifted up his head, and
brought it close to her face for her split, swollen, and blackened lips to
press against his. Her voice lowered with a deep rage. "You dared to try and
take him from me, you worthless piece of shit. It's your fault he left me; you
don't deserve him. He will always love me, and only me."
I covered my ears with trembling hands, my head shaking back and forth slowly
as I watched her in fear and disgust. My cheeks were damp with the constant
flow of tears, and I whimpered. I felt as though I were three again, unable to
defend myself and at her mercy.
"Why won't you die already?" she asked coldly. "Why won't you fucking die?! HOW
MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO KILL YOU!"
"Mom please! Why did you kill Daddy?" I sobbed, almost wishing that she would
kill me too. She took him away before I could have him, and I still wanted to
be with him. He was mine, he loved me.
She cackled like a madman, her entire body convulsing with her laughter. "I
didn't kill him, Ciel. You did."
I looked down at my hands when she said that, seeing all the blood that coated
them, and I realised that I was holding a knife. A constant and agonizing
shrill buzzing filled my ears, making my skull feel like it was full of bees. I
thought my head would explode from the pain, and the insects would come
bursting forth after devouring my brain.
"NO!" I screamed, the sound ripping itself from my throat as I sat up in bed.
I was gasping for air, my skin drenched in sweat and completely soaking my
father's shirt through. It clung to me like a disgusting second skin, and the
sheets tangled around my limbs made me feel claustrophobic. I had just had a
nightmare. I hadn't had a nightmare in years, since I was a young child, and
dreaded the day that Rachel would come for me, to take me away from my Daddy. I
didn't have nightmares anymore, because I was strong, and I could take care of
myself. No one could hurt me anymore. So why?
I suddenly recalled the feeling of warmth pooling between my thighs in my
dream, and with dread, I swallowed hard before ripping back the blankets to
expose my legs. I released a sigh of relief, completely thankful that I hadn't
actually pissed myself. I could still hear shrill buzzing, and once I calmed
down I was confused as to why. I turned my head to look at my alarm clock, and
I felt my stomach drop as I realised that my alarm was going off. The red
numbers read 7:30 am, and I groaned as panic set in once again. I had
accidentally slept through my alarm and was going to be late to school.
I slammed my fist down on the button, silencing the infernal noise. "Shit."
===============================================================================
There was no way that I could have bypassed taking a shower, it was just an
impossibility for me. I had been soaked to the bone with sweat, the disgusting
fluid gluing my fringe to my face and dripping down from drenched strands. I
had no hopes of making it to the bus in time anyway, as I could hardly get
ready and run down to the stop within five minutes. I took the quickest shower
that I could manage, leaving me free of sweat yet still possessing an unclean
feeling. My skin crawled with thousands of imaginary spiders, my OCD flaring up
in a demand to jump back in and scrub myself free of the thousands of legs
making my flesh itch. I ignored it, not easily, but pushed those thoughts out
nonetheless. I hadn't any time to waste. The last thing I needed was for the
receptionist in the office to grow a brain and call my father at work to alert
him of any absences and tardies, giving him suspicions about me. I dressed in a
hurry, not putting any thought whatsoever into my attire or if it matched. I
snagged my backpack and ran outside.
I rode my bike to school, my brain consumed with thoughts of my weekend and my
father. I ran over every single detail meticulously, searching for a single
flaw, one small mistake that could spell disaster for everything that I was
working so hard towards. I had cleaned vigorously, though I would double-check
when I got home to make sure that the attic was flawless. It was a good thing
I'd cleaned it before my father had went in to get his suitcase, otherwise the
sudden immaculate cleanliness would have been suspicious should he decide to
venture in once more.
Halting my thought process only long enough to chain up my bike and work myself
up into a fit of tears, I widened my eyes before running into the school and
into the main office. The red-headed idiot caught sight of me, shock and
sympathy painted on her face as blatantly as her crimson lips.
"Miss Durless," I whined pitifully, letting a few tears slip down my cheeks.
Her hand rested over her heart, already snared in my trap. Women were so easy
to manipulate.
"C-Ciel, whatever is the matter?" She asked, rising to her feet and leaning
over her desk, her red bangs shifting as she cocked her head to the side in
concern. Her ruby-painted lips turned down into a worried frown, and I very
nearly rolled my eyes.
"I missed the bus, and I had to ride my bike all the way here. He just drove
off without me..." I sniffled, twisting my expression into one of sadness.
"Please don't mark me tardy, Miss Durless, I promise it won't happen again."
"Sweet boy," she cooed, circling around her desk to stop in front of me. She
crouched to be more my height, a fact that irritated to no end. Her
sympathetically smiling face was directly across from mine, and she brought up
a hand to muss my hair. Filthy, absolutely disgusting. Why did vile women
always insist upon touching me? I nearly cringed, suppressing the urge to jerk
back. I held very still, fighting the revulsion that threatened to flicker over
my face. "It'll be our little secret, okay?" Durless winked at me as she rose
back to her feet and grasped a slip of paper from my first class. She used
white-out to get rid of the mark in the absent slot by my name, before drawing
an x in the present box.
I beamed at her, clutching her hand tightly and making my skin want to peel off
of me, my voice as sweet and innocent as possible as I could manage. "I wish I
had a mom like you Miss Durless." I watched the tears well in her eyes before I
turned and walked away. It wasn't a well-known fact, but she was, in fact,
infertile, and I knew that playing on her motherly instincts would work in my
favor. She could treat me like the son she could never have, and I could deal
with a few revolting touches here and there, so long as I got everything I
desired in the end.
Women were too easy, the sickening creatures.
Consumed in my thoughts once more, I hardly paid attention to any of my
classes. If you had asked me what I had done at school or had for lunch, I
wouldn't be able to give you an answer. By the end of the day, my mind was
calm. I had gone over everything, breaking it apart and piecing it back
together in my head, and I knew that I left nothing. There was no evidence left
behind that would implicate me at all; she would forever just be a missing
person with no hints of foul play.
Still, as safe as I was, I needed to lie low for a while; I had been too active
recently, and if I dared to take someone personal to me out again, I was sure
the police would begin to connect dots. They did have at least one person with
some semblance of intelligence, after all. I thought momentarily about Claude
Faustus; if I wasn't careful, the man could become a worthy adversary.
The rest of the day passed in much of a blur. As soon as I made it home I was
in the shower, washing away all of the disgusting spiders and clammy touches of
that woman. The only thing I was truly aware of was the hunger. It ripped
through me, and when dinner came around, I ate like a man starving for months.
I'm sure I surprised my father with how much and how fast I consumed the food
that he made, not even offering up a single complaint. I ate everything in
sight, and by the time I was done, my stomach was mercifully silent. Exhaustion
was creeping its way in, but I kept it off of my face as my father helped me
with my homework. I barely paid any attention, unsure of what subjects we were
even working on.
I would worry about going over everything tomorrow to make sure it was all
perfect. For now, my bed was calling my name. I crawled under the sheets. Sleep
was welcome and, thankfully, nightmare free.
===============================================================================
Worry. As I stared down blankly at the upside down pages of the book in my
hands, not absorbing any shred of information, I was consumed with worry. I
flicked my eyes down to my phone screen, checking the time once more, even
though it had only been a minute or so since I last looked. The seconds felt
like years, dragging by agonizingly slowly, making my lungs feel like it was
hard to breathe. I'd tried distracting myself by reading, though it had
obviously not done any good. It's rather hard to read a book upside down, I
grumbled to myself, annoyed that I hadn't even bothered to flip it over yet.
Pretending to read was the farthest thing from my mind, yet I couldn't seem to
unclench my fingers from around the old pages. My grip had wrinkled them, but I
really didn't give a flying fuck.
Today had gone normally enough; school was boring as per usual, barely holding
my attention as I tried to give some semblance of attentiveness rather than the
blatant disregard I held towards the instructors. It had seemed much harder to
do today than it was normally, as I was purposefully trying harder to lie low
than I had been doing before. There really was no need, I was hardly on
anyone's radar anyway, especially now that Maurice was gone. The football
players really were a bunch of sheep, and with their leader dead, they'd left
me alone entirely, barely sparing me a glance. I liked it that way just fine. I
had assumed that it was just a normal day, as any other was, and yet.
Where was he?
My father was late, and that was not normal. Five minutes, ten, hell even 20,
and I wouldn't have worried in the least. Traffic was unpredictable, and it
could be hell in the evenings around the insurance building, as it was centered
closer to the city. But he was much too late for that. I could feel my body
tensing up, winding tighter and tighter as the minutes passed, and I was
certain the anxiety would snap me in half before too long had passed. Flashes
of the other night's nightmare danced across my vision, quickly being banished
from my mind.
I was so consumed in worry that I didn't hear the car pull up into the drive,
but the soft click of the front door shutting rips me from my thoughts, and I
jerk my gaze up from the book. I slam it shut and jump to my feet, leaving
behind my perch on the couch as my brows furrow, allowing the worry to show on
my face. I let my bottom lip jut out in what I know is an adorable pout. "Daddy
where have you been? I was worried." I dart over to him as fast as possible,
not allowing him any chance for escape, before flinging my arms around his
waist in a tight hug. "You didn't call me."
"Shit. I did forget." He sighs, dropping his hand down to ruffle my hair. Well,
that was not what I wanted to hear. He forgot about me? "I'm sorry, Ciel. It
slipped my mind. Bard wanted to play some ball after work and I forgot to let
you know that I'd be home late."
I draw my head back, keeping my arms around him, so that I can study his facial
expression. Something seems... off about him. His words are innocent enough,
but just basketball wouldn't account for the sallowness to his pale skin, or
the weary look in his eyes. He could be sick, but that really didn't appear to
be the case, otherwise I'm sure he would have mentioned it. I cock my head to
the side, unable to put my finger on just what it is yet, so I form words
slowly, trying not to let on my suspicions. As far as I can tell, meeting Bard
was not a lie. "Well... it's okay... If Bard needed you, Daddy, then I forgive
you."
His lips turn up into a smile, his fingers messing my hair up even further,
before stepping away from me and into the house. He uses the same hand to rake
through his own tresses, and with the way his hair is disheveled more so than
normally, I could tell that he had been doing it constantly today. "So what
sounds good for dinner?"
My father's arrival home had done nothing to relieve my worry - if anything, it
had made it much worse. I can feel my brow creeping up my forehead as I stare
at his back, the suspicion tickling at the back of my mind like a song that I
can't seem to get out of my head, but I release an inaudible sigh. Whatever was
the matter, he wasn't keen on talking about it, I was certain of that.
I hummed like I was thinking it over, the answer already on my tongue.
"Anything with potatoes." Trailing after him, I try to keep my tone as
nonchalant as possible, trying to prod for information in a way that wouldn't
be obvious. Perhaps, if I played my cards right, he would slip up and give me
something, anything, that I could use to figure out just what was plaguing him.
"How was work?" I ask softly, toying with the dog-eared pages of the weathered
book still in my hands.
"About as good as filing reports get," he chuckles, his feet carrying him over
to the stairs. "I'm going to change into something more comfortable before I
start on dinner. Maybe we'll have stir fry."
I frown to myself, not liking the answer I'm given, but not finding any weak
points in it that I can take advantage of. Letting go of my suspicions for the
moment, I flash a smile at my father. "Stir fry sounds good, Daddy."
I watch him as he walks up the stairs, standing there unmoving, scarcely even
breathing all the while. I stood there even after hearing his door click shut,
my mind moving a mile a minute. Perhaps he had just had a shitty client, one
who had bitten his head off. Or maybe his boss had unjustly scolded him - I'd
heard conversations about the man between my father and Bard; they made him
sound like a tyrant. Whatever it was, it was something. I turned away from the
staircase and began walking back towards the couch, hardly paying attention to
where my feet were moving as I stared blankly down in thought.
"Ciel, have you been doing the laundry? My t-shirts are almost all gone," I
heard my father call from the bottom of the stairs, snapping me out of my
thoughts and making my blood run cold.
I freeze in my tracks, cheeks flushing as I recall where exactly all his shirts
have ended up - my closet. I keep my face carefully pointed away from him to
keep my expression hidden, my fingers digging into my book, squeezing the life
out of it. Lie, don't let him know. Not yet. He's not ready. "It must have
slipped my mind. I'll do some before I go to bed." I quickly school my face,
morphing it to convey shame and embarrassment, in case he looks at me. "Sorry
for forgetting."
I can't see him, but I can hear the disbelief and disapproval in his voice when
he speaks. "The laundry chute was empty this morning." Shit, I thought. Who
checked those anyway? My body tenses up, hair raising on the back of my neck as
he gets closer. I nearly flinch when his hands come up to rest on my shoulders,
and he squeezes them so sweetly I want to melt. "Have you been wearing them?
Did you hit a late growth spurt?"
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to shove away the thrill of his touch, my
eyes lighting up with victory. He had given me the perfect out. Nodding my
head, I let my voice soften, becoming repentful. "I-I think so. My clothes are
getting a little too tight, and your shirts were just more comfortable. I'm
sorry for lying, Daddy, I didn't want you to be mad at me." I lift my chin and
tilt my head back to look at him, widening my eyes to the likeness of saucers,
my expression pleading.
I watch the soft smile spread on his lips, making me feel warm inside, and his
hands fall from my shoulder as he pats my back gently. "I figured as much.
We'll go shopping this weekend to find you some better fitting clothes. After
all, isn't homecoming approaching? You are planning on going, aren't you?"
A happy grin lights up my face, and I spin around to face him. "A shopping trip
sounds like fun," I announce, but dread curls in my stomach at the idea of the
upcoming dance. No way in hell.I keep the repulsion out of my expression
easily, keeping my tone bubbly. "I was thinking about it, but I don't know if
I'll be able to. I don't have anyone to go with." I was hoping he'd let me off
the hook with that excuse; it wasn't as though I wouldn't be able to find a
date if I wanted to. I was rather attractive, if I do say so myself, and I
could certainly turn on the charm. But I absolutely loathed dancing, and
females. No thank you.
"I'm sure you could find a date easily," he says with a smile, and I inwardly
cringe. Blast. He moves to the fridge, pulling it open and digging through.
"Plus your old man will be disappointed if he doesn't get to embarrass you by
making you take pictures." A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest as he starts
setting ingredients on the counter. Double blast.
I stifle a groan, wishing that he hadn't been aware at all of when homecoming
was. Most father's didn't, but leave it to mine to know about every school
event that took place. I steel my resolve as I plop down at the kitchen table,
forcing a smile onto my face. "I'll hurry up and find a date then, Daddy."
Anything for him, even if I dreaded it.
"I look forward to it. Oh, and are your classes going well, I'm assuming I'll
have to go to a parent teacher meeting soon and I'd like to hear good news," my
father states, turning to look at me expectantly.
And then everything clicks into place as I meet his eyes. This sly...He was
trying to distract me, and he was doing a damn good job of it, not even giving
me the chance to ask questions. If I had been suspicious before, this brought
it up to an alarming amount. He was covering something up, trying to keep me
from discovering that there was something wrong with him.
I kept my expression carefully schooled; if he did not want me to become
suspicious, then it would be in my best interest to act as though I think
nothing is out of order. I gave him the brightest, most child-like smile I
could manage, my eyes wide and glittering like jewels. "Oh, of course, Daddy.
My grades are very good, especially thanks to your help with my homework. All
of my teachers like me."
"Oh, good. Then I'll help you with it after we finish dinner."
The finality of our conversation ending lingered in the air between us, and I
left him to cook as I began ruminating on my thoughts. The night flew by in a
blur, and I hardly paid attention to my food or even my father helping me with
homework. I tried to seem as attentive as possible, but where normally my heart
would flutter and pound at his close proximity to me, I hadn't felt the
slightest stirring from it. Once we had finished the packet, he fled my room in
a seemingly better mood than he had been in when he got home. As soon as the
door clicked shut, my cheery, youthful facade shattered, leaving my expression
gloomy and brooding. My brows drew together and my eyes darkened as I brought
my hand up to my face, my index finger and thumb cupping my chin. I was finally
able to fully focus on my thoughts.
There was obviously something bothering my father, that much was clear. Any
moron would be able to deduce that his mind was occupied. Had something
happened at work, then? If that was the case, then he wouldn't be able to hide
it that well; his dejection always showed in his expression when something
occurred with his boss. He tended to look older, then, with his brow creased
and wrinkles from worry creasing the corners of his lips, his smile never quite
reaching his stormy eyes. It couldn't possibly be something worse than whatever
his boss inflicted, could it? I was certain that it would be very apparent in
his face and movements. Perhaps he was still just upset over the blonde slut,
though I couldn't see why that would be when he has me.
I stared up at the ceiling, unsure of how I had even made it to bed, I was so
lost in thought. Whatever it was, it must not be that bad, or of importance, I
finally decided. My father always made it a habit to never outright lie to me;
sure, he twisted the truth sometimes, or left out things he deemed unnecessary
for someone my age to know, but he never truly lied. Everything he told me
always had the essence of truth to it, even if it was stated in a way that left
out important details. So, he had really been with Bard, I was positive. It was
possible that they had had a fight and needed to sort it out; it certainly made
sense why he would be too stressed to remember to call me. They were best
friends and rarely got into arguments, as well as they had an easy time
resolving them, but I'd say they were about due for one. With that settled, I
promptly put it out of my mind. I rolled onto my side and burrowed deeper into
my nest of blankets, closing my eyes as I released a small sigh. Their tiffs
were no concern of mine. They could handle it on their own, they were perfectly
capable adults.
Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to occur for the rest of the week; his
behavior was rather normal, so I just naturally assumed that things had been
sorted out with Bard. Everything was returning to as it should be; just me and
my father, together, exactly where we belonged. Nothing, and no one, was going
to destroy that.
===============================================================================
I would really quite like to say that my plans to lie low were going exactly as
I had desired them to; that I would be able to go at least a month without
further sullying my hands with blood. I truly wished that was how it worked
out, but sadly, I barely made it 7 days before my intentions came crashing to a
brutal halt. Right after my father had left to go hang out with Bard,
Undertaker showed up at my door, not even bothering to disguise himself. It was
still daylight, and here he stood, in all of his eccentric, eye-catching glory.
I felt my eyes widen with anger at his sudden appearance. Leave it to this
asshole to come and shatter my attempts at being peaceful.
I gripped tightly onto his arm, enough to leave clear, slim bruises of the tips
of my fingers on his skin, and yanked him into my house with a snarl. "Why the
fuck are you here?" I demanded after I slammed the front door, positively
seething as he chuckled in amusement. "You do realise how much attention you
draw looking like that," I huffed, gesturing angrily at his appearance. "Don't
make things harder on me; the last thing I need is for my father to hear
through my neighbors that I'm letting deviants who look like child molesters
into my house when he's out."
Undertaker clutched at his heart and stumbled back, acting as though I had shot
him point blank with a shotgun. "Why, little lord, you woundme." His ever-
present smile curled his lips, and I wasn't sure whether I wanted to punch him
to be rid of it for once, or for his piss-poor attempt at feigning hurt. "My
interests only lie in the cold embrace of a corpse."
My upper lip curled up into a sneer, baring my teeth as my nose wrinkled in
absolute disgust. I raised my head, my arms crossing tightly over my chest as I
looked down my nose at him, seeing myself as far above scum like him. "What you
do with your beloved cadavers on your own time is none of my business. Please
don't taint my ears with your sickening statements." I snapped my head to the
side, no longer finding him worth my time. His annoying chuckles grated on my
nerves, and I sighed in abhorrence and annoyance. "We both know you've got a
reason for being here. Out with it," I commanded, resigning myself to having to
deal with whatever it is he required of me.
"I have a meeting that I'd like you to join me on," Undertaker drawled in his
sing-song tone, the amusement in his voice never fading. I wondered if he had
ever been normal or serious in his life, but decided I really didn't care. I
waved my hand in the air as a gesture for him to continue. "We'll consider it a
test of sorts, so your dear instructor can assess where you're at." With that,
he burst into the cackling of a madman, clutching at his sides.
My face twisted into an irritated expression, though my brow lifted in
interest, head cocked to the side. "I don't feel like it. I've school tomorrow.
I refuse to run around as your little errand dog. You can leave." Really, I was
delaying the inevitable; I knew that I would have no choice in the matter, and
that I would have to go with him willingly in the end, but I wanted to give him
a hard time. I wanted to lie low, god damnit. This bastard always had a way of
ruining my plans.
I turned fully away from him and marched over to the door, gripping the handle
and getting ready to wrench it open to point him out. The next thing I knew, my
back was slamming painfully into the door, the knob digging into my spine
harshly enough to send a sharp pain shooting up my back. One of his hands
clutched my jaw tightly, his nails pressing into the soft flesh of my cheeks,
and he forced me to look up at him. My expression was twisted with pain, one of
my eyes clenched mostly closed from discomfort, and I nearly vomited from the
intense repulsion slamming into me in waves. I felt his body press into mine,
and he curled his upper half over me, completely sandwiching me between him and
the door. His cheshire grin remained plastered on his lips and appearing much
more forced than it ever had. The slightest hint of insanity and a deep-rooted
rage glazed over his eyes, making that odd chartreuse too shiny and bright.
"You owe me, little lord, if you'll recall. You even told me so yourself. If
you want to go back on your word, then you won't mind surrendering this pretty
little thing to me, would you?" The long, black nail of his index finger
hovered barely a centimeter from my pupil, so close I could almost feel it
touching. If I even so much as blinked, that talon-like nail would scratch
across my cornea unforgivingly, perhaps blinding me. His voice was so icy it
chilled even me, who feared nothing, to the bone. My skin tightened and crawled
from being touched by him. My fingers twitched with the urge to claw and
scratch at myself until I bled, the itching sensation was much too intense. I
stilled myself as much as possible, allowing my steady hand to rise up between
us and grasp onto his bony wrist, easing that nail back from my iris. Keeping
the fear out of my eyes, I let my face fall into the most annoyed expression I
could manage, my frown deepening.
"Can't take a joke? I didn't realise you were so sensitive, seeing as how
you're always jesting." I tossed his arm away from me, fully aware that it
wouldn't have budged if he didn't want it to. I would have to tread more
carefully, it would seem. Undertaker certainly had many faces that even I
didn't know.
"Kekeke, what, don't like being held?" He sniggered, immediately releasing me.
I stood up from the door, dusting myself off, giving him a loathsome look. "Not
by men as cold as the bodies they love so much."
===============================================================================
The sun was slowly setting, just beginning to kiss the horizon and bathing
everything in the soft hues of pink and orange. Undertaker had taken the
precaution of parking a few blocks away from his target's home, and now was
walking calmly at my side. His stride was slower than mine, and I cursed his
stupid long legs as I took twice the amount of steps he did just to keep up.
His long grey hair is hanging down his front in a messy braid, something I
forced on him before we left my house so that he would have some semblance of a
decent appearance and attract less attention. An impossible feat when he was
dressed as himself. His lips are still curled into his stupid smile, his face
turned towards the setting sun, seeming to bask in the faint warmth its
providing. I glower down at my feet, frown marring my lips as I feel his hand
come to rest softly on my shoulder, those ebony claws biting into my flesh. I
suppress a shudder as he guides me onto the crosswalk, and I glare at the
receding sidewalk as it flees beneath my feet. I don't want to be here. I'd
rather be anywhere else than in this loathsome man's company. I swatted his
hand away, turning my hateful stare up to Undertaker's face once he starts to
cackle.
I grumble under my breath, wanting to cross my arms like a petulant child but
forcing them to keep hanging loosely at my sides. "Can we just get this over
with already? I didn't come with you just to take a goddamn evening stroll."
"You can go on a date with me but you can't take a walk with me? How cold." His
words came out in that suppressed laughter way of his, very clearly amused as
he focuses on me. I know he wants a reaction, and as much as I don't want to
give the bastard the satisfaction, I can't seem to help myself. He just knows
exactly which buttons to push, and for how long until I become a writhing ball
of murderous fury.
"Fuck you, you rotten bastard," I snarl, unable to stop myself from crossing my
arms over my chest this time. We're too focused on each other to pay much mind
to the clacking of heels on pavement. "It wasn'ta date, for the last time."
Huffing in irritation, I scowl deeply, but the sound of bags hitting the ground
draws my attention, making me temporarily forget my anger.
Both of us turn from each other and lift our heads in the direction of the
noise, which had come from the other side of the crosswalk. A woman stands in
the middle of the street, sunglasses hiding her eyes from sight, her grey hair
pulled up into a mussed bun, and what can only be classified as a seductive
smile curls her lips. I glance downwards, feeling my brows shoot up in shock;
she has to be the curviest woman that I've ever seen. Her tits were probably
the size of my head, each, and I wished I could say that I was exaggerating.
Her lacy black bra peeks out from beneath her white blouse, which is
transparent enough that you can see the damn thing hugging onto her plentiful
mounds. The flesh pushes up into the most dangerous looking cleavage; a man
could fall into it and never surface again. A skirt that has to be the tightest
piece of clothing to exist hugs her perfectly, leaving nothing to the
imagination, and it even bunched up from her walking, exposing a nearly lewd
amount of her thighs. I finally drop my eyes to the ground, spotting her
extremely high-heeled feet standing in the wake of what looks like some sort of
shopping bag massacre. Countless fancy paper bags litter the crosswalk, a few
of their contents spilling out like the guts of a fallen soldier.
Undertaker's hand coming to rest on my hip and yanking me to a stop in the road
is enough to draw my attention back to him. I wish this dreadful man wasn't so
fucking handsy with me. I flick my gaze over to his face, witnessing the
widening of his smile to nearly impossible measures. His tone is entirely sing-
song when he speaks up.
"Anna."
I can feel my expression twisting into a confused mask, my mouth opening as I
get ready to begin questioning him on how he knows this walking playboy
magazine.
"Hannah," she interrupts smoothly, and I swear that I can feel her eyes on me,
but by the time I turn back to look at her she's once again focused on
Undertaker. "You never could get my name right." As this Hannah/Anna woman
clears her throat, she pulls her sunglasses down until they rest on the very
tip of her nose, finally exposing her eyes, which are some shade of blue that I
can't say I'm familiar with. "How have you been, dear brother?" She smirks, her
voice a sultry purr.
Brother? Well that was completely unexpected. True, they did both have that
same grey hair, for being so young looking, but that hardly would make someone
think they were related. She was so very... so many words came to mind. Normal,
sexualized, a straight man's wet dream, take your pick. And Undertaker wasn't
any of those things; he was the kind of man that people subconsciously avoided,
never daring to make eye contact and rushing their children farther away from
him.
His mad laughter barking out suddenly made me start, my eyes widening as I whip
my head in his direction. He's laughing harder than I've ever seen him, his
hand pressing into his stomach as if it can somehow suppress his mirth.
Undertaker manages to get himself under whatever semblance of control he has,
his grin still cracking his face in half. "I've been rather well." A pause as I
assume he gives Hustler a once-over. "You look quite well yourself."
I find that I rather dislike the way Hannah looks at me, like she had spotted a
cockroach scuttling over the toe of her shoe. Her entire attitude told me that
she only saw me as a child, one who wasn't worth the time of day. I can feel my
face twisting into unpleasantness as my shock fades from me, my arms crossing
tightly over my chest. All women are repulsive creatures, this one more so than
others. "I didn't know you had a sister, but..." I trail off, flicking my eyes
up and down her, before locking onto her face and scrutinizing every detail. My
lips curl into a cruel smirk, though the rest of my features remain angelic. "I
can see the resemblance in her rather masculine jawline."
She quits her longing, indecent staring at Undertaker when I speak, her posture
getting a little stiff and her smile becoming more faux as she has to work to
keep it on her face. Victory flashes in my eyes momentarily, though her next
words send a bolt of lightning through me, freezing me to my spot. "Seal, isn't
it? I work with your Daddy." Hannah's smile relaxes, gaining back its genuine
feel while the tip of her heel grinds into the ground.Oh this simpering fucking
cunt, how dare she. Did I look like a goddamn animal to this insipid
bitch?  "He's quite the charming man, getting all dressed up like he does. His
cologne smells divine as well. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't fantasized about
having him between my legs."
Undertaker's boisterous laughter registers in the back of my head, though I
ignore the wheezing chuckles as hate wells up within me. This disgusting slut.
How dare she speak of my father that way, like she would ever stand a chance.
Her very existence pissed me off, and I found myself contemplating all the ways
that I could end her for her insolent way of speaking. My eyes narrow as I
glare at her with every bit of rage I feel, though my lips quirk into a
naturally sweet, innocent little boy smile. As much as I loathed to play nice
with this fat ass slut, I had to tread carefully so that she would keep her
whore mouth shut around my father. I knew he would never believe a word from
someone else over my own, but I still couldn't have those seeds of doubt
planted in his head.
"You work with Daddy? I didn't know, he's never mentioned you," I say
pleasantly enough, though there is an underlying edge to my voice. My polite
words conceal my true meaning. You aren't important enough to even be on my
father's radar, you will never be anywhere near my level, so step the fuck
back, you bitch.Unable to help myself, I glance at her shirt, my tone
saccharine and lilting as I offer another veiled insult. "Are you sure you work
at an insurance company? Your shirt looks thinner than tissue paper."
"Then I must be wearing it right," Hannah responds with a throaty chuckle that
some might consider sexy. She doesn't even seem fazed by my words, which
irritates me to no end. Her hand comes up to run through my hair, and I nearly
gag from the unwanted physical touch. As if that wasn't disgusting enough, she
drops her slender fingers to my jaw, cupping it and biting into my cheeks with
her talons. Another trait she seems to share with Undertaker. She forces my
head up, giving me no choice but to look up into her eyes. "Nevermind the way I
dress, little boy. I know things about your Daddy that I'm sure you don't know
yet."
Hustler releases me as she steps over to her brother, unabashedly stroking his
chest. Her expression is reminiscent of a cat in heat. God or whatever may be
out there, give me the strength not to brutally stab this twat for continually
calling him Daddy. That's what only Ican call him. Pushing my rage aside, I
consider her words. Something I don't know. My mind flashes back to last week,
to the day he came home fatigued and kept me distracted.
"You don't have to keep playing pretend, she knows everything about me,"
Undertaker says, drawing me out of my thoughts. He's finally seemed to get his
manic chortling under control, and has straightened himself back out to his
full height. I watch his lips quirk into an approving smirk, directed at little
miss cunt. She practically melts from the positive attention, causing my
stomach to twist in disgust. Nothing is more vile than craving intimacy with
your brother.
I let my innocent mask fall away, trying to maintain whatever politeness I can
pull together, even though shock and anger courses through me as I realise that
this stranger knows about me. Flicking my eyes up to Undertaker's face, I open
my mouth to scold him for daring to tell a single soul about the side I keep
hidden from society.
"Now, now. My pet would never betray me. Would you?" He cuts me off before I
can start, his tone mockingly soothing. His attentions stays on her, his hand
coming to rest lightly on her hip.
Manipulative bastard, I think as I suppress the urge to roll my eyes.
"It's been too long," she murmurs, kissing his neck and leaving a perfect
purple impression of her lips. Hannah's attention falls onto me, though she
continues to openly grope Undertaker. He says something in return to her, but
I'm no longer listening to his idiotic babble. Don't vomit, I remind myself as
her hand squeezes his thigh. "I'm not your enemy, Ciel. I want nothing to do
with Sebastian and his awkward personality. But I do know that your father is
in trouble."
I swallow hard, my eyes widening as the PDA is pushed far from my thoughts,
worry beginning to take over. "What do you mean, 'in trouble'?" I question,
shifting from foot to foot in an almost anxious manner, my brows creasing.
"Do tell, pet," Undertaker purrs, drawing Hannah's adoring eyes back to him.
Her voice gets soft as she focuses solely on him. "He was taken in by the
police for questioning. I'm assuming it's your doing." She completely loses
interest in the conversation, consumed in her brother as she begins molding
herself to him. "I'd like to believe we have some catching up to do."
All that registers within me is shock, the intense feeling punching me in the
gut. I feel bile rise in my throat, tasting it on the back of my tongue. The
blood rushes from my face, going still and silent as I wait in dread for her to
tell me this is all some twisted joke. The punchline that will never come, I
muse inwardly. How. How could this have happened? No one should have suspected
him or me. There is no evidence, none at all that suggests he could be tied to
her disappearance. There's no hint of foul-play, nothing.
Unless he did something that would throw a wrench into my plans. Something that
would draw the investigative forces attention onto him. Did he go to her house?
Call her? Think rationally, Ciel, I scolded myself, drawing a deep breath. I
reached over without thinking and clutched onto Undertaker's sleeve, giving it
a tug.
When I speak, my voice is dangerously low and calm. "We need to go. Let's get
this over and done with so I can go home. I give another tug before my hand
loses its grip and falls uselessly to my side, dangling like a pendulum. I
stride off, never looking back or checking to see if he's following after me. I
know that no matter how far I stray ahead, Undertaker will eventually make his
way to me.
My index finger rubs at my lip as I turn a corner, walking blindly as my brain
turns my thoughts over and over again like a coin. She worked at the grocery
store that my father frequents, which is where they met in the first place. The
restaurant has cameras set up for security purposes, so they were most likely
spotted on film together. Once Elizabeth was reported missing, it would make
sense that they would search every place that she had been before her untimely
disappearance. So merely questioning my father would instantly clear his name
of suspicion. I ran through the entire murder I had executed, trying to find
any faults in my planning, but coming up empty. He should no longer be a
suspect, but the way Hannah made it sound, he was in danger of being arrested.
Perhaps he did something that came off as incriminating.
It didn't matter. It didn't matter if I had slipped up or if he had done
something to alert the police to his involvement with her. All that mattered
was that he needed me. If there was any evidence, any at all, I would find it
and dispose of it. I couldn't allow them to take away my chance to be with him.
I wouldn't let them take him away from me. Daddy is mine.
When I finally came back to my senses, I was sitting on the curb of some
street, staring blankly at the pool of white coming down from the streetlamp.
The sun had long since sunk, darkness and silence swathing me like a comforting
blanket. The soft sound of footsteps coming towards me drew my attention, and I
lifted my head to gaze up at Undertaker. His jaw was set tightly, as if he was
clenching his teeth, and his usual smile was nowhere to be seen. I stood up,
dusting my palms off as he approached me, and I began walking at his side.
"Why do you keep her around? She's a threat. We should get rid of her," I
stated coldly, remembering my prior outrage at his darlingsister knowing even
one hint of information about me because of his loose lips.
Undertaker merely waved away my words. "I wasn't lying when I said she would
never betray me. Her obsession would never allow her to do so. Besides, she is
of great use to me." He didn't sound very happy about this. In fact, his voice
was the most emotionless I had ever heard, completely void of fluctuation and
possessing an eerie monotony.
It was extremely strange to see him this way, when the only Undertaker I knew
was one that laughed uncontrollably and found everything amusing. He wasn't
even smiling. I could have died from shock. How extremely peculiar of him.
Putting it out of my head, I focused on the mission at hand. We turned into
someone's drive and began approaching a rather decent looking house. I had to
focus on the job at hand, but I still found my mind drawn to my father.
No matter what I had to do, or the cost, I would make sure that his name
remained unsullied.
I'll save you, Daddy, I thought with intense determination as the back door
swung open, and I took the first step inside the silent house.
***** Intermission: Hannah's Side *****
Chapter by SebasuchansKitten
Chapter Notes
     Hey, I finally got off my ass and finished this chapter. Cool. Sorry
     to keep you all waiting. Hope you enjoy.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Hannah's eyes flicked from left to right, disinterest gleaming within them. She
was always surrounded by people, therefore she was used to never being alone,
but that didn't mean it wasn't boring. Currently, she was in the center of the
commotion in the office, sitting in a cubicle while various other coworkers
stood around chatting. This didn't happen very often; in fact, this had never
happened in her entire history of working at UTI. The only reason why this was
possible was due to the boss never showing up today. This wasn't like him. He
always called in when he knew he wouldn't be coming, and most of the time he'd
simply show up late rather than not showing up at all. This could only mean one
thing.
He killed the girl.
Hannah didn't think it'd be possible. When her brother first revealed his plot,
she had merely scoffed and casted doubt on his abilities. Never did she ever
think he could manage to pull something like this off, yet somehow he did.
After all these years, he still hadn't changed.
He always was a very secretive and mysterious man. Hannah had lived with him
most of her life, yet she still didn't know what made him tick. Oh, how she was
dying to know what fueled that man. Although, in a way, she already knew.
Death. That was the only thing that kept him alive, ironically enough.
Ever since they were kids, he had an obsession with it. He was captivated by
how bodies worked, what kept them going, and, ultimately, what stopped them
from functioning. He desired to know what made our bodies different from
animals, and why people could survive scenarios that they couldn't and vice
versa. He carried out his obsession by killing small animals in the backyard
and dissecting them, piece by piece, until he was satisfied with the answers he
found. He'd rip the wings off of birds and watch them as they struggled to fly
away, but couldn't. He'd cut off the ears of rabbits and study their reactions,
which mostly consisted of them making the most horrid sounds and running around
in blind panic. Hannah couldn't count how many animals he killed altogether.
She was sure he exterminated over half of the pest population.
Hannah never shared the obsession her brother had. In fact, she couldn't
understand why he felt such happiness whenever he killed something. Hannah
couldn't judge him, however; actually, no one in their family could judge him.
They were all a little... Bizarre.
To the average person, their family appeared quite normal. Their father worked
hard every day, and their mother remained home to do the cooking and cleaning.
At night, they all ate dinner together, where they discussed their days and
whatever else they wished to talk about. Oh, and, like most perfect families,
they took a new family picture every year, and hung the portrait over the
mantle to proudly display their familial closeness. On the outside, they were
everything a normal family should be. Unfortunately, however, an outsider's
perception is often distorted.
Unlike most of the children Hannah and her brother knew, their parents weren't
drunks, which, in most situations, would make everything better. This was not
the case for them. It made everything seem so much worse knowing that they were
fully sober the entire time.
According to her mother, Hannah's father had explored her body from the day she
was born. And, every day since then, he had continued to touch her. Hannah
never remembered any of this, for she was too young at the time to recall these
innocent memories. She did, however, remember the more explicit ones.
She could easily recall her fifth birthday, the day when her father forced her
to give him her first handjob. Of course, he did this after her brother left to
go to a friend's house later that day, so he never knew about it. Up until her
sixth birthday, she was told to do this every day, and she had no choice but to
do it.
On her seventh birthday, she was made to use her mouth for the first time,
again by her father. This time, her brother was actually present for the event,
and he, along with their mother, witnessed it firsthand in the living room. Her
brother had actually defended her, telling their father to stop what he was
doing at once. In response, their father calmly explained that he was doing
nothing wrong.
"Son, Anna doesn't have a problem with this."
"That's because she's too young to know what she's doing!"
"She's not doing anything wrong. Your mother's okay with it, I'm okay with it."
"This isn't something normal families would do!"
"How would you know? This is the only family you have. Look at her, Son. Does
it really look like I'm hurting Anna? I'm not even touching her."
"Well, no..."
"I promise it's okay. So just sit back and watch."
And they did, every day, up until her eighth birthday. That was when things got
very serious.
Hannah could still hear the sound of fists pounding on her bedroom door, the
wood creaking with each forceful hit.
"Anna! Are you all right?! Anna!"
She could hear her brother screaming her name through the door, but she wasn't
able to answer. She was stuck, pinned to her bed underneath her father, his
lips crushed to hers. She was thrashing wildly, muffled cries of pain escaping
her as her father jabbed his finger in harder.
"Anna! Mom, let me in! You promised you wouldn't hurt her!"
"In a minute, Dear," their mother answered, her voice cold as her eyes stayed
fixated on the scene. "The worst has yet to come."
Minutes later, something much bigger slammed into Hannah, something that made
her cries turn into ear-piercing screams.
"ANNA!"
She couldn't remember much of what happened after that, most likely because her
brain found it too traumatic for her to remember at the time. She found that
thought silly as she recalled the events, but she couldn't help that she forgot
everything that happened up until a few hours afterward.
"Anna," he whispered, his arms circled around her. He couldn't find other words
to say as he held her, snot and tears dripping down his hands as his little
sister bawled. "I'm sorry, Anna. I'm sorry. I'll protect you, I promise. I
promise I'll never hurt you."
The little girl sniffled, halting her crying momentarily to look up into her
brother's eyes. "Liar."
He blinked in surprise at her words, before his eerie orbs shone with sympathy.
He knew she was right.
After that day, nothing was truly the same. Hannah was now forced to have sex
with him every day, while her brother was made watch alongside their mother.
For a while, her brother continued to defend her and try to stop him, but when
Hannah stopped crying, he eventually would stop defending her.
"Dad, just stop."
"Son, I've told you a million times, I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm just
trying to make her feel good. Anna, baby, it doesn't hurt anymore, does it?"
"No. It doesn't hurt anymore."
"See? She feels good now."
"...It really doesn't hurt anymore, Anna?"
"No."
And that was the end of her brother's protests. He gave up on trying to help
her, for he figured she wasn't in pain anymore. It seemed their father didn't
want to hurt her, after all.
He then willingly watched their routine, even throwing in some commentary once
in a while.
"Anna, turn this way. I don't have a good enough view."
"Anna, make more noise. You've been too quiet."
"Come on, Anna. You can do better than that."
Of course, this went on, until, eventually, their father insisted that he
needed to step in. Hannah, at the time, was panting on the floor, exhausted
from the newly finished intercourse, when her father stood and moved away from
her, proceeding to redress himself.
"Son, I'm not the only man in this house, you know. You're not a boy anymore,
and it's about time you prove that."
They both knew what he was insinuating. The very thought made Hannah extremely
nervous, where as her brother seemed completely calm and collected. He easily
stripped in front of her before he knelt on the ground and hovered over her
body, pressing his chest to hers. Sliding between her legs, he gave her an
almost solemn smile as he stroked her cheek. "I guess you were right. I am a
liar."
And so started another routine for their family. Amazingly enough, they all
managed to keep their dirty secrets under wrap quite well. They attended church
every Sunday, volunteered in the community, even went on picnics with other
families. In Hannah's eyes, the normalcy they put on for others wasn't normal
to her. She found it odd that other families didn't have relationships like she
did with her family. Though, being a child, she didn't understand how families
were supposed to act. Hannah didn't think that mattered though. What she knew
was the normal for her, and so everyone continued with their routines. Hannah
would willingly go to her father's room - occasionally without being called
there - she'd engage in sexual acts with her brother every once in a while, and
her sibling was killing a new animal every day for his own reasons.
He was only fourteen when he killed his first human. She could recall how she
was playing outside at the time, and he suddenly came sprinting at her, his
face a pale yellow as if he was about to be sick.
"Anna! You have to help me! Please!" He tugged on her arm desperately, and she
looked at him, dumbfounded at his behavior.
"What's wrong? Should I get Mom and Dad?"
"NO! Just, please, come with me. Please, Anna!"
Reluctantly, Hannah went with him. He led her into the woods that weren't too
far away from their house. Sure, they had played here before as young children,
but now that they were a bit older, they hadn't went to the woods together in a
long time.
"Why are we here?"
"I did something. Bad."
"What did you do?"
"I-I stabbed a person."
"What?! You didn't! I thought you only hurt animals!"
"I-I know, but- I just wanted to try it and... H-he got away."
"He's still alive?!If he tells on you, you'll... You'll be..."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I need your help."
Her brother went on to explain that the man seemed like a random hiker who was
simply exploring and taking in the scenery of the woods. Being curious, he
approached the man, and offered to show him around to the prettiest locations.
The man agreed, and they traveled deeper into the woods. An urge to hurt the
man had began to bubble up inside of him, and the longer they walked, the more
pronounced the urge was. Eventually, he couldn't take it, and he took his
father's pocket knife and promptly plunged it into the man's side.
"Then he ran from me," he huffed. "I guess I expected him to just drop dead
like most of the animals do, but he ran. I couldn't catch up to him, and I
didn't know what to do, so I ran to you."
"Do you think he'd remember what you looked like? You look like a normal boy."
"He'd remember my eyes. He commented on how weird they are."
She didn't doubt that. Her brother's eyes were extremely eerie, and even when
he seemed content, they were unnervingly piercing. His irises were a peculiar
shade of yellow; they glowed ominously, and even in the dark, you could see
their color. Hannah had constantly compared his eyes to those of a cat, because
never in her life did she see another human's eyes like his. He was right; if
that man had seen his eyes, he wouldn't forget them.
"What should we do?"
"We have to catch him," he responded darkly. The tone shocked her, for she
never heard him speak in such a menacing way.
"Then what?
"We have to kill him. You'll have to do it, Anna."
"Me?! No, I can't! You're the one who loves killing things!"
"I know, but he'll overpower me if I do it on my own. Here, take my knife. I'll
hold him down, and you stab him. Okay? You better not let me down, Anna."
She didn't want to disappoint her brother, but the thought of stabbing an
individual scared her. What if she couldn't do it? What if he got away again?
Then bothof them would be in huge trouble.
The first priority was finding the man. The forest was actually quite large,
especially if you didn't know the area. Luckily, for them, no houses lived in
the direct surroundings of it, either; the closest neighborhood was roughly a
mile away from the woods. That gave them some assurance, but, at the same time,
they had no idea where the guy ran off to.
"How do you know he's still in the woods? He could've contacted help by now."
"Call it a hunch. I led him pretty deep into the forest, so he shouldn't have
gotten too far."
"But you also ran all the way to the house to get me. Wouldn't that give him
enough time to escape?"
"You have to consider the fact that he doesn't know the area. Everything looks
the same, and there's no way to tell where he's been and where he hasn't. Plus,
I did stab him pretty deep. He shouldn't be as mobile now."
They were in a terrible situation. If they couldn't find this guy, she knew
she'd probably never see her brother again. She couldn't risk that. She would
do everything in her power to stop that from happening.
So they searched and searched. Once in a while they'd split up and circle the
area, then they'd reunite and move to another sector of the woods.
Unfortunately, though, they weren't having any luck. They didn't find any blood
trails, footsteps, or wandering strangers. As time passed, her brother started
to become more frantic.
"I-I don't think he's in here. We should go home."
"NO! WE CAN'T GO HOME, ANNA! YOU GOT THAT?!"
"B-but, we can't find him..."
That was the first time she ever saw such malevolence in his eyes. His irises
were dark, his nostrils flared and his lips pulled back in a vicious snarl.
He'd never been so furious in his life. Suddenly, stepping over to her, he
shoved her down hard, making her fall to her knees. She cried out as her
kneecaps smashed into a jagged rock beneath her, the edges scraping and cutting
up her skin as blood started to ooze out of the wounds. Tears filled her eyes
and she sniffled, trying to keep her whimpers muffled. Her brother tangled his
fingers in her hair and forced her head up, the rough action making her cry out
again.
"Cry out for Mom," he growled.
Blinking up at him in puzzlement, she whined. "W-what?"
A guttural roar ripped out of her brother and he yanked on her hair again, his
free hand balling up in a tight fist in front of her. "Cry out for her or I'll
punch your fucking face in, Anna!"
Tears instantly poured out of her eyes and she wailed like a child. "Mom!"
The scream echoed through the trees, her voice still heard as it traveled
through the woods. Almost instantaneously, another voice called out in
response.
"Who's that? Is someone out there?"
"Keeping saying it, Anna," her brother commanded as he let go of her hair.
"I'll be over here."
Through watery eyes, she watched as her brother ran and hid behind a thick
tree. She continued crying, her throat straining as she shrieked over and over
again. "Mom! Mom! Mom!"
Not even a few minutes later, a man emerged from the trees, gasping as he made
a slow jog toward her. His hands were pressed against his side tightly as he
moved, and once in a while he'd let out a painful grunt. Finally, when he was
in front of her, he knelt down to her level.
"Oh, no. Did you hurt yourself? What happened?"
"M-Mom..." she sniffled, refusing to say anything else.
"Mom? Did you lose your mom?"
"Mom..."
"Can you stand? I'll help you find her."
The man took hold of her hands, and started to gently help her to her feet.
Before she could stand, however, her brother darted out from behind the tree
and lunged at the man, his arms wrapping around and trapping the guy's arms.
"W-what?!" He started to struggle and thrash, yelling expletives and demanding
to be let go.
"Now, Anna! Don't fucking hesitate!" Her brother shouted, groaning as he tried
to keep a hold on the man. Acting purely on adrenaline, Hannah whipped her
brother's knife out and roughly plunged it into the male's chest, making him
cry out in agony. She then pulled it out and sank it into his chest again, each
time the man making a pained sound.
She stabbed him over and over and over again. Blood had drenched the man's
entire front at this point, and he stopped making noises; now, he simply
exhaled ragged breaths. Red had oozed out from his lips and was running down
his chin, and splatters of the fluid had landed on Hannah and her brother, as
well.
Her sibling slowly let go of the man, letting him fall onto his back. Hannah
continued to stab him relentlessly, pants leaving her at the strenuous motion.
Placing his hand on top of hers, her brother halted her.
"He's dead now. You can stop."
She promptly ceased her movements, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she
sucked in gulps of air. She had been worried that she wouldn't be able to do
it, yet she had continued stabbing the man even after he died. She glanced up
at her brother, and he gave her a small smile.
"Let's go home, Anna. The animals should have him eaten in a few days."
And so marked the day that changed their lives forever. In all honesty, Hannah
knew that it was her first kill, not her brother's, but she gave him the credit
for it because it wasn't something she was necessarily proud of. At age ten,
she wasn't eager to claim that she successfully killed a man by stabbing him
over fifty times. However, her brother was.
After that, her sibling's urge to kill was much stronger and much more
dangerous. He didn't want to slaughter animals anymore; now that he had had a
taste of human blood, he craved more. Hannah had begged him not to, as the
punishment for killing humans versus animals was much more severe, but he
didn't listen. He was too blinded by his obsession.
Unfortunately for him, he faced a problem. He was only fourteen, and he was
rather scrawny. He had gotten lucky that he took the man in the woods by
surprise, for if he hadn't, he likely would've been overpowered. And, if it
wasn't for Hannah, he wouldn't have been able to kill him at all. This left him
at a disadvantage, but where he lacked in strength, he made up for in brains.
He decided he would start murdering children younger than him.
Now, Hannah was completely against this. Their first violent encounter with a
human ended badly, and she repeatedly reminded him of this. He insisted that
with a child, he wouldn't need much strength, and he could easily kill them by
himself. He also explained that he'd ride his bike far away from where they
lived, and slaughter children who lived in different towns. Hannah continued to
question him on his process, but he wouldn't reveal anything. He said he had it
handled, and she had no choice but to believe him.
In the end, he seemed to have known what he was doing, because Hannah never
heard another word about his morbid hobbies. She thought about questioning him,
but she never had the guts to. Besides, something about his desires seemed off
to her. Sure, she had brutally stabbed a man without a second thought, and she
had done so with ease; however, it wasn't the act of killing that made Hannah
uncomfortable. It was the fact that it was her brother.
Years would pass, and distance between the two siblings grew. They were never
very close in the first place, but Hannah liked to believe that if she was in
trouble, her brother would be there for her, just like he was when their father
had first molested her. As their odd relationship - if it could even be called
a relationship - became more and more strained, she doubted that her brother
would even care if anything happened to her. He was hardly ever home, and
though no one ever questioned him on it, she knew what he was doing. She
figured he'd rather be out killing than protecting his sister if she was in
danger, and to this day, she knew she was right.
Eventually, they made it to their teenage years, and with the new development
of their bodies, their personalities began to form, as well. Hannah liked to
believe that she hadn't changed very much, but her brother sure did. His temper
had shortened remarkably, to the point where he'd break at the snap of a
finger. Many times he choked and bruised Hannah, along with slamming her
against doors and cutting her with his knives. She learned fast that it was
best to leave him alone, especially if he seemed like he was in a sour mood
already. She also realised that if his bedroom door was shut, she should never,
evergo inside.
Knock knock.
"Brother, are you in there?"
...
Knock knock.
"Hello? Answer me."
...
After waiting nearly ten minutes for her sibling to answer her calls, but with
no luck, she decided to open his bedroom door and go inside. She was concerned
for his well-being, for he had been in his room all day, and she hadn't heard a
peep from him. Although he had started acting more reclusive as a teen, it was
unlike him to stay in his room all day without coming outside once. Hannah
supposed it couldn't hurt to check in on him.
Opening the door, she walked into the room, looking around for her brother as
she spoke. "Are you in here? You haven't come out all da-"
She had froze in her tracks, her words getting lost as vomit crept up the back
of her throat threateningly. She gulped it down as her face paled, her feet
stumbling a bit as her balance nearly gave out. Her brother, who had been
sitting on his knees on the floor, was now looking up at her, his menacing
yellow eyes making her blood run cold. Underneath him was sheets of plastic,
runny red liquid staining the glossy material. In some areas, the fluid had
crusted into a dark crimson and brown, identical to the dried sanguine flakes
that clung onto the gloves he was wearing. In the center of the deepest puddle
of red was a human head, separated entirely from a body, for a corpse was
nowhere to be found. The mouth of the head was agape in the most horrific
silent scream; the agony the person had suffered was engraved on his face even
in death. The most surprising and grotesque aspect of the situation was the
fact that the man's eyes were completely severed from their sockets, empty
holes taking the place of where his orbs had been. Those very same orbs were
laying in a jar next to her brother's knee, and she caught a glimpse of the
lifeless, yet ironically sentient irises. It took all she had not to puke.
"Anna, you stupid fucking idiot."
That was all she heard before she was tackled to the ground, her head smacking
back into the door and slamming it shut as she fell to the floor, a heavy body
compressing her into the carpet. She struggled and gasped underneath her
brother as his hands wrapped around her neck and started to wring it
ruthlessly, chips of blood littering her skin along with a few streaks of it
here and there. As children, she had somewhat of a possibility to fight him
off, but now, she was much weaker. He had started working out and weight
training now that he was older, and it had paid off. Her brother had a tendency
to wear clothes that were extremely loose and baggy on him, and one day he
explained that it was because he preferred to keep his physical abilities a
secret. Hannah was aware that he had gotten much stronger, for he was currently
shirtless, and his tensed abs and biceps reminded her of that as he strangled
her.
"Let... Go..."
"You asked for this, Anna. What the fuck are you doing in my room? I toldyou to
always knock before you come in. These are the consequences of your actions."
"Didn't... Answer..."
"Then that means you need to stay the fuck out."
She wheezed as he delivered a swift punch to her abdomen, his fist crushing
into her stomach and knocking out any remaining air she had left in her lungs.
Had she not been on her back, she probably would've thrown up, but since she
was, she simply had to swallow down her stomach contents whenever they
threatened to come up again. Over and over he punched and struck her, refusing
to grant her any mercy. After he was satisfied with her beaten state, he yanked
her up, threw her out into the hall, and slammed the door behind her without
another word.
She never had another desire to check up on him again.
For a long time, the two siblings didn't speak to one another. Hannah tried her
best to stay far away from her brother, and when she heard his bedroom door
open, she bolted in the other direction. She definitely didn't want to
experience another reenactment of the last time she enraged him, nor did she
want to see another gruesome scene.
One day, however, while Hannah was reading a book on the couch, she heard her
brother's bedroom door creak open for a minute before the sound of it shutting
met her ears. She tensed up as she identified the soft padding of footsteps
heading in her direction, and she forced her eyes to stay focused on her book.
A few moments later, her brother came striding through the living room, walking
right past her and making his way into the kitchen. She stole a quick glance up
at him once his back was to her, and her suspicions had been confirmed: her
brother had been working out for quite a while.
It had been silent in the house all day, however, Hannah had heard grunting
from her brother's room, and she was concerned about what was causing it. He
could've been killing or mutilating another person, or worse, perhaps he was
pleasuring himself without the need of her presence. That thought made her want
to check, but she refused to let her curiosity get the better of her; she knew
her brother would only attack her if she went into his room, anyway. So, she
left him alone, and the grunting continued for hours. Eventually, she wondered
if he was merely exercising, for he was normally completely muted when he was
performing grotesque tasks, and as far as Hannah knew, her brother never
masturbated.
Well, her last guess proved to be true. She studied her brother's bare,
muscular back as he moved further and further away from her, tears of sweat
glistening on his skin. His long black hair was also damp with perspiration,
and it was glued and matted to his flesh. Hannah squinted as she stared at his
long locks, her pupils scanning over each individual strand. She noted that
streaks of silver were starting to take over some of the black, the bright
hairs standing out against his natural dark mane. This was interesting to her,
for she had the same problem. A few months ago, while she was getting ready for
school, Hannah noticed a single grey hair had sprouted out from the top of her
head, and she was bewildered at its appearance. Since then, many had appeared,
and they could be easily distinguishable from her chestnut follicles. Hannah
was insecure about it, though, and when she stayed over at her friends' homes,
she'd color her hair with their help. Soon, she'd have to color it again.
She just couldn't understand why their hair was starting to grey. They were
only in high school, and neither of their parents had grey hair yet. Hannah
couldn't determine the cause, and she wondered if her brother had noticed his
hair changing.
She flinched as the slam of the refrigerator door echoed through the house.
Leaning forward from her seat, she peered into the kitchen, and saw her brother
chugging down a bottle of water. Biting her lip, she reclined back into the
couch, not wanting to be caught staring. After a few minutes, her sibling left
the kitchen and crossed through the living room, his hand raking through his
soaked hair as he approached the hallway leading to his room. Still chewing on
her lip anxiously, Hannah decided to bravely speak up, though her voice came
out as more of a croak.
"Your hair is starting to grey."
Her brother froze, the muscles underneath his skin tensing slightly. Hannah
lowered her head a bit in trepidation, and she remained still as he turned
around to face her, his sweat-coated bangs hiding his eyes, yet his lips curled
into a small frown. "What of it?"
Hannah shrugged a little, speaking quietly and neutrally. "It's just something
I noticed. Mine is too."
Her brother took a few steps closer to her, his abdominal muscles tightening as
he looked her over. She bowed her head even more, causing his frown to deepen.
"Tch. Looks all right to me."
"I've been dyeing it."
Her brother hummed in thought, before he shrugged and lifted his water bottle
to his lips. "Yeah, my hair's getting grey. I don't really care." He took a few
drinks out of the bottle before he spun around and started treading toward the
hallway once more.
But Hannah wasn't satisfied yet.
"Do you have more of those jars?" She blurted out.
Her brother halted once again, only this time, every muscle in his body seemed
flexed as he turned back to face her once again, his visible features cold.
"What jars?"
"Jars like... Like the one I saw in your room that day. Do you have more?"
He was silent for a long while, and though she couldn't see his eyes, she was
sure that he was studying her closely. When he must've realised that Hannah
wasn't going to say anything else, he spoke. "Yes."
"Yes? So there are more? What do you do with them?"
"I keep them."
"But why?"
"Because I like them."
"But why? I mean, why eyes?"
Her brother sighed, his head bowing as his concealed eyes stared at the floor
for a moment, before he perked back up as they flicked back to her again. Her
blood ran cold as a dark smile curled his lips, and goosebumps lined her flesh
as he started taking slow steps toward her. "Hmm, well if the fact that I like
them isn't enough of an answer, let me spell it out for you."
Hannah cried out as he reached out and grasped her chin, his sharply torn nails
digging into the flesh along her jawline. The tips of his fingers were stained
black with an unknown substance, though she figured the identity of it was
better left a mystery. His grin grew wider as he leaned closer to her face, so
close that she could taste his breath. "You want to know why I like eyes? I
like - no, I loveeyes, because they're just so damn expressive!" He exclaimed
cheerfully - no, rather, manically. "You can see a person's soulthrough their
eyes, Anna. Did you know that? Nothing is left to the imagination when it comes
to eyes. In fact, you can read someone's every thought if you look deep enough
into them. And do you wanna know the most beautiful and gratifying part?" He
began to shake with anticipation at this, and he dropped his voice down to a
whisper. "If a person dies horrifically, that pain is engraved into their eyes
forever. You can just seethe misery embedded in their corneas. Eyes are the
most honest thing we humans possess, Anna. You'd be smart to acquire an
appreciation for them."
Hannah didn't know what to say. She was quiet for a long time, letting her
brother's words sink in. That was the first time she saw a minor shred of his
true insanity seep out, and it genuinely terrified her. He was mad. There was
no doubt in her mind about that.
After a long while, her brother let go of her and finally turned to leave, only
then did she find the courage to finally pipe up. "We could do something. You
don't have to stay in your room forever, you know."
He glanced over at her, and she sensed his piercing gaze although she couldn't
see it. To her relief, his response suggested that his madness had dissipated
for the time being, but she wasn't pleased with the response itself. "I don't
want to have sex with you, if that's what you mean."
Hannah opened her mouth to comment, but then it closed on its own. He didn't?
Why? She wasn't sure how to please males except for in the form of sexual
attention, so if he didn't want that, what didhe want?
Her brother waited a couple minutes to see if she would say anything, but when
he realised she wouldn't, he took off down the hall and went back into his
room. Hannah, on the other hand, sat there and tried to ponder things her mind
couldn't understand as soft grunts of exertion once again floated through their
home.
Of course, it was only expected for things to go awry for the two siblings
eventually. However, Hannah supposed she was always the one dragged into
trouble, because her brother was the one who caused it.
"Wake up."
Hannah groaned as the sound of her bedroom door hitting the wall with a loud
crack met her ears, along with a deep, cold voice. Her tired eyes barely opened
as sleep still had her lids sealed for the time being, and she looked over her
shoulder toward her door, her blurry vision revealing a figure in the entryway.
"Wake up," he said again, impatience in his tone. Her eyes narrowed in
irritation as she sat up slightly, her dark, mussed up hair draping over her
shoulders.
"What is it?"
"I need your help."
Her eyes were wide open then, for she hadn't heard him speak those words in
years. As her brother had grown, his pride had strengthened itself
exponentially, as well. He had avoided her like the plague for who knows how
long, and he was always doing secretive things alone. She was aware that he was
still killing people, but she never knew the details; he was now too prideful
in his "work" to ask for Hannah's help, nor divulge any of his secrets.
"You're asking for my help?"
"It isn't a question, Anna. It's a demand. Besides, you're already awake, so
you might as well make yourself useful."
Hannah grimaced at his words as she slid off of her bed and stood to her feet,
her arms crossing over her chest defensively. She couldn't scream expletives,
though she wanted to, for if she did, there was the fear of him attacking her.
She wasn't too afraid to snap a little, however. "You've been doing just fine
on your own for quite a while. You're the one who wanted nothing to do with
me."
"Now is not the time," he hissed, but she refused to relent.
"If you're in such a rush, then you take care of it on your own. I'm not useful
as your sister anymore."
He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged on it harshly for a moment, his
arms tensing as rage seemed to course through him. Hannah had taken a risk; she
was honestly surprised he hadn't ripped her to pieces yet. He stayed where he
was, though, yanking on his hair wildly in frustration and growling under his
breath. After a few moments, he stopped and sighed in exasperation as he
regarded her. "I'll do whatever you want, okay, Anna? Sex, right? That's what
you want, isn't it? We'll have sex then. Just get your ass in gear and help
me."
Hannah kept her arms crossed and her expression stony. That wasn't what she
truly desired, but she supposed she'd take what she could get from him. "Okay,
I'll help."
He grunted. "Good, come on."
Turning on his heel, he stormed out of her room in a hurry, and she practically
had to sprint to keep up with his rushed walking. They made their way through
the house until they eventually strode out into the cool, night air. Hannah
briefly glanced up at the stars but her brother paid them no mind as he stalked
over to his truck and threw the driver side door open. Her eyes then flicked
over to his rusty old vehicle, her nostrils flaring slightly in distaste. The
entire truck was a mess, from the torn up leather seats to the broken windows
that refused to roll down, and the paint was so chipped on the exterior that
you couldn't even tell what the original color had been. She climbed into the
vehicle, groaning in irritation when the ragged leather scratched her clothed
backside as she sat down. She waited for her brother to get in, and remained
silent until they were steadily traveling down the road.
"I can't believe I made such a stupid mistake," her sibling growled under his
breath. "Never thought I'd fuck up so bad with something like this."
Ah, so that's what happened,Hannah thought.He finally left some damning
evidence behind.
It was only a matter of time before her brother would slip up. She knew that; a
piece of her hoped that never had to happen, though. Then again, he had been a
fuckface her whole life, so maybe he needed a taste of his own medicine in
jail. As much as she wished that a few hard-asses in prison would knock some
sense into him, however, she knew that it just wouldn't be possible. If her
brother was condemned, there was always a possibility of execution, and if he
did simply remain in prison, she feared more for the men inside. They could be
tough and scary, but she knew the truth about her brother. He was an undeniable
monster, which was much scarier than any strong man.
Hannah was quite conflicted in this situation. She didn't know whether to be
afraid or relieved that something may happen to her brother. She chose the
former. After all, asshole or not, she did still love and admire him.
"So, did the guy escape?" She asked. "Or have the cops already discovered the
body? Ordid you misplace evidence?"
Her brother slowly turned to regard her, and when he did, his expression made
it seem like she had a third eye growing out of her head. "You fucking moron.Do
you really consider me to be that reckless? Do you think I jump into murders
without having a careful plan in mind? Only after constructing a flawless
outline of events do I finally choose to act on them, Anna. Grow a fucking
brain."
"Why do you need my help then?" Hannah questioned angrily. "Surely if you're so
intelligentyou should have the situation sorted out."
"I did," he breathed, reaching a hand up to rake his fingers through his dark
hair. "But the bitch had brown eyes."
Hannah winced in surprise, her own orbs open wide in puzzlement and her voice
taking on the same tone. "What?"
"She had brown eyes," he repeated, shaking his head. "Brown. Ugly, ugly, ugly."
She couldn't believe what she was hearing. The problem wasn't with the murder
itself, but that the victim he chose had brown eyes?
Out of his peripheral vision, he could see that his sister was confused, so
before she spoke, he took over. "Before you ask ridiculous questions, no, I
actually love all eyes. However, the majority of my victims have had brown
eyes, and I wouldn't want a pattern to be revealed early. It's bad enough that
the police will discover missing eyes eventually. Plus I'm tired of a bunch of
brown eyes staring at me. I need some variety," he stated, as if it was as
simple as ever.
"Then why do you need my help?"
"That should be obvious. I need to kill someone with different eyes, and you're
going to help me pick the perfect person. Preferably a male, as well. The last
three I killed were women."
"As long as I don't have to watch," Hannah muttered, and from the corner of her
eye, she caught a villainous grin spreading over his lips.
"Oh, but dear sister, that's half the fun."
 
===============================================================================
 
It was over quick.
Or, at least, that's what Hannah was led to believe.
Her brother had her pick out an unfortunate individual, and once she made her
choice, he disappeared in a crowd of people.
She never found out what happened.
He ordered her to remain in the truck, and she did as she was told. Although,
she was quite puzzled as to why her brother claimed he needed her help, yet all
she had to do was point out a random man for him to target.
Even since childhood, she never could wrap her mind around him.
The next thing she remembered was going home. They had sex, something that was
wonderful for Hannah, but tedious for her sibling.
She could remember him sitting up when he was finished, his breath not even
faltering as he began redressing. Hannah had been panting and drawing in deep
breaths; the entire act was so passionate for her, her heart felt like
exploding. An even greater feeling was fluttering within her insides, though,
and that was the ecstatic grip of victory. She, in her own way, had won.
Her dad, in his very twisted methods, had taught her that sex led to a very
deep, insatiable love between two people. A love that burned like a thousand
suns, or, in less clichéd terms, a love that could unite any normal girl with
her psychotic brother.
She officially claimed him. He was hers. He would be hers forever. Nothing
could compare to how blissful this fact made her. Nothing would ever taste as
sweet as her being able to utter that he was now unconditionally-
"Let's get this straight before your mind starts playing tricks on you," he
growled, his menacing yellow eyes glinting in the dark. "I don't love you. I'll
never love you. I will never be yours. I did this just to shut you up, so wipe
that annoying grin off of your face, and, from now on," he leaned down quickly,
his nose pressing into hers and grinding their bone structures together
painfully as he hissed. "Don't ask me for another fucking favor for as long as
you live."
Hannah shivered. That scene was so memorable that the tone of his voice could
still send chills down her spine to this day. Unfortunately, something that was
so passionate and worthwhile for her ended up becoming such an unpleasant
memory.
"Hannah, lunch break!" A lady called to her, snapping her out of her thoughts.
She was thankful for that. If not for conveniently timed interruptions, she was
sure she could easily sit in the same place for centuries, slowly rotting away,
covered in dust and cobwebs, continuing to dwell on thoughts of her sibling.
The breeze ran its invisible fingers through her hair, its fingertips making
her scalp prickle at the sudden cold sensation. She loved when the wind had a
chill to it. It was always better to have your nipples showing than a pair of
pit stains. No man ever hardened over the thought of pit stains.
She relished in the satisfying click, click, clickthat her stilettos made as
they trekked across the pavement toward her car, her eyes taking in the
beautiful glint of the polish that was as silver as her tresses. Her long
fingers curled around the door handle before she tugged it open, bending her
knees as she slid into the driver's seat easily. Her hand instantly began to
dig through her purse in search for her cigarettes, and, once found, she slid a
nice 100 between her lips and lit the end of it with a long, much needed drag.
She kept the savior of her sanity clenched tight in her teeth as she unbuttoned
her blouse a little. As chilly as the breeze was, the interior of her car
soaked up sun rays like a whore on the beach, and she couldn't risk the
possibility of pit stains.
"Guess some breast sweat would keep the men in the office in line, though," she
mused to herself as a chemical cloud flooded out a tiny gap in her mouth. Even
coated in the most grotesque substances, boobs were still boobs, and men would
never pass on the opportunity to stare and touch them; similarly to the fact
that females would never miss out on a new fragrance or designer purse. It was
simply human nature, and Hannah had it nailed down to a science. Everything was
solved with sex, or things you could buy from having sex, especially with a
well-off individual. Everybody knew that. And, speaking of fucking a well-off
individual, it was time that her husband changed the oil in her car, Hannah
thought. She was sure a blowjob would do the trick.
Her poor, poor husband. She really did feel bad for him at times, even though
he could be the biggest sucker of cocks this planet had ever seen. He never had
gotten close to hitting her, though, and that was more than she could say about
her true love. Besides, it didn't matter what he did. Their marriage was based
on looks and a give-and-take ritual. She clung to his arm and kept up a perfect
wife appearance in public, as well as fulfilling his sexual desires in private,
and in return, he gave her whatever she desired. She was sure he knew that she
was fucking other people regularly, but she was certain that he didn't care so
long as she did her part in their marital agreement. And she always did.
"And, while he's busy fiddling with the car," she hummed, a smirk gracing her
purple lips. "I can go shopping."
 
===============================================================================
 
Four hours after her shift had ended, Hannah was walking out of a boutique with
too many bags to count. Her heels, - being about seven inches tall, mind you -
were typically a piece of cake to walk in, but with the added weight, she
teetered uneasily as she strolled down the sidewalk. A part of her wished that
she brought the car with her, but her home was only eight blocks away or so,
and she didn't mind walking. You were more likely to catch the attention of
possible suitors on foot rather than cruising in a car.
Hannah hummed to herself in pleasure as she soaked in stares other people
offered, her polished shoes clicking happily per usual. Her navy skirt bunched
up a bit as she swayed her hips, allowing some skin on her upper thigh to be
revealed to the world. Her black lace bra was also making an appearance through
her white, rather translucent blouse, and her cleavage was bouncing excitedly
above the fabric, peeking through open buttons. Hannah reached a weighed-down
arm up, using one of her manicured talons to push her giant sunglasses further
up her nose before it lowered back to her side, clutching half of her shopping
bags to her hourglass figure.
She glanced side-to-side enthusiastically, checking to make sure there were no
cars barreling down the road before she entered the crosswalk. She certainly
wouldn't want to meet an untimely death like Miss Elizabeth. Poor girl. Had she
never met Sebastian, she wouldn't be dead as of this very moment. And had Ciel
never been born, well... then her brother certainly wouldn't be so entertained
constantly. Perhaps if he didn't exist, she could get her sibling's attention,
or, perhaps, the attention of his devilishly handsome partner.
Hannah glanced down, checking her shopping bags briefly as she continued to
cross the street, before her eyes returned to their proper place. When they
did, however, she noticed two figures approaching from the opposite side of the
street. Her pupils immediately dilated, her arms instantly dropping the bags in
the middle of the highway, her goodies hitting the asphalt carelessly. A blush
dared to creep over her skin, and she hurriedly unbuttoned her shirt a bit more
so her bra was nearly completely revealed. Her opposite hand grabbed and yanked
on the bun in her hair, her sharp nails pulling small strands out to make it
appear seductively messy. Then, she waited for him to notice her, smugly
smiling at the unsuspecting man as her arms crossed over her chest.
Finally, his eyes locked with hers. An impossibly stretched smile curled his
lips, and he stopped directly in front of her, his rasping voice singing a
simple word. "Anna."
The name made her insides immediately ignite in a fiery rage and panic.
"HANNAH," she corrected quickly, if a little too rushed. "You never could get
the name right," she added, attempting to cover up her sudden outburst.
Her eyes flicked to her brother's side momentarily, and she realised that he
had company. Next to him stood a young, little midget, known as the repulsive
term "child."Her eyebrow dared to twitch upward slightly. It was no ordinary
child, though. She knew in instant recognition that it was Sebastian's kid. The
one named after an animal. Irritating, particular boy he was.
Ignoring him for the moment, however, her eyes traveled back to her brother,
and with a clear of the throat, her index nail pulled her sunglasses down until
they rested on the very tip of her nose. Now that her sapphire orbs could view
him more clearly, her usual smirk widened as she purred at him. "How have you
been, dear brother?"
Her sibling was choking up in a fit of laughter, and she knew why. Her
seductive expression threatened to contort in a glare at his cackling. The
motherfucker called her the wrong name on purpose, even though he knew she
didn't go by it anymore. "I've been rather well," he replied through his
wheezing. "You look quite well yourself."
This statement pleased Hannah immensely. Her eyes lidded, her tongue darting
out to lick the lilac at her lips. Hell, she nearly moaned, if not for the
interrupting voice of the annoying midget.
"I didn't know you had a sister, but..." he began, looking Hannah up and down
before smirking coldly. "I can see the resemblance in her masculine jawline."
Hannah's posture stiffened, her already tight clothes forced to stretch out
even farther as her muscles tensed in anger. She could've smacked the little
shit. She knew his weak spots, though. If only he knew how easily she could
manipulate his father into being wrapped around her finger. "Seal, isn't it?"
She mused in a bored tone, choosing to mispronounce his name. His features
twisted in absolute hatred, which made her arrogant smile gleam all the more
bright. She leaned down a little, allowing herself better eye contact with the
little twat before she spoke smoothly. "I work with your Daddy."
Straightening up, she began grinding the toe of her polished stiletto into the
ground as she studied her flawless nails. "He's quite the charming man, getting
all dressed up like he does. His cologne smells divine, as well. I'd be lying
if I said I hadn't fantasized about having him between my legs."
Her brother doubled over in laughter once again, and this time, she felt smug
about it. She loathed being laughed at, but knowing she could make a maniac
like him laugh was worth it. Ciel chose another approach, this time he feigned
innocence, a cute smile lighting up his boyish face. If only he knew how fake
it truly looked, and besides, he was still repulsive, being a child and all.
"You work with my Daddy?" He asked sweetly. "I didn't know, he's never
mentioned you. Are you sure you work at an insurance company? Your shirt looks
thinner than tissue paper."
Of course he's never mentioned me. He's never mentioned his favorite porn stars
to you either, I'll bet, but that doesn't mean we still don't make him cum his
brains out."Then I must be wearing it right," she chose to say, an unbothered
chuckle leaving her at her statement. She ran her recently lotioned hand
through his clearly freshly cleaned hair, knowing full well of his germaphobia,
before her claws came around the side of his face to cup his jaw. Her nails
jabbed into his cheek as she forced him to look into her eyes. "Never mind the
way I dress, little boy. I know things about your Daddy that I'm sure you don't
know yet." She promptly released him after speaking, and redirected her
attention back to her brother, her hand stroking up and down his chest
suggestively.
"You don't have to keep playing pretend, she knows everything about me," her
sibling stated, finally regaining control of himself. His eyes rested on her,
his smirk seeming pleased. "Sounds like my pet has some information."
The brat turned to her brother, his mouth open and ready to scold before he
interrupted. "Now, now. My pet would never betray me, would you?" He cooed,
leaving his attention on Hannah. His grimy hand rested on her hip teasingly,
and she latched onto the affection in desperate need.
"It's been too long," she murmured softly, her lips pressing into his neck to
leave a purple kiss on his skin. She pressed her body into his needily, her
lengthy fingers running down his front and squeezing his thigh tenderly.
Regrettably, she turned her head to the side, looking far, far down to regard
the nuisance her and her brother were currently plagued with. "I'm not your
enemy, Ciel. I want nothing to do with Sebastian and his awkward personality.
But I do know that your father is in trouble."
She wasn't sure if Ciel would believe her, but she really was telling the
honest truth. She wasn't his enemy, at least, not in a direct way. He had far
more enemies than he truly knew about, and, as for his father, she sincerely
wasn't interested in him. Sure, he was attractive, but he was no challenge. If
she wanted his dick, she knew she could easily get it, but that would be too
boring. Besides, Sebastian wasn't the only man on earth with his handsome
looks.
She could practically snicker at the repulsed expression that was carved into
his face at the sight of her touching her own brother so openly. She knew that
she had him right where she wanted him, however, by the way he shifted from
foot to foot anxiously. "What do you mean 'in trouble?'"
She felt sharp, overgrown nails dig into her skin as her sibling shared equal
interest. "Do tell, pet."
Her eyes remained on her love, her voice softening as if Ciel poofed away in
thin air. "He was taken in by the police for questioning. I'm assuming it's
your doing," she said, though she already knew the story. Sebastian's little
lapdog couldn't be informed of this, so she played along easily.
Keeping her focus on her brother, she leaned in closer to him, molding her body
to his as her leg slowly rose up to caress his own. "I believe we have some
catching up to do."
A quiet snicker left her sibling, and she could practically feel the excitement
crawling underneath his flesh, she knew him so well. He wasn't excited for the
reason that she was hoping, though. "Perhaps we do."
"We need to go," the brat wheezed as he grabbed onto her sibling. She looked
down at him, obvious amusement drifting across her face as she took in the
sudden paleness of his skin, a sheen sweat glazing itself over his entire form.
He seemed to be trembling slightly, though she could tell that he was trying to
maintain his composure. "Let's get this over and done so I can go home." As
soon as he was done talking, he began walking away, expecting her sibling to
follow him. She felt as if she just exterminated a cocky, reckless cockroach.
And damn did that feel good.
What did not feel good, however, was how as soon as the brat was out of sight,
his expression fell into one of utter blankness, his arm dropping to his side
casually, and his voice now dull and lacking his prior enjoyment. "Duty calls."
Then, his face turned cold. "I have something I need to discuss with you."
The fucking bastard. He only did what he thought was best for himself, and
couldn't give a damn about anyone else. Well, two could play at that game. "Oh,
you do, do you? I'm afraid I'm not one for talking," she said with an arrogant
sneer, her digits easily picking her bags back up mid-walk as she started to
pass him.
"How unfortunate for you," he growled, gripping onto her shoulder harshly and
stopping her in her tracks. She dropped her things once again as she was forced
back around to face him, his hair briefly swaying to the side to reveal his
malevolent eyes. He flicked his gaze up momentarily to see where Ciel headed
before he returned his threatening glance to her. "I'm not giving you the
choice. I haven't the time for this right now. Leave the door unlocked tonight,
or don't. I'll find my way in."
She snickered at his attempt at dominance, enjoying his anger as she pushed her
sunglasses up the bridge of her nose nonchalantly. "And what if I'm not home?"
"You will be home," he snarled the command, leaving no room for argument. "If
you are not, I have my ways of finding you, sister dear, and I can assure you
they are quite unpleasant." He smirked as a sudden dangerous glint found his
eyes. "Or perhaps my brother-in-law and I can have a... Chat."
She shrugged, taking a quick glance at her nails. "Fine with me. He's just a
bank account waiting to be spent." Truer words had never been spoken. If her
brother truly wanted to tear her heart out and trample on it until it was
sullied, he'd have to commit suicide. "I suppose I'll be home," she started
again, "but since you're requiring me to stay there, I expect you to make it
worth my while. Roses, wine, feel free to go all out." A dark smirk curled her
lips, and before he could tear her apart, she yanked him toward her and pressed
her mouth to his in a starving kiss.
His body tensed, and he promptly shoved her away, his hand striking out a rough
backhand. The sudden hit made her stumble back a bit, and he wiped his mouth
clear of lipstick before spitting on the asphalt. His glare couldn't have been
laced with more rage. "We shall see."
"Harsh," she muttered, running a finger across her lip line to fix any smudges.
"You'd think you could handle a simple kiss from your sister. At any rate,
don't stand me up, baby. I want those roses."
"Fucking bitch," he growled, then stalked off after his wee companion, fury
fixing his posture in a tense, crooked stance.
She couldn't help but chuckle. It wasn't very often when she got the upper hand
on her sibling, but when she did, it felt oh so sweet. She knew that if what he
wanted to talk about was indeed important, he would surely show up with the
flowers and alcohol, and he'd play nicely - or, at least, as nicely as possible
for him - until she agreed to do what he wanted.
And he'll fuck me, she thought, brows furrowed in intense determination. She
would guarantee it.
But, for now, she gently scooped up her bags and continued across the street,
whistling to herself. It really was too bad that a car hadn't come barreling
down the road, unable to stop, and ran them all over.
"Especially Ciel," she pondered, her eyes taking a curious look up at the
setting sun. "After everything my brother will be putting him through, he'll
wish he were dead."
 
===============================================================================
 
Hannah lounged on the plush sofa without a care in the world, sipping at her
nearly empty glass of wine as she let out a tranquil sigh. She was fully nude,
except for a completely sheer lingerie robe that adorned her body, the fabric
hanging freely without being constricted with a tie. He would be here soon. She
knew it. Luckily, her husband was already asleep, and even if he was awake
upstairs, he wouldn't dare come downstairs and disturb her. His record would no
longer be pristine if he had to go through a nasty divorce, and he wouldn't
want to risk that.
Right on cue, the front door was shoved open carelessly, and the figure of her
brother walked in briskly, clenching flowers in one hand and a wine bottle in
the other.
"Welcome home, honey. You're late," she chuckled in her perfected sultry tone,
her hands slowly reaching up to undo her bun and let her long hair fall around
her shoulders.
"Shut it, Anna," he growled, stalking over to her and wasting no time. He
slammed the wine bottle down on the coffee table and tossed the roses at her
feet. They were nearly dead; surely he chose those ones on purpose. "I
remembered your fucking flowers and there's your wine, you raging alcoholic.
Now do what I need of you so I can leave."
"Don't you want to sit and have a drink with me? We can light some candles and
enjoy a romantic evening."
His hand lashed out like a python, bony fingers gripping onto her jaw so
forcefully he could've shattered her skull in a single motion. He leaned in
close to her, his bad breath fogging over her face and his nails digging in to
her flesh for effect as he rasped. "I don't know what fucking game you're
playing, but it is an unwise one. I was kind enough to bring what you desired,
but this is the extent of my kindness. Now shut up and listen to me you fucking
bitch, or else you'll be the next cunt I boil in acid."
"Tough day?" She asked, though she refrained from sounding overly sarcastic.
Her brother released her face, instead deciding to dig into his pocket to pull
out a plastic bag before he threw it at her.
She grabbed it, her eyes studying the contents of the bag. There was a knotted,
dainty chain inside of it, the dim light making some of the gold shimmer, while
other parts of it were caked in red.
"Take that to Rhonda's Place and plant it in the parking lot. They'll be
sweeping the area tomorrow so do take care of it hastily. It's sure to make
Faustus squirm and make things a bit more interesting. I'm sure I don't need to
remind you how careful you must be with it."
Hannah studied it, her eyebrow arching slightly as she continued to stare at
the plain looking jewelry. "All right, fine. I can manage that."
"Good," he simply said, before he turned toward the door.
Hannah watched after him, her eyes widening in surprise that he was already
leaving so soon. "Wait! Have sex with me!"
Her brother looked over his shoulder, giving a snarl that could make anyone's
blood freeze in their veins. "No. Good night, Anna."
He tried to turn away again, but Hannah spoke before he could. "I have
Sebastian's number," she blurted out, watching his reaction. "I could tell him
about this plan at any moment."
His posture turned dangerous. Snaps could be heard as he cracked bones in his
body, no doubt preparing to tear her apart. He flipped on his heel and was in
front of her in an instant, his hand wrapping around her neck and squeezing
until she let out loud chokes and gasps. "Do you want to die?" He threatened,
his bangs hanging forward so the madness in his eyes could be clearly seen. "I
will murder you, here and now. I will strangle you and dig your eyes out with
my own two hands. I will rip your insides open and chew through your tendons.
After I'm done with you, the mutts on the street won't even recognize you as
fresh meat."
Hannah didn't know what to say. He could murder her, here and now, and there
was nothing she could do about it. She continued coughing and sputtering, her
skin turning blue as the lack of oxygen took over her brain. Her eyes began to
roll closed, head tilting back lazily, and then, suddenly, she gasped a fresh
gulp of air down when she felt his hand release her throat. Rubbing at her
neck, she still sucked in huge breaths as she watched her sibling stand up,
readying himself to exit the house for the final time.
"I'll leave you alone," she wheezed, her voice not even sounding like her own
as her vocal chords strained. "I won't bother you again for a long, long time
if you do this for me. I swear."
He regarded her with his menacing eyes for a few moments. "I expect you to hold
up to those words, Anna. Because if you don't, I will certainly hold up to
mine."
She shivered when she thought of his gruesome threats, but nodded, nonetheless.
"I will."
Next thing she knew, she was roughly thrown to the ground, and her brother was
on top of her, attacking her more physically than sexually. He kept her pinned
down so she couldn't touch him, which upset her immensely, though he did have
the courtesy to rip off the entirety of his clothing before they started, so
she had something nice to look at. He was ferocious and merciless, going at her
as if she was a piece of meat instead of a human being. In his eyes, she
probably was. Hannah was just another person he wished dead, and he made sure
she knew it through his actions.
Halfway through, her voice recovered, and her shrill screams of pain and
pleasure echoed through the entire house. She was sure her husband could hear
every detail, but she couldn't care less. She was also sure that her brother
tore her, for the pain between her legs was unbearable, but she forced herself
to deal with it. This may be the last time she ever felt her brother like this,
after all.
Once he was done taking his aggression out on her sexually, he sat up, not even
a bit exhausted where as Hannah was panting and sweating immensely. He stood up
immediately, pulling his clothes back on before he turned to give her one final
glare. "Early tomorrow, drop it in the parking lot then get out. I don't think
I need to repeat the consequences if you fail."
Before she could say anything, he stalked out of the house and slammed the
door, rattling the door frame from the violent action.
Slowly, she sat up, wincing as the pain flared between her thighs. She didn't
have time to whine, though. There were things that needed to get done.
At her own pace, she finally managed to limp over to the couch and sit herself
down, a relieved sigh leaving her as she sank into the comfy cushions. Pulling
out her phone, she quickly texted her boss, reading over the message multiple
times before she sent it.
Good evening, Mr. Midford. Care to have breakfast with me tomorrow?
After the message sent, she sat back and lit up a cigarette, popping open the
bottle of wine her brother brought and pouring herself a fresh glass. She drank
half of it before she received a response.
Sounds lovely, Hannah. Does six work for you?
A smile curled her lips.Absolutely divine.
With one thing taken care of, Hannah glanced at the side table that was next to
the couch, her eyes resting on the unopened package of pills that she had just
purchased today.
"I think it's about time I make things a bit interesting myself, brother,"
Hannah said to herself, and with that, she tossed the birth control pills in
the trash before heading upstairs to go to bed.
Chapter End Notes
     The story will resume now with Ciel and Sebastian's chapters. Just
     wanted to add a little background in the story. Next chapter coming
     soon!
***** Snowed Sebastian *****
Chapter by SebasuchansKitten
Chapter Notes
     Heyo finally updated blah blah blah no one cares about these enjoy.
"All right, your turn."
"Twenty hours."
"Bullshit."
I chuckled as I nodded toward my friend, bringing the half-burnt cigarette up
to my lips and casually inhaling. "You don't have to believe me, but it's
true."
Bard eyed me doubtfully. "You can't tell me you didn't have to piss."
"Kept a bunch of empty beer bottles around. Didn't have to go to the bathroom,"
I replied, my words coming out in a thick cloud of smoke.
He scratched the back of his neck, shaking his head back and forth in
disbelief. "How did you not get ass sores, man."
"Oh, believe me, it was sore."
I exhaled another grey breath as I looked over my backyard, my eyes
nonchalantly wandering over the scenery. It had been a week since I was first
taken in for questioning by the police. As terrifying as it was when it first
happened, things had evidently died down a bit. Sure, every day I was still
expected to report to the station for more interrogating, but the entire
process had gotten a bit easier as time went on. Lieutenant Faustus, or, -
since he personally requested I call him by his first name - Claude, had become
much more lenient with me; we started going out for breakfast every morning. At
first, the atmosphere was very tense, and I didn't have much of an appetite
because of it, but, as some days passed, we both slowly melted our defensive
exteriors. Now, I could almost call him a friend.
Almost.
We spoke to each other smoothly and we could joke around easily, but we still
remembered the main reason why I was required to report to the station every
morning. Elizabeth was still missing, and I remained the number one suspect on
their list, though they had been questioning others. Claude informed me,
however, that if no evidence surfaced soon, I'd be released from my daily
interrogations. Not like it mattered to me anymore. I actually quite enjoyed my
visits with the lieutenant every day.
I wasn't used to having free time during the day, though. It had also been a
week since I was put on paid leave, and I did relish in the free time, but I
wasn't sure what exactly to do with it. Ciel still had no clue of what was
going on, and I wanted to keep it that way; this meant I couldn't clean the
entire house or tinker with things around it, for he'd surely notice, since I
didn't have time to do these kinds of things when I was working. Therefore, I
spent most of my time at the gym lifting weights, or at the basketball court
practicing throws with my non-dominant arm. Eliot field would be open soon, as
the weather was warming up and grass had already started to sprout. It had been
a while since I was able to play football, and it made me very eager knowing
that I'd get to play soon.
I had also indulged in the library a bit since my time off, and I hadn't
realised how much I missed reading anything that wasn't insurance crap. I
checked out a couple law books, and, much to my displeasure, I ended up coming
across passages that detailed cases of persons who were falsely accused, then
promptly arrested. Some died in prison, never seeing proper justice delivered,
and one even got the electric chair. This wasn't very comforting to me.
So, I returned those posthaste, and settled for fiction books instead. A few of
them were written by authors I knew, such as Dean Koontz and James Patterson,
others were random novels that the librarians recommended to me. I never got
around to Patterson, and Koontz wasn't bad, but not exactly my taste. The
librarians' suggestions though, phew. It's amazing to me how ladies so proper
could indulge in so much explicit content. But hey, to each their own.
When my days would start coming to a close, I'd leave the house to go grocery
shopping or simply take a mild drive to wait for Ciel to come home. A few times
I went to the movies. I still don't understand what's so special about
chimichangas, though. Maybe it's a younger generation thing.
About the time I arrived home from my adventuring, Bard turned up at my house
right behind me. For the past week he's come over every night to eat dinner
with Ciel and me, and to just hang out in general. His relationship with Mey
had been going through an extra rough patch this week, so he figured the less
time he spent in the house, the better. I had to admit, it was nice having him
around so often. It felt like we were back in high school again, where we were
actually able to hang out every day. It was a nice, welcomed change, and I
hoped it'd stick around for a long time.
This evening, Bard and I were relaxing on the deck out back, having a casual
conversation as we smoked cigarettes and enjoyed the gradual sunset before our
eyes. The subject had just switched to "I bet I've had a longer gaming session
without any breaks," and I had just beaten Bard's by about 6.5 hours. He didn't
believe me, though.
"Seriously, with no breaks?"
"Yep."
"Didn't you starve?"
"All protein shakes."
"How did you not pass out from exhaustion?"
"Energy drinks."
"You can't tell me you weren't twitching like a motherfucker."
"Diluted them with the protein shakes."
Bard just laughed, shaking his head again as he blew out a thick cloud of
chemicals. "Damn. Twenty fucking hours."
I nodded, smoke coming out in soft waves from my nostrils. "Yep."
The back door creaked open, my son stepping halfway outside to look over at me.
"Daddy, I'm hungry. When will dinner be ready?"
Both Bard and I turned our heads to glance at him, and grey seeped through my
closed teeth as I thought. "Shit, Ciel, I haven't even started it. We were so
busy talking I didn't realise the time." I glanced down at my watch, reading
the delicate hands as I saw Bard shake his head from the corner of my eye.
"Just order tacos," he suggested, one last plume leaving his lips before he
ground the butt into an ashtray.
"Good idea," I nodded. "I'll go grab my phone."
"Woo, tacos!" Bard yelled as I passed him, and I chuckled. I brushed past Ciel
in the doorway, my hand coming up to ruffle his hair as I did so. Ciel shut the
door behind him as I walked further into the house, leaving Bard outside by
himself.
"Daddy, are you sure we should order dinner tonight? All we've eaten is fast
food for the past week."
I turned to look back at him, noting a deep frown carved into his tiny mouth.
"You love greasy food anyway, Ciel. What's the use of making dinner if
everything you want to eat are fattening meals? I know you wouldn't eat a salad
if I made it. So what's the difference of ordering out junk food versus making
it?"
He didn't have a response at this; instead, his frown simply inflated into a
small pout. Walking over to the counter, I picked up my cell phone and started
dialing a number. I slid the phone up to my ear, and as soon as it started
ringing he spoke again.
"You promised me you'd never smoke again," he practically accused, his face now
twisting into slight anger.
My eyes flicked over in his direction, pupils gazing over his upset features.
"Yes, well," I said hurriedly, hoping the waitstaff wouldn't pick up the phone
mid-conversation, "you promised me that you'd never miss a violin practice when
you first started." My shoulder cradled the mobile up to my ear to free my
hands, and I used one arm to bring up my watch, my opposite index finger
tapping the glass of it in gesture. "And look at what time it is."
His face reddened as an even more infuriated emotion overtook him, though he
did as told and stomped out of the kitchen, enraged footsteps heard all the way
upstairs as he went up to his room to practice. Much to my relief, the waitress
answered after he slammed the door.
As soon as I placed the order and hung up, Bard walked in from outside,
stretching his arms and yawning as he glanced around. "Where's the kid?" He
asked, though sudden, high-pitched squealing rang out from upstairs to answer
his question. He covered one ear, quietly muttering an "ouch."
"Yes, ouch," I winced a bit at the noise of strings shrieking. "I take it that
he's still angry."
"Still angry? What happened while I was outside?"
I shook my head in dismissal. "Nothing of extreme importance. I believe he's
looking down on the bad habits that I've fallen into lately."
Bard snorted while he slid over to the fridge, smoothly grabbing a beer from
within before he shut it once more. "You know how kids are; he'll get over it.
If you ask me, I think you two are too tightly knit anyway."
"Really?" I squeaked, my pupils widening as I eyed my friend. He nodded as he
took a drink.
"Yeah, I do. You're always joined at each others' hips. Hell, before you got
put on paid leave, I barely saw you outside of work."
I quickly hushed him, gesturing for him to lower his voice as my eyes floated
up to the ceiling. He caught my drift and continued to speak in a quieter tone.
"Look, I get it, the whole single dad complex. You don't have anyone but Ciel,
and Ciel doesn't have anyone but you. It's hard not to find comfort in one
another, and people rejoice in times of hardship, yada-yada. But you realise
Ciel's a freshman this year, right? He only has three more years before it's
over. Done. Childhood past, and adulthood taking over. This is the time of
girls and tough teachers and scholarships and manhood. Do you really think you
two should be so dependent on one another while he's going through this? What
are you going to do, drive him to his own prom? Sit there and shout call outs
like a ref when he's having sex for the first time?"
A deep frown of consideration came over me. "I can admit that you make a fair
point. Now that he's getting older, I can't expect to be there for him all the
time."
"I doubt he'd even want you to," he said through a burp. "You remember what
being a teenager was like. We all hated our parents. Disowned em' in our minds
cause they were so damn embarrassing. You don't want to be one of those
fuddyduddies."
I sat down at the table, sighing as my head fell into my open palms. "You're
right, I don't. What should I do?"
Bard walked over to my side, laying a hand on my shoulder sympathetically. "You
need some time apart. We'll start going out more nights, drinking, shooting
hoops, playing football, anything. Give Ciel some time to open up and let him
explore new things other than hanging out with his old man for once. We can
even play wingmen and try to find him a girl. Getting him into a sport would
probably help, too."
"He used to be a great swimmer," I offered, and Bard smiled.
"He could get on the swimming team! Sure, it's not the coolest thing, but it's
something other than moping around the house all day like he does."
"Okay," I nodded, feeling more confident. "I'll bring it up. I did promise him
that we'd go clothes shopping this weekend, though, so that's out of the
question."
Bard threw his hands up. "Perfect. We'll all go together. I could use some more
socks."
I chuckled, shaking my head at him, though I encouraged him to come along with
us.
Later, when we finally sat down for dinner, Bard, as usual, eagerly chowed down
on everything in front of him, though Ciel had barely taken a bite. He seemed
to stare the taco down as if it personally scorned him, his eyes powerful
enough to scare it into breaking in a million tiny pieces - if life worked that
way.
"Not hungry?" I asked him. His eyes raised up to meet mine, the harshness
softening the barest amount.
"Not really."
"I could make you a salad, if you want."
His frown deepened. "No."
My lip quirked up apologetically and I shrugged. "Offer's open if you change
your mind."
Ciel appeared conflicted as a debate seemed to take place in his head. He
claimed he was tired of greasy food, but he never ate anything that was
remotely healthy. A great conflict, indeed.
"You're a pretty quiet kid, Ciel." Bard remarked, trying to start a
conversation.
Ciel's eyes flicked over to him, though the emotions behind them were
unreadable. "You've always known that about me."
Bard nodded. "I have. I'm just surprised you haven't changed at all since you
were a young kid."
"I haven't," he replied, his sapphire orbs drifting back to me with a
coldness. But you have, I could practically picture them saying.
I gazed down at my plate, an ashamed expression overcoming me. I was
embarrassed that my son seemed to look down on me. I never wanted to disappoint
him.
Bard opened his mouth to speak again, but Ciel suddenly stood up and cut in.
"I'm going up to my room."
He started to glide past me, and I grabbed his shoulder, giving it a squeeze
that I hoped conveyed my love, as well as how deeply apologetic I was. "Nice
playing earlier, buddy. You get better every day."
His eyes melted when our gazes locked, though one of his nostrils flared in
doubt; he knew that he wasn't playing his best earlier as well as I did.
Nevertheless, I was still proud. I always would be.
Without a word, he continued walking, my hand falling to my side sadly as I
watched him disappear up the stairs. From the corner of my eye, Bard resumed
eating without a care in the world, but I was deeply perturbed. I chewed the
inside of my lip in thought, doubt filling me about Bard's suggestion. I didn't
want to have time apart from my son if it meant disappointing and upsetting
him. That was the last thing I ever wanted to do.
"Maybe I should make him a cake tonight in apology," I mused aloud, worry lines
crinkling my forehead.
Bard rolled his eyes. "Chill out, Mr. Mom. He's fine. Kids fight with their
parents all the time; it's natural. Stop stressing about everything. I promise,
you're a good dad."
My lips hung toward the ground as if gravity was working overtime, and, though
it bothered me, I did as Bard told, and I left Ciel alone for the rest of the
night.
 
===============================================================================
 
"...And that was my first experience with a tazer."
"You really tazed him right between the eyes? Point blank in the skull?"
"Oh, yeah. I'm sure his brain matter was scrambled up for weeks."
I let out a laugh that was louder than my usual one, and it sent plenty of
glances my way. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't acquired a particular fondness
for the lieutenant after the short week we had spent together. He was a
hilarious man, and after our defenses finally melted down, it became extremely
easy to get along with him. According to others, this was no easy feat, but I
had managed just fine, and I looked forward to the unique company Claude
indulged me in.
"Ah, more faxes," he said as we approached his desk, his face becoming more
stoic. Reaching down, his hands grasped onto a bundle of papers that draped
down the small machine, fingers flipping through the pages idly. "When will
they ever get the hint?"
"Most likely never..." I replied, letting my words drift off purposely.
"It's a legality," we both synchronized at once in mocking, nasally tones. As
soon as our perfectly matched voices met our ears, we cracked up again,
knocking elbows together giddily.
"Man, that joke will never get old."
"It might to your fellow officers," I pointed out, making sure to gaze at the
many displeased faces around us. Claude simply shrugged.
"Guess we better get you to the interrogation room, suspect numero uno."
The lieutenant led the way, curving this way and that through the department,
his usual serious demeanor replacing the one I had become used to. It was
unfortunate that no one else got to see the best side of him, but I felt pretty
important to be the only one to know it.
We were nearing the skinny hallway that led to questioning when the glass
entrance doors were thrown open wildly, sending a loud bang resonating through
the entire building. Everyone, including Claude, whipped around instantly,
hands clutching their holstered guns on instinct.
"Lieutenant!" Mr. Midford shouted, his face red as if he had just finished a
marathon. "I present you damning evidence that Sebastian Michaelis is guilty!"
My face paled at the accusation, and I looked over at Claude, watching the
small wrinkles in his face harden into a glare.
"Mr. Midford, you'd better have a good reason for bursting into the department
like this."
"You bet your ass I have a good fucking reason!" He continued, stalking toward
us with intense determination. "I want him locked up for the rest of his god
damned life! I want him to pay for what he did to my little girl!"
Claude tensed up even further, his arms crossing in fury. "Cease your yelling
this instant or you will be the one locked up, and trust me, I always have a
spare cell open."
"I have evidence," he persisted, though he quieted down, his voice breathless
from screaming. Shoving his arm forward, he uncurled his palm to reveal a
dainty gold chain coiled around in his hand. In small, fragile letters, though
it was hard to see, I knew exactly what was spelled out.
Elizabeth.
"Lizzy's necklace," I breathed.
"Don't call her that, you bastard!" Midford shrieked, his fist swinging out
without thought.
Claude instantly grabbed his hand midair and twisted his limb toward the
ground, teeth gnashing as his entire body flexed for combat. "Remain calm!"
"He recognizes it," he choked out, his eyes meeting mine. "You fucking
recognize it."
Claude looked in my direction, waiting for confirmation.
I nodded, gulping down bile that threatened to coat my throat. "I do. She wore
it the night of our date."
Releasing Midford as soon as he was certain that the man had settled down, the
lieutenant eyed him cautiously. "Where did you find it?"
"In the parking lot of Rhonda's Place," he sneered, his pupils drilling into my
own.
I could feel cold sweat starting to bead along my skin, my forehead heating up
as if a fever had taken ahold of me. That couldn't be right. This couldn't be
happening.
Claude slipped on a single glove, holding his hand out to my boss. The man
promptly plopped the necklace into his hand, and the lieutenant studied it
closely.
"There is blood on it," he remarked. I felt my stomach turn. "But it'll have to
be analysed more closely. I'd like to ask you a few more questions about how
you happened to find this, Mr. Midford."
"Easily. Your department isn't as good at inspecting a crime scene as they
think they are," he muttered under his breath, but Claude caught the remark
easily, and his eyes lit up in an enraged fire.
"We have done everything we currently can for your daughter, Mr. Midford."
"Well you haven't done enough! You're letting a man who's clearly guilty of
murder roam the streets while my Lizzy doesn't get the proper justice she
deserves!"
"You need evidence to rightfully convict someone of murder, Mr. Midford,"
Claude seethed, taking in a sharp breath as he turned to look at me. "And I'm
afraid we don't have enough evidence to convict, or to even keep Mr. Michaelis
here for questioning. You're free to go, Mr. Michaelis. Officer Rodriguez will
escort you out."
A man nodded to me and waved for me to follow him while shouts of protest
continued behind me.
"This is an outrage! He is guilty of murder! He murdered my daughter!"
"Sir, I will not ask you to calm down aga-"
"A conflict of interest is what this is! This is our justice system? Crooked!
This department is supporting a murderer! You're all letting a killer run
free!"
The screams continued well after I left the building, though, luckily, I
couldn't hear them anymore once the glass doors closed behind me. I slid into
my car and shut the door as quickly as I could, my hands shaking as I placed
them on the wheel in front of me.
"There was blood on that necklace," I said aloud, hoping the words would help
my brain piece together what happened. Blood.
I needed to puke.
I shook my head, raking my fingers through my soaked hair as I tried to settle
my nerves. I knew I wasn't guilty. I knew I never killed Elizabeth. And, yet,
as more and more evidence seemed to surface, it all pointed to one person.
Me.
Maybe I did kill her, I thought. Maybe I killed her and my brain blocked it out
because the memory was too traumatic.
Fuck I needed to puke.
This time, I did.
The contents from the delicious breakfast I had enjoyed with Claude earlier
came up easily as my stomach clenched and convulsed with the crippling anxiety
that ran through my veins. I leaned out the door of my car, wincing each time I
heard liquid splatter onto the pavement beneath me. I hated puking. I
especially hated nerve-puking. When I had first started football, I used to
vomit before every game. My coach called it nerve-puke, and thankfully, for
only a short time, the team pestered me with countless heaving nicknames until
I learned to finally relax on the field.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, sitting back up in my seat as I
struggled to breathe. "Justin was so glad he didn't have to be on trashcan duty
anymore," I reminded myself, trying to find tranquility in the memory.
I filled my mind with idle, innocent thoughts until my stomach seemed to
lighten up on its cramping. My hands were still gently trembling as I slid a
cigarette between my lips and lit the end. I inhaled a small gasp of smoke as I
pushed my keys into the ignition and started my car. I needed to get out of
here before I ran into my boss again.
If he even still was my boss.
No, save those thoughts for when you're not behind three-thousand pounds of
metal, I instructed myself, before I pulled out of the parking lot, unsure as
to where to go.
 
===============================================================================
 
Like the piece of shit that I am, I obviously chose to indulge in the
atmosphere of our local bar, because there was no better place to relate to
people going through their midlife crises than an establishment that served
alcohol.
As I had originally expected, the place was dead, excluding the few stragglers
who probably considered the place to be their home at this point. Of course,
you have to figure, if you're at a bar before the sun has begun to set,
something has went wrong in your life. Hey, I didn't judge, - or, maybe
I used to judge - until I became one of the poor suckers whose life took a
plummet.
The mood was somber; quiet music drifted throughout the place, resonating
through the solid oak bar top and chairs. None of the usually distracting neon
lights were on, as it was still daylight out, and it made the air in the room
seem less inviting. It felt like we were intruding in someone's mancave other
than enjoying drinks in a public environment.
Over the music, commentators on the TV spoke over the calm melody, squawking
about some sports game that had aired earlier in the day. I enjoyed football,
but they were discussing names that didn't sound familiar, so I immediately
dismissed it as some other sport that I wasn't interested in and tuned it out.
At first, I started off with a water, and when I ordered it, the bartender gave
me a skeptical look, though he complied. I then worked myself up to a couple of
beers, and I was beginning my third one now. On a usual basis, I'd already be
feeling buzzed, but Bard had been hanging out with me every day lately, and
that had resulted in me consuming increasing amounts of alcohol. Now, three
beers wasn't even touching me. I could go for a shot. Or twelve.
The heavy wood door creaked open on old hinges as someone else entered, men
twisting their necks sideways to determine who it was. I didn't bother.
Taking a huge swig from my bottle, I let it thud against the counter as I
swallowed, my free hand coming up to rub my temples in thought. I knew I
should've been mulling over the events that occurred not so long ago, but I
couldn't wrap my mind around it. I didn't know what to think.
Obviously, something was amiss if a piece of evidence was found at the crime
scene, not by the police, but by a normal, every day civilian. The police
couldn't have overlooked a detail like that, could they? No, it wasn't
possible. I watched those crime shows on TV, and though I knew our small town
police force couldn't begin to compare to the FBI, I knew they couldn't be that
incompetent. Surely, they wouldn't leave a single stone unturned.
So how did he find it then? That was the real question, I supposed. I wondered
if Claude found the sudden revelation as suspicious as I did.
Maybe Mr. Midford was trying to frame me.
I shivered.
"Cold, honey? Maybe that's because you're not drinking a real man's drink."
I blinked my weary eyes as I heard a female voice, and looked up just in time
to see Hannah plant herself in the stool next to me.
"Hannah?" I croaked in confusion. "It's not even noon."
She chuckled, flashing me a wink as she suavely removed her jacket and handed
it to the man behind the bar. "So you can drink before noon, but I can't."
The back of my neck instantly heated up, my cheekbones and the tip of my ear
cartilage coloring a bright red. "I- erm, well..." My words drifted off as I
became flustered, and I instead chose to observe as the bartender took delicate
care with her garment, gently draping it over one of the employee hooks.
She laughed as she noticed my surprised expression. "I'm a regular here. They
know me so well I'm practically family."
As if to confirm her words, the bartender nodded and gave her a knowing wink
before he went back to cleaning glasses.
"Must be nice to get special treatment," I mused, giving her a small smile.
"I'm sure I paid their rent for months in advance. It's about time I get free
drinks. Ron! Line up some shots for my friend!"
"Oh, no, no," I protested, waving my hand. Although I'd considered it earlier,
there was no way in hell that I'd do shots now. I had to drive home eventually.
"No hard liquor. It's far too early."
She gave a knowing, cocky smirk. "There you go being a hypocrite again."
My face flushed once more, but she thankfully chose not to comment on it, and
she didn't try to pressure me into drinking harder liquor again, either. When
the bartender questioned if I wanted shots, I hastily refused, to Hannah's
amusement, but she remained silent.
"So is that your morning poison, then? Shots?"
Hannah's smile fell a little, and my eyes flicked over to the bartender, who
was watching her with a curious gaze.
"Actually," she began, turning to him and giving him a small smile. "I'd like
some ice water."
His reflection must have mirrored my own - shocked into disbelief - but he
began filling a cup with ice and water, nevertheless.
I raised an eyebrow at her. "You came to a bar to drink ice water?"
"On the contrary, I came in here because I saw you from the window. I knew
something had to be wrong if I saw Sebastian Michaelis downing a cold one at
ten in the morning."
I snorted, shaking my head as I took the final sip from my bottle. The
bartender set her glass down, and Hannah thanked him for her drink before she
delicately plucked the glass from the counter and took a long, gracious gulp.
We were silent for a few more moments until she finally spoke up. "So what
brings you here?"
"Straight to the point, I see."
She shrugged with a smirk, her breasts giving a little bounce with the gesture.
"If you'd prefer to have me stall, I can. I'm just curious as to why you're at
a dive like this so early in the day. I thought you were more responsible than
that."
"I am," I agreed, setting my empty beer bottle down. The bartender immediately
took it and replaced it with a new one, earning him a praising wink from
Hannah. She waited patiently for me to finish chugging a portion of the new
beer, and I waited until I felt the liquid run down my entire esophagus before
I mumbled. "Shit's just been rough."
Hannah hummed thoughtfully, tracing a curved talon around the rim of her glass.
Taking my vague answer into consideration, she ran with it. "I take it being
interrogated by the police isn't exactly a walk in the park."
"It's not that," I replied, running my hands up and down my face in
exasperation. "The questions never change, nor do my answers. It's just being a
suspect. Everyone looks at you like... Like you're so guilty. Like they already
know you've committed the crime, and they're just waiting for you to be
condemned for it. It's so demoralizing. You know what I mean?"
Hannah's nose crinkled slightly as she continued to stare down at her water.
"No, I don't suppose I do."
"Agh, of course you don't," I exclaimed in frustration. "Normal people wouldn't
know what this feels like because they don't have to go through it. I'm such a
fucking idiot."
I closed my eyes, hiding my face in my open palms. I heard the sound of a stool
scraping across the ground, and once I felt slender fingers give my shoulder a
sympathetic squeeze, I realised she had moved closer to me.
"Sweetie, you're not an idiot. You're one of the smartest men I know."
Uncovering my eyes, I allowed them to glance in her direction, my expression
fixed into one of pure seriousness. "You don't have to lie and build up my
confidence, Hannah. You, as well as everyone else in this god damn town knows
by now that I'm the most impotent fucker around at this point."
Hannah's eyes widened in genuine shock, her posture stiffening from being taken
aback. She quickly recovered from this, however, and her sympathetic smile took
its place once more. "That's not my intention, Sebastian."
"And I think you're a lovely girl," I continued, slurring a bit. "But you're
married, and I don't take that lightly."
Her expression turned to one of admiring fondness, and she reached forward,
stroking a soft hand over my cheek. "I know, Darling. I should've gone after
you sooner. You're one of a kind."
"Please don't do this to me, Hannah," I whispered, shaking my head as tears
began to form in my eyes. "Please don't do this. I can't take anymore."
Her features went blank once she noticed my distress, and though she seemed
sympathetic no longer, she removed her hand from my face, clearly getting the
hint. She glanced around the bar casually, before she leaned in close to me,
the air from her words tickling my flesh from the proximity. "The world is
against you, Sebastian."
I glanced up into her eyes, noting that they seemed honest, though a bit
unreadable. "Yeah, I know. I think I figured that out when a cop escorted me
out of my job," I cracked, but the joke didn't seem to reach her. Her words,
and her emotions, seemed to get even more cryptic.
"I mean it. It's out of your control. Everything will always be beyond your
reach, and once you get within millimeters of what you want most, it'll be
ripped away from you again. You're a puppet." She sighed, standing up and
pushing the stool away with her foot. "We all are."
My face twisted in confusion, eyebrows knitting together as I processed her
statement. "If that was supposed to make me feel better, it didn't."
She let out a fake laugh, her lips barely curling as she started digging in her
purse. "I've never been good at finding the right words to say. It's my curse."
She pulled out a hundred, setting it down on the counter in front of me. Before
I could refuse, she continued. "Take it, I insist. You don't owe me. If
anything, I owe you. You're the only man who's ever seen me as a person, though
I'll never understand why or how."
She then immediately flipped around, her heels clicking as she strode toward
the exit.
"Wait, Hannah!" I called, so many things rushing through my head that it was
impossible for me to decrypt them all. She halted, turning only her head back
to look at me as she waited for me to finish. I decided to ask the question
that was puzzling me the most.
"Why did you order water?"
She gave me a strained smile. "I haven't been feeling well."
And with that, she marched out of the establishment, leaving me in a stunned
silence.
 
===============================================================================
 
My arms were crossed tightly over my chest, my shoe tapping against the
polished tiles nervously. To conceal my obvious fidgeting, I let a faux smile
curl my lips, and I nodded forward in encouragement at my son. "Go on. We'll
wait here."
"Do I have to?" He whined. "I hate trying on clothes."
My tapping increased its hurried rhythm, and from the corner of my eye I could
see Bard watching me closely. I continued to smile. "Yes, you have to. We need
to make sure they fit this time."
With a final, defeated huff, Ciel turned and disappeared into the changing
rooms, a bundle of various garments in his arms. As soon as he was out of
sight, Bard confronted me at once.
"Dude, spill. You either put energy drinks out of business this morning or you
haven't taken a leak in hours. What's with the twitching?"
"Flash sales make me nervous," I offered jokingly, not intending to lie, but
preferring to set a lighter mood first. Bard didn't bite.
"I know something's been on your mind and you haven't told me. Have you heard
back from Claude?"
"No, not yet," I shook my head, lowering my voice. "But there is one detail I
left out about earlier this week, and it's only because I've been trying to
wrap my head around it." I looked around me before I continued. "After he
dismissed me from the station, I went to the bar."
"So?"
"I saw Hannah there. Or, rather, she saw me there, and she came to talk with
me."
Bard's eyes bulged before he immediately took on an expression comprising of
anger and jealousy. "Oh, you chose to leave that detail out? The hottest piece
of ass in this town, and you decide it's better kept a secret? You're a real
piece of work, Sebastian. A real piece of shit work."
Bard's voice had gotten louder from his temper, and two quiet women a few yards
away began eyeing us with suspicion and disappointment. My neck turned red from
embarrassment, and instead of saving myself from further humiliation, my shock
rendered my logic useless and I replied, equally as loudly, "We didn't have
sex! Jesus!"
This sent the offended women scampering off, which made me feel even more
ashamed. I shook my head as I rubbed the heated back of my neck. Luckily, the
awkward encounter paid off, for now my best friend simply stared at me blankly,
his eyes blinking as he attempted to process the situation.
"Wait, so... You guys didn't fuck?"
"No," I sighed, exasperated.
Bard was now the embarrassed one, and he kicked at the ground mindlessly.
"Sorry, man. I just figured you mentioning Hannah..."
"Yeah, I know, but her promiscuous nature has nothing to do with what happened,
for once," I eyed the changing rooms as I paused, then judging that it was safe
to proceed. "All we did was talk. She was acting really weird, though. For one,
she ordered water, and just water. Then she started acting strange, telling me
that I'll never be able to obtain what I want and that I'm just a puppet."
"Maybe even she knows you're a lost cause," he suggested light-heartedly,
before his tone became sober. "That's odd that she ordered a water, though.
Hannah could shut a liquor store down in two days."
"She said she wasn't feeling well."
I doubted her statement, but Bard shrugged at the idea. "Hey, man, I don't
know. Mey's not much of a drinker anymore, but she could sure put away bottles
when she was younger. Morning, evening, didn't matter. The only time you
wouldn't see her drinking, though, was when she was on the rag. Said it made
her sick."
I nodded as I processed his words. "That would make sense. Rachel always
struggled with her monthly, too. I think that's why I never even considered
that she could be pregnant."
We went silent at that, the annoying, outdated music that poured through unseen
speakers throughout the store taking our conversation's place.
A few minutes later, Ciel came out, holding only two pieces of clothing that
managed to pass as satisfactory. I had no idea where this kid got his finical
nature from. Nevertheless, I was still surprised.
"Two? Only two fit?" I asked, my widened eyes staring down at the garments. I
could see now that they were both pairs of jeans. He nodded at my question.
"What was wrong? Too big? Too small?"
"Too big," he answered, and I sighed, giving Bard a sheepish smile over my
shoulder.
"Well, back to browsing."
We had already wandered through the entire store once before, but now, we were
meticulously searching through each rack of clothes, trying to find something,
anything, that would appeal to Ciel's taste.
"Never thought in a million years I'd be scouring through each and every piece
of clothing in a store like some soccer mom who clips coupons for a living,"
Bard muttered under his breath, and I couldn't help but laugh.
"These moments are the result of asking for a kid," I replied, my conscience
silently following up my spoken words. Even though I never asked for Ciel, I
couldn't be more blessed.
I imagine that, as a female, clothes shopping was only enjoyable when they were
shopping for themselves, because, as I was figuring out over time, shopping
according to other people's taste downright sucked. I was never a shopping man
myself, so doing this was already hard, but trying to find something that Ciel
found attractive was much, much harder.
It was like traversing a field full of flowers, trying to pick the perfect one
for that perfect person. In a field full of millions and millions of options,
you'd think that would be easy. So, using your own judgment, you pick what you
believe would be the perfect flower, or shirt, and meticulously review the
garment, or flower, as if you were a god damned critic. Will this look nice in
a vase? Will it fade after one wash? How durable is the material? Does it need
a certain water temperature? Will bleach fucking kill it? So on, and so forth.
And then it hits you. Like a beam of godly light raining down from the heavens,
an angelic choir resonates the most beautiful harmonies as light particles
shimmer and radiate the flower, and shirt, that speaks to your heart. This is
it. This will be the one that they will appreciate the most. You spend your
time gently picking it, taking care not to intertwine one hanger with the
other. You lift it up, pride beaming in your confident smile, and you present
this wonder, victory already uplifting your spirits. Only to be shot down with
one, teeny word.
"No."
"UGH," Bard and I immediately synchronized, shoving the tee back from whence it
came. This had to be hell.
As frustrated as the two of us were, Ciel seemed to be enjoying our misery. I
couldn't fault him, for I assumed this was payback for brushing him off the
other night. I couldn't help but give a small smile at the thought. Already, he
was old enough to teach me about karma.
"What about this one?" Bard tried.
"No."
"WHAT THE FUCK, CIEL!" He screamed, yet he still discarded the garment and
continued on looking. My son and I couldn't help but crack up.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh your bleeding heads off you miserable..."
Bard's words faded to a background noise as I turned to Ciel, still chuckling.
I held up a blue shirt, laughter dying down though the smile remained
afterwards as I pressed it to his chest, admiring the color. "What about this
one? It matches your eyes perfectly, Ciel," I said hopefully. I watched as he
glanced down at the color, and a genuine look of confusion wandered over his
features.
My smile was gone in an instant, replaced by an expression of puzzlement
equivalent to his. "Ciel, what's wro-"
"HERE!" Bard shouted, and we both jumped from his victorious war cry, turning
to look at him. He slammed down the shirt in Ciel's lap, crossing his arms
haughtily and reciting Ciel's requirements like a slurred chant until his face
turned red. "Cotton mixed with polyester NO spandex pre-shrunk no animal
testing dry clean optional dryer safe iron safe washable in cold OR warm water
modern gothic vibe with a hint of hipster no obvious branding and made in the
USA!"
We watched as he sucked deep gulps of air in, his chest rising and falling as
his lungs got used to circulating oxygen once again. Ciel regarded him with
amusement. "It's fine." He tossed the white tee into the basket, Bard putting
two thumbs up in relief. I gazed down at the shirt I was holding, and I reached
to put it away before he grabbed my hand suddenly, his fingers curling around
mine to stop me. When I glanced at him, he gave me a sincere smile. "I'll take
it."
I beamed, wrapping my arms around him and squeezing him tightly. "Thank god. I
think we're finally done with shopping."
Four hours and $250 later, we were on our way home, and everyone was happy.
Ciel seemed glad that he got new clothes, Bard was excited he'd get Mexican
food, I was relieved that Ciel was pleased, and we were all happy that we would
be eating enchiladas for dinner instead of fast food.
Once we arrived at the house, Ciel gave me a tight hug, thanked me, then
sprinted up to his room, bags in hand. Bard flopped down on the couch, groaning
like a baby, and I strode into the kitchen to fetch us a couple beers before I
sat next to him.
"Next time you invite me to go clothes shopping, I pass," he muttered.
I flicked on the TV, bringing my bottle to my lips as I nodded in agreement.
"Shit, me too. I never thought it'd take that long. Ciel didn't used to be so
hard to shop for."
"Yeah, well if that's what it takes to have kids, remind me not to have them."
I chuckled, shaking my head as we both focused on the screen in front of us.
For a while, we all relaxed and did nothing. I drank a few beers with Bard
before I decided to get up and finally start making dinner, only to realise
that we didn't have cheese or beans.
"Son of a bitch," I murmured under my breath.
"Daddy," Ciel called as he entered the kitchen. "We should have a movie night."
I looked over my shoulder at him while I closed the fridge behind me. "That
sounds good, Ciel. I have to run to the store first, though."
"How come?" Bard asked loudly from the living room.
"We're out of cheese and beans!" I answered loudly back, to which I received a
chortle.
"Dumbass!"
I smiled as I shook my head, and I ruffled Ciel's hair after I made my way over
to him. "I'll just walk down to the corner store real quick; it won't take me
long. Is there anything you need?"
"More beer!" Bard reminded, but Ciel simply shook his head.
I mussed up his locks again. "I'll be back. Don't burn the house down!" I
exclaimed, my last statement meant for Bard. I heard him snort from the other
room.
"Don't worry, Daddy, I'll take care of him," Ciel assured, and I gave him a
gracious half-hug before I headed off on my mission.
The corner store was only a couple blocks away, if that, and it wasn't worth
the waste of gas and the time it took to exit the garage to get there. Besides,
exercise could never hurt, and I probably needed it considering I had been
drinking my fair share of alcohol, and that was the easiest way to earn a
belly.
Unfortunately for my body, I had taken up cigarettes again due to Bard's
constant company, and I lit one up, taking drags as I enjoyed my stroll. Maybe
the walk would cancel the harm out. I doubted it.
The sun had already started setting before I left, and it was beginning to get
dark once I finally reached the store. I didn't spend time perusing the aisles
- I had had enough shopping to last a lifetime - instead, I grabbed the first
package of shredded cheese that caught my eye, along with the first can of
beans I spotted. The beer I was a little more particular about, but it took
less than a minute to find it. To my relief, I was the only customer in there
at the time, and I was rung up and sent on my way rather quickly.
My stomach was already starting to growl, but I didn't want to rush the walk
home. The temperature had dropped slightly to a refreshing coollness, and
though there were a few wispy clouds in the sky, you could still make out the
outline of the moon and stars. I smiled as I stared up at the view
absentmindedly, trying to trace out certain patterns in the twinkling lights.
For many years as a kid, I was absolutely obsessed with astronomy. I had NASA
posters all over my walls, photos of astronauts and diagrams of planets, a
compiled list of names and pictures of galaxies, you name it. My parents
painted my ceiling to resemble the night sky, and, eventually, they even bought
me my own telescope. I spent so many hours staring up at the stars that I even
lectured my parents on all the little details they got wrong on my ceiling,
which I'm sure annoyed them to no end.
Once I reached middle school, however, my interest in all things space faded
rather quickly, though for what reason, I didn't know. I got rid of my posters,
I repainted my room, and I sold the telescope at one of our annual family yard
sales.
As an adult, I still didn't have an interest in it as much as I used to, but to
this day, I still remembered all of the constellations, and every single one of
their locations. When Ciel came to live with me, we spent our first night
together outside, me teaching him everything I know and him simply listening. I
did this for quite a few days, though I was losing hope that he even cared
about my astronomy ramblings; until, one night, when I brought him outside. I
remained silent. No teaching, nothing. We sat there, staring up at the stars in
utter quietness. I remember Ciel looked up at me, probably in confusion as he
waited for me to speak. When I didn't, he raised his little fist in the air,
index finger extending toward the sky as he exclaimed. "Dipper!"
And when I looked up, I noticed where he was pointing.
The Little Dipper.
I hugged him closer to me, smiling as I admired the constellation. "Yup, that's
it." My excitement renewed, I grabbed his hand tenderly in my own and moved his
finger around until it was where I wanted it. "And there's the Big Dipper. And
over there..."
My lips curled upward solemnly as I reminisced in the cherished memory. When
Ciel was given to me, I was terrified he'd want nothing to do with me. I was a
stranger to this little boy, and to claim that I was his father probably made
him want to distance himself even further. That night was one of our first
bonding moments, though, and after that, I knew that things wouldn't be as
difficult as I had first believed.
I blinked as I stared at my front door, the movie replaying in my head coming
to a sudden stop.
"I got so caught up remembering that I don't remember the walk home," I
muttered to myself, hoisting the bags up in my hands as I twisted the doorknob.
I stepped inside as the door swung open, easily closing it with my foot once I
was inside.
Then there was a shatter as the bags slipped from my hands.
The sound of glass breaking was instant as soon as they hit the floor, dark
liquid spreading through the white plastic, looking for a way out. The fluid
made its way onto the floor once it found a small hole in the bag, and it
continued its flow gradually.
I didn't notice. I didn't care.
The TV was on, and someone was talking on the screen, but I heard no sound. All
I could hear was blood pumping in my ears, and the thumping of my heart as
clear as a stethoscope reading.
It was dark in the house, but there was enough illumination to see the
situation laid out in front of me.
They were both on the couch. Bard was on top of Ciel.
And they were kissing.
***** Contrivant Ciel *****
Chapter by Ritsy
Chapter Notes
     Here ya go. Enjoy.
Click. Rewind.
If there was any creature on this earth that I had to say I truly abhorred, it
would be without a doubt the most repulsive, disease-riddled monstrosities that
ever dared to exist: cockroaches. There wasn't a single positive trait to them,
no redeeming quality that would ever allow me to see them in a good light. The
vile vermin spent their days skittering across tile, hidden away within the
darkest recesses of your kitchen. They hid beneath your stove, feasting upon
stray crumbs left behind and lying in wait while you lived in blissful
ignorance of their existence. The bastards were sneaky, slyly creeping just out
of your sight while they implanted a strong foundation under your appliances.
They thrive in moist, dark environments, laying egg after egg and creating a
massive infestation, all without your knowledge.
Click. Play.
And then, one day, after they have invaded your home and taken it over like the
filthy parasites that they are, they explode out of their hiding places. They
ransack your pantries and your cabinets, rubbing their disgusting extremities
all over, contaminating your sustenance with whatever incurable diseases they
carry. Your innocence on the matter is shattered easily when you reach in to
grab whatever food appeals to you, only to have your hand covered in the nasty
little buggers. Naturally, you'd want to get rid of them in any way possible.
But it isn't always that easy. They've dug their roots so deeply into the
foundation of your home that you must carefully extract them, lest all your
hard work and everything you love come crashing down around you. Nobody would
want to lose the precious home that they wore themselves ragged to craft. And
because the pests have evolved to become so damn near indestructible that they
could survive a nuclear war, even picking the most potent of noxious fumes
couldn't completely eradicate them. No.
Click. Rewind.
So you must be careful, cautious. Every single possible route to their demise
must be exhausted. But everything you try is an utter failure. They just keep.
Coming. Back. It's enough to drive you insane, making you so desperate for a
reprieve that you would do anything, anything, just to keep them from
returning. This will clearly require more finesse, a more delicate touch. You
must tediously plan until you can come up with the most subtle solution that
you can, so that even the smartest cockroach would be lulled into a sense of
security and fall into your trap. It must be subtle, but so effective that
you're able to rip them straight out of the very fibers of your home without
ruining its carefully groomed stability. Surely there was at least one thing
that this vermin couldn't ever resist. After all, there was only one cretin
left, tainting everything with its presence time and again. Simply put...
Click. Play.
...Bardroy is by far the most persistent, abhorrent, revolting cockroach to
dare ensnare my home, my father, and I intend to snuff him out.
Of course, and much to my chagrin, I can't kill him. That would put much too
much suspicion on my father, and in turn myself. I would rather him remain
blissfully ignorant and keep myself out of law enforcement sights. It would be
a major folly on my part to murder Bardroy, and I detested that fact almost as
much as I did the man himself. That stupid bastard. I wish I could tear him to
shreds. All these years he's spent, seemingly innocent, pretending to be a
support for my father. He's slipped under my radar, never allowing me to
perceive him as a threat.
Until now.
I flick my calculating gaze back down to my laptop screen, replaying the scene
that I had already memorized. The soft rubber of buds were wedged gently in my
ear canals, allowing the low voice to taint my eardrums. My eyes glazed over,
staring at the screen without absorbing what I was seeing.
Frustration had been growing with each day that passed. I had been exceedingly
tolerant of Bard's added presence in our home for two reasons. The first being
that I knew that my father needed his comfort while dealing with... whatever it
was that he was going through. I wasn't some monster, and my father was
naturally a social being, so if having his friend around helped to soothe him,
then so be it. The second was that it enabled me to glean information off of my
father. While he would never tell me anything so as to avoid worrying me,
chances were that Bard knew what was going on. Chances were even higher that
they would discuss it around one another. I bugged the entirety of the house,
only daring to set up cameras in the kitchen and living room, and I had the
feed directed straight to my laptop. I could monitor the goings-on in my house
at all hours of the day, from any location I desired. I could admit that I
never dared to stream it unless I was in the safety of my room; the last thing
I needed was someone catching me and having to explain what the fuck I was
doing. So every day after school, I would run directly up to my room, and spend
all of my spare time going over every recording.
I had been lying on my stomach, my feet dangling off the edge of my bed with an
earbud in my ear, boredly listening to their pissing contest over gaming
sessions. Even if there had been videofeed to accompany their talking, I would
have been just as bored; they were most likely sitting on the back porch,
unmoving. I tuned them out with a loud sigh, lifting my eyes to look up at my
alarm clock. I could feel that thick, suffocating frustration rearing its ugly
head in my chest. I tried to quell it as I pushed myself up off of my bed; this
was okay. He was going through something, he deserved to be able to unwind.
Maybe if I asked, he'd actually make dinner tonight.
Click. Rewind.
But that hadn't gone as planned. I'd gone down, yes, and I had asked what would
be for dinner. But then Bard had to suggest fucking tacos for the third time
this week, and I wanted to scream. Stupid fucking Mexican fast food loving
pigfucker. And of course, my father had just agreed instantly. Bard was the
bane of my existence. He was ripping my father away from me, stealing all of
his attention, making him lazy and hindering him from waiting on me hand and
foot. And fuck, it was making me insecure and frustrated. Calm down, I told
myself. He just needs Bard to support him where he won't let me. I needed to
have patience with him, until everything settled down. Or so I thought.
"You promised me you'd never smoke again," I said evenly, trying to keep the
vehemence out of my voice. Bard was being such a shitty influence on my father,
making him fall back into bad habits I thought he'd buried long ago. It was
making it very hard to control my emotions in front of him. I couldn't let my
carefully crafted mask shatter and ruin everything.
He side-eyed me, actually fucking side-eyed me, his words rushing out as his
phone rung at his ear. "Yes well, you promised me that you'd never miss a
violin practice when you first started." I was shocked at the balls this man
had to actually tap his watch at me impatiently. Who the fuck replaced my
father with this prick who didn't give a shit about me? "And look what time it
is."
I felt my face contort in rage, and before I could do something I would regret,
I spun on my heel and stomped out of the kitchen. A temper tantrum was normal
for someone my age. Hell, even getting into a shouting match would have been
normal, but the venom that coated my tongue was not. I could tear my father
down easily, watch him crumble and break before my very eyes. But I couldn't do
that. No, he needed to be whittled down unbeknownst to him, so that I could
mould him in my image. I wanted him to become reliant on me to the point where
he couldn't fucking live without me, and that would be impossible if I
viciously ripped him to shreds. He wanted me to be innocent and sweet, and oh,
would I be. Before I knew it, I was slamming my bedroom door angrily and
ripping my violin case open. He wanted me to play? Oh, I would give him a
concert he wouldn't soon forget.
Positioning the violin properly, I straightened my spine, and with a serene
smile, I yanked the bow over the strings harshly, making them scream in agony.
Fuck you. Fuck you both. I hope you go deaf. You dare treat me like I'm
nothing? I could so easily make his life hell. But I loved him so much that I
didn't want to have to resort to that. Drastic measures were not yet called for
with my beloved father; he was simply misguided, and he needed me to guide him
back into the light, my bed, my arms, inside of me, so we could join as one.
Bard, however, was a completely different matter.
I felt tears burn at my eyes, and I sped the movement of my wrist up, taking
out my hurt and frustration on my poor instrument. Fuck Bard for doing this to
me. I threw my violin angrily into its case and slammed it shut, furiously
wiping at my eyes. "Don't take my Daddy away," I whimpered, wrapping my arms
around myself and rocking slightly. "It's okay, he loves me. He does. It's
okay."
Trying to recenter myself, I rubbed away the stray tears that had escaped my
lashes, crawling onto my bed and pulling my laptop toward me. I plugged in my
earbuds and pushed one into my ear. Maybe I would luck out, and they would be
talking about something that would help me figure out what the fuck was going
on. That way I could take care of my father's problems for him. Certainly I
knew that he'd been questioned by the police, and I could only assume that it
was about Elizabeth's disappearance. But I didn't know the extent of what was
going on, or how they even linked her going missing to him in the first place.
They had gone on one date, and I had given it a few days before I acted. There
should have been little to no evidence at all. Unless he had done something
stupid. And who had questioned him? I had too many queries and no answers. All
my thoughts met dead ends, swirling around in my head until they became
indistinguishable from one another.
I tapped the mousepad, the screen of my laptop coming to life at the action,
and I quickly typed in my password, bringing up the live video feed. Rewinding
it, I brought it back to where I saw myself stomping out of the kitchen and
storming up the stairs. I double-clicked and zoomed on the video, bringing
Bard's scruffy face into annoying clarity.
Which brought me back to the present. The blond man's voice bled into my
eardrums as I focused back onto the screen, the shrill sounds of my violin
being tortured nearly drowning out his words, though luckily Bard had never
learned what an inside voice was.
"...You need some time apart," he stated, making my heart wrench painfully in
my chest. How dare he try to decide something like that for us. He had no idea
what we had with each other. If anything, we needed more time together. We
needed to converge our bodies. I needed him to realise how he truly felt about
me. There was no way in hell I was going to let him leave me. I would dig my
claws in and chain him into place. He was mine. I exited out of the video after
hearing Bard invite himself on our shopping trip.
"Tch," I clicked my tongue in annoyance. How dare he tag along on our date like
the sex-deprived, unloved individual that he was. Who was he to force his
unwanted presence onto us?
Flopping onto my back, I stared up at the carvings on my headboard, tracing
over the upside-down images. Really, this was the final straw. I had fucking
had it. I was done. Done. would get rid of Bard one way or another. If he was
going to ruin my date, then I was going to make his time there with us utter
torture. He'd never want to come around us ever again. I rolled onto my side,
staring at the thumbnails for all the videos I'd collected over the week. I
clicked on the first one, watching as my father threw on casual clothing and
left the house, pretending to go to work. I fast-forwarded until I was gone,
then watched as not even ten minutes later he walked back in the front door
and headed to the fridge. He flopped down onto the couch, beer in hand, and
flicked through the channels before settling on the news. My nose wrinkled in
distaste. He was daydrinking. Bard was such a shitty influence. I'd be doing my
darling Daddy a favor by removing that eyesore from his life.
I selected another random video, listening intently as my father's smooth voice
filtered out of my earbuds. "I don't know, Bard... you're gonna think I'm
crazy, but it's really not as bad as I expected it to be. I still wouldn't
recommend getting questioned by the police, but he really..." he trailed off as
I heard my door opening from the recording, and both of them turned their heads
to stare up at the stairs, before my father quickly yanked his cellphone out
and began dialing a number. I saw myself come into view halfway down the
staircase, and then Bard was barking out, grating on my nerves.
"I'm feeling tacos, Seabass. You feeling tacos?" When my father nodded his
consent, the blond oaf let out a loud frat-boy whoop. "Tacos!"
If I had to eat another fucking taco, I'll vomit right on my goddamned plate.
Any more of takeout Mexican food, and I wasn't sure who I'd kill first: myself
or Bard. I glared at the screen. It was so obvious now that they'd been trying
to make it seem like nothing was out of the ordinary, and I cursed my past self
for interrupting before he could finish his sentence. I could easily gather
that he was still being interrogated, but that only answered one small
question. I needed to know who, and why.
Click. Fastforward.
Another video, one I hadn't yet been able to watch. Most of it was another
pissing contest, this time about who was better at what sport, and it was
starting to bore me into dozing. I zoned out, not bothering to listen to the
incessant jock-chatter. My gaze slid down to my hands, and I started cleaning
under my nails, my brows drawing together while my brain moved a mile a minute.
I hadn't left any evidence behind. By now Elizabeth was nothing more than a
viscous liquid, properly disposed of wherever Undertaker dumped the vat of
acid. If he even did dump them. For all I knew, the sick bastard kept them all,
just like he did eyes. But that was of no consequence to me; I knew Undertaker
would never, ever get caught, and if he did, there was nothing to trace any
crimes back to me. That bastard was exceedingly careful. He had painstakingly
carved his craft his entire life, from what he'd let slip to me about his past,
and now getting away with murder was second nature to him. The man didn't leave
behind evidence. Period. I was willing to bet he even employed cleaners, not
that I thought he needed them. The man killed for pleasure, regardless if it
was a job he'd gotten from the Underground or not. He only ever got rid of all
traces of a person if they requested him to make them disappear into thin air.
Most of the time, they gave him free reign. And Undertaker did not squander
that. I'd seen him create a bloody masterpiece, splattering it everywhere and
leaving the woman mutilated beyond recognition. I had watched him lovingly
pluck her eyeballs from their sockets, his long nails aiding in his careful
extraction. And when it was all said and done, he left no real traces of
himself, instead forging "evidence" to keep the police force guessing. Gluing
smaller soles to the bottoms of his shoes, wearing weighted boots that were
several sizes too big, tracking footprints through blood. I wasn't lying when I
said I'd learned from the best.
A few words trickled into my awareness from my laptop as I stared at my
cuticles. "...izzy's necklace... Rhonda's..."
I bolted upright, twisting my body toward my laptop in a panicked frenzy. My
shaking hand fumbled over my mouse.
Click. Rewind.
I had to have been imagining it. There's no fucking way. I didn't hear that. I
was just projecting my worry of evidence being left, making my ears play tricks
on me. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat, my stomach tightening
painfully as my trembling finger hovered nervously over the mousepad.
Click. Play.
My father had been outside, sitting in his lawn chair on the deck next to Bard;
their every day routine ever since the cockroach decided to invade my home. I
wracked my brain for everything I'd noticed the day this had been recorded.
He'd seemed worse off than he had been lately, paler than normal, sweat
constantly beading along his forehead, his hands seeming to shake
uncontrollably. He'd smelled of old smoke and stale beer, as if he'd been
sitting at a bar all day.
"Claude and I were heading to the interrogation room, and then, BANG! You
would've thought that the glass from the door would've shattered. Mr. Midford
came storming in, his trademark veins bulging and all, and he immediately
started shouting at me. 'You did it, you did it.' Then he was chewing out the
police department, saying they overlooked evidence thatheapparently found at
the crime scene."He was speaking low, urgently as he relayed all this to Bard.
I felt my face go pale. I'd nearly forgotten that in my research I'd found out
that Elizabeth was my father's boss's daughter. He must have put him on leave
or fired him because of him being the main suspect. Guilt curled in my stomach
at the thought; not for killing that dumb cunt, no, but for causing that
Midford asshole to target my father even more. Digging my nails into my thighs,
I listened intently, closing my eyes to make sure I absorbed every word.
"What? Evidence? What evidence?" Bard asked, his voice uncharacteristically
quiet and serious. I couldn't even match an expression to that voice, I'd
never, ever heard him be so somber.
I heard my father swallow loudly, sounding so painful that it made me wince,
and his voice broke while he spoke. "He had her necklace, Bard."
"He could be bluffing maybe she left it at home or somethin',"  The scruffy oaf
reasoned, but I felt my stomach drop all the way out of my body, my heart
sinking heavily and filling its place.
"You don't understand," my father said urgently, enunciating his words
carefully, slowly speaking each syllable as his tone dropped another three
decibels. "I recognized it, Bard. Sheworethat necklace on our date. He knew I
recognized it. And there was... Oh God... there was driedbloodon it..."
"That doesn't make any sense! How would the cops have missed that? He's gotta
be framing you, man."
"Claude definitely found it suspicious. He told me to go home, said he wasn't
going to question me anymore because of a lack of evidence. Really, I think he
was just trying to save my ass."
Click. Pause.
No. No no no. Fuck. "This can't be happening," I whispered, shock slamming into
me. "No, no, this isn't possible. This isn't fucking possible." There was no
fucking way. There was no way. The bitch was wearing it, I'd seen it around her
neck. Obviously she'd been wearing it while I tortured the cow because her
blood was on it! So how the fuck did it get there? How the fuck. It wasn't
possible. Necklaces didn't fucking walk! I tore at one of my pillows before
throwing it across the room, sending my desk chair into a lazy spin when it
made impact. No, this... This wasn't real. I was going fucking nuts.
"You're crazy, Ciel," I whimper-laughed, my heart fluttering like a
hummingbird's wings against my ribcage. "There's just no way. She died wearing
it, and Undertaker took care of the evidence for you. It isn't real. It isn't
real. This isn't fucking reality. Wake up, wakeupwakeupwakeup." My tiny fingers
dug into my silky locks, tangling and yanking, my breathing staccatoed as I
hyperventilated. "Nonononononononono no. Fuck." A sob wrenched passed my lips,
and I started rocking myself for comfort. "It's not real. Just like Mommy.
Mommy isn't real either. Right?" I forced out a bitter laugh. "No one is real,
nothing is. Only Daddy. Just me and Daddy." One hand fell from my hair, curling
into a little fist that I thumped against my chest in a steady rhythm. I
focused on the feel of it, the way it reverberated against my lungs. My voice
was terrifyingly breathy, raising several octaves as I started singing to
myself.
Even though I sounded nothing like myself, it was helping. I could feel my
panic attack lessening the longer I sang. I kept singing, my anxiety ebbing and
bleeding out of me. I kept repeating the song over and over again until tears
broke over my eyelids, running down my anxiety-flushed cheeks. I finally
trailed off as my words became unintelligible sobs, and I brought my hands up
to hide my face.
I had nearly lost myself. I rocked back and forth until my tears stopped coming
and my cheeks dried, dropping my hands uselessly into my lap. A calm settled
over me, the exhaustion from the panic attack numbing me to my deranged
emotions. I slowly laid back against my pillows, my sore and itchy eyes lazily
focusing on the ceiling. I had no idea how this was possible. No fucking clue.
But that was okay, because no one coud trace that necklace to me, nor my
father, because she didn't go missing the night of their date; she didn't get
hurt in that parking lot. If anything, this just made Mr. Midford look
suspicious, just like Daddy had said.
"Be rational, Ciel," I scolded myself, curling my body up into a ball,
muttering to myself. "Focus on what you've learned. Firstly, Daddy isn't being
interrogated anymore, at least for now, and the man who was in charge of it was
named Claude. You can work with that; with a little digging you'll know exactly
who he is, what he looks like, how he shits." Wetting my lips, I drew a deep,
shaky breath as my confidence started to come back. "Secondly, Mr. Midford is
drawing negative attention to himself. There is always a way to work that into
your favor. This is enough. This is all I need. Simple." I reassured myself
before I slowly sat up, gingerly picking up my laptop and resting it on top of
my crossed legs.
Pulling up the browser, I started typing away at the search bar, my tongue
poking out of the corner of my mouth in concentration. As I had suspected, it
really wasn't hard at all to find the information I was looking for. I stared
at the picture of Lieutenant Claude Faustus, recognition washing over me in a
soothing wave of relief. A smile pulled at my lips, and I dragged my index
finger down the entire center of the image slowly, my head cocking to the side.
"There's nothing you can do. You're no threat, Claude Faustus, because I know
your dirty little secret." I blew a kiss to the picture before closing out of
the browser, shutting my laptop and tossing it to the side. Leaning back, I
brought my fingers together, tapping the tips against one another as I thought
dismissively. If Faustus made himself a problem, or dared to pursue imprisoning
my dear father, then I could easily hit him where it hurt the most. It would be
child's play to get him to drop all charges or accusations against my father.
So with that, I turned my attentions back onto how I could get rid of that
fucking cockroach of a man without killing him. I chewed on my bottom lip in
contemplation, narrowing my eyes. Perhaps I could make the shopping date so
unbearable for him he stayed away for an extended period of time. It was
certainly worth a shot, but it was by no means the only plan I was devising.
Several backups were always required if things didn't go as desired, and I
certainly wasn't one to not consider every single possibility.
The sound of the front door slamming announced the man of the hour's presence,
but instead of my mood souring as per usual at his entrance, I felt the
sweetest childlike smile pull my lips apart until my teeth showed for the first
time in days. "Welcome back, Bard. I'll lead you to your undoing."
 
===============================================================================
 
My knees were pulled up against my chest with my arms wrapped around them as I
sat in the backseat of our car, surreptitiously glaring daggers at the back of
Bard's shaggy blonde head. He wanted to invite himself along on our shopping
trip date? Fine, let him. I'd make him regret that decision so that he never
dared to come between us again. He wanted to steal my father's attention by
nonstop talking about whatever menial bullshit that popped into his
head? Perfect, go ahead. It left me without any scrutiny so that I could
silently plan to rid myself of him. Hell, he even wanted to sit in the
passenger seat, effectively stealing it from me with a, "Sorry, buddy, but I
got seniority on ya," and a fucking wink before plopping his ass into
it? Whatever, have the fuck at it. It just contributed to my ability to blend
in with the fucking interior of the car, leaving me more alone with my
thoughts.
But there was one line, one fucking thing that just shouldn't be done, and like
the insipid oaf that he was, numbnuts here just had to fucking do it. What
really pissed me off was the fact that he had the brass balls to
actually touch me. When he'd spouted his cheeky bullshit, he had reached down
and ruffled up my hair, mussing it all out of place. I could feel my eye
twitching from the instant irritation, and it had taken all of my self-control
to force myself to give the sweetest smile I possessed in my arsenal. I slipped
into the backseat, and now here we were; Bard chattering away like a brainless
simpleton, my father laughing at his stupid jokes as he drove, and me
calculating thousands of different ways to get rid of one bumbling cockroach.
My fingers toyed with my nails, and I finally tore my unnoticed gaze away from
the offending dickstick, letting my eyes glaze over and my thoughts consume me.
Suppose that Bard is a normal human being. Debatable, I think maliciously,
before refocusing. Just consider, that perhaps the man is rather normal. Seeing
as how he has been friends with my father for god knows how long, acting like a
petty, childish teenager would hardly be enough to drive a stake into their
relationship, or even scare him away for an extended period of time. Knowing my
luck, he'd more than likely just never try to shop with us again, not that that
did me any good. Father and I rarely went to shop for clothing together,
considering I rarely grew. I had to slam a wedge between them with as much
force as I could muster, and create an unmendable rift in the fabrics of their
friendship. While being demanding and impossible in the store would do little
more than fray their nerves and put them on edge or irritate them to no end, it
more than likely wouldn't do what I really intended. So I needed an actual plan
of action. I just needed to formulate it fast, so that I could initiate it at
the drop of a hat, should the need arise.
Did any of this mean I was going to behave like the maturing young adult that I
was whilst we perused the racks of clothing?
No. Definitely not.
I smirked vindictively to myself as we pulled into a parking spot in the mall
lot, waiting patiently for them to climb out before I did the same. Welcome to
your personal hell for the next handful of hours, gentlemen.
Once we were in the store, I pushed in front of them and began walking to the
men's youth section, leading the way with confidence. I stopped in front of a
rack and spun on my heel to face them, placing my fists on my hips to regard
them before they could walk off. I raised a brow and cocked my head haughtily.
Smirking inwardly but keeping my expression innocently serious, I levelled them
both one after the other with a strict glare.
"I have requirements, and I'll only say them once." Bard smiled dumbly like he
thought I was joking. Just you wait, asshole. "I will only wear things that are
a cotton-polyester blend, no spandex, pre-shrunk so that I won't end up washing
something that fits properly at first only to have it shrink and be unable to
wear it. It has to be a vegan brand because I absolutely won't tolerate any
animal tested products. No animal testing," I repeated, narrowing my eyes. "Dry
cleaning should be optional, unless Daddy has the desire to take my clothing to
the dry cleaners every single week," I paused here to give him a sweet smile,
watching his expression blanch before continuing with, "and they need to be
dryer and iron safe because ew, wrinkles and we don't have a line in our
backyard.
"I want them washable in cold or warm water but not mutually exclusive,
and absolutely not in hot. I swear if it's only washable in one or the other I
won't even consider it, and I mean it. I won't wear anything that doesn't have
a modern gothic vibe with a slight hint of hipster; too hipster and I'll throw
it right back at you. Branding can't be obvious because branding is so dead.
Clothing with branding splattered all over it is so early 2000's. And finally,
it needs to be made in the USA. I won't wear anything from China, I want to
support companies that don't outsource to third-world countries or those that
use child slavery to make them." I bring my finger up to tap against my chin in
thought, tilting my head to the side as I hum to myself and mutter. "I think
I'd actually prefer to wear Indie brands at this point."
I waved away my last comment with the flick of my wrist, before I turned and
blessed them with a winning grin. They both looked pale, Bard's face falling
into an expression of shock quickly morphing into regret, and my father just
looked resigned to his fate. I could see the blond fool mouthing words,
probably trying to memorise all of my expectations, and that pleased me
immensely. Let him run himself ragged, he deserved it. As for my father, when I
turned to fully regard him, I noticed that hidden underneath his surprised
resignation, there was a tightness around his lips, his jaw constricting as he
ground his teeth together, and beneath his eyes were dark bags. It was visible
to me that he was worrying about something, probably had barely slept, and for
once, I was unconcerned. It just wasn't my problem right now, and this was my
revenge. This'll teach him to treat me like shit and ignore me and cater to
whatever Bard wanted for dinner. I mentally shook myself; I needed to stop
being consumed in my thoughts and enjoy what was presently happening.
"Good luck," I announced, cutting them loose as I turned and darted around to a
rack to begin a search of my own. A collective groan sounded from them, their
feet shuffling off amongst the clothing, and I smirked, utterly pleased.
It was going much better than I had dared to hope; we had been here for hours,
two-thirds of the racks had been scoured at least three times each, and I could
tell that both my father and Bard were at their wits ends. I clutched onto the
only two pairs of acid-washed jeans that had fit nicely and I'd found
satisfactory in style. I really did detest trying on clothes when shopping, I
didn't see the point. If you knew your size and height, why should you have to
try them on? Who knew how many sweaty, filthy bodies has squeezed into these
garments surrounding me. They had to be crawling with germs, and it made my
skin itch and tighten just at the thought. Better to just buy the clothes and
then wash them immediately before ever considering wearing them. Just the
thought of that had me ditching the jeans into a basket that I knew wouldn't
see much use, but I couldn't bear to keep holding onto them. I was most
definitely going to take a scalding shower tonight after being forced into the
changing room five times. Someone had even pissed in one of the stalls next to
mine, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust. After coming out of one with nothing
to show for, for the sixth time, they finally gave up shoving me in there and
resumed searching the remaining untouched racks for shirts.
Aside from all of my reservations, I was really quite enjoying myself. I would
watch as hope would flit across one of their faces, and they would turn to me
with a relieved smile on their lips. I would get to watch the light in their
eyes extinguish as their expressions drooped into despair at the simplest of
words from me. It was gratifying. That's right, I thought with a sneer. Seach
until you lose your fucking minds just to win my approval once. I watched as
Bard held up another random shirt that I'm sure he spent at least five minutes
scrutinizing before he deemed it worthy enought to show me. I flicked my eyes
between him and the shirt, expressionless, before I turned my head away and
resumed picking through the rack I was standing at.
"No."
"WHAT THE FUCK, CIEL!" He shouted at the top of his lungs, clearly beyond
exasperated at this point.
I couldn't suppress my amusement any longer, and a smile broke over my face as
I laughed gleefully. Much to my surprised delight, I heard my father bark out a
laugh, and I flicked my gaze over to watch him chuckle with a flood of warm
affection. I was far too absorbed in studying the way his eyes crinkled up when
a grin split his face, and I could see his stress practically melting away, and
I was no longer listening to Bard as he stalked off and grumbled. My heart
throbbed at the sight of my father, and I quickly had to school my expression
as he turned to face me fully. I watched as he pressed a shirt against my
chest, my pulse quickening at the light touch and sending my heartbeat into
overdrive.
"What about this one? It matches your eyes perfectly, Ciel," he said softly,
his smile still there. I couldn't bring myself to crush his hope this time, but
his words threw me off. I dropped my gaze down to the shirt, unable to keep the
expression of utter confusion from twisting my features. I studied the color,
looking for any signs that it was different from every single other blue shirt
that had been thrust my way today. There was nothing. It was the same fucking
blue as every blue shirt that I owned. But he'd never said that before about
any of those, or even any of the many that he'd held at me during this shopping
trip. Of course it matched my eyes. They all do, I thought, the corners of my
lips pulling down into a frown. Was I missing something? Was he just trying to
win me over? I felt myself sinking onto one of the hard benches meant to try on
shoes, my mind reeling, recalling every blue thing I had ever seen in my
life. It's the same. Why is it the same? That doesn't make any... Oh, fuck. No,
nope, no, we were not entertaining that thought right now. I squashed it in its
tracks, the revelation to myself making my stomach drop out uncomfortably even
as I banished it from my mind. "Ciel, what's wro-"
I almost panicked, realising that he'd obviously picked up on my distress, but
thankfully he was cut off as Bard stomped up and threw a shirt down into my
lap. "HERE!" He sounded victorious and extremely proud of himself. I grabbed
onto the hanger and lifted it up as he began quickly slurring his words
together. "Cotton mixed with polyester NO spandex pre-shrunk no animal testing
dry clean optional dryer safe iron safe washable in cold OR warm water modern
gothic vibe with a hint of hipster no obvious branding and made in the USA!"
It helped distract me from my internal crisis, and I watched him with amusement
plastered on my face, my eyes regarding him and the shirt. I watched his face
redden from the force of his words, and once he'd finished, the way his entire
chest heaved as he gasped for air. I suppose I could reward his efforts as a
silent thanks for saving me from my father's inquisition.
"It's fine," I announced, tossing it into the basket. I still hated him and
wanted him gone, but he could have this small victory. I watched his toothy
grin spread across his face as he gave me two thumbs up, but was distracted
when I saw my father move to put the blue shirt back. My heart constricted at
his dejected visage; fuck, he looked like a kicked puppy. I reached out before
I even decided to, wrapping my small fingers around his large ones to stop him.
He picked this for me, all he wanted to do was please me, and regardless of the
internal disaster its existence had caused me, I couldn't reject my father
anymore. He thought it matched my eyes, and that made hope and warmth bloom in
my chest. Looking up at him, I gave him the most genuine smile I had let him
see in a week. "I'll take it."
Pure pleasure ran through me from head to toe as he beamed, his happiness
radiant, and he hugged me tightly, pressing me right up against his chest. I
clutched onto him, closing my eyes and subtly breathing his scent in. "Thank
god. I think we're finally done with shopping."
I could only hum my agreement as he pulled back and grabbed onto the basket. As
we headed toward the front of the store, Bard stopped at the men's aisle and
picked up a random packet of ten pairs of socks, barely even glancing at them
long enough to determine the size and color, before tucking them under his arm.
After everything was paid for, we piled into the car. I sat in the backseat as
I'd done on the way here, and watched them talk animatedly to each other. When
they started discussing dinner, Bard immediately hopefully suggested tacos. I
forced myself not to roll my eyes; this grown ass man was more of a fucking
teenager than I was. How many times could he eat shitty takeout tacos before he
got sick of them?
I piped up quickly, leaning forward to bring myself into the sight of the
rearview mirror. "Daddy, I want you to make enchiladas. Please? I love your
enchiladas." My bottom lip jutted out into a pout, my eyes wide as saucers, and
it didn't take long for him to cave and agree to make them. Bard didn't seem
deterred or even upset; probably because it was still Mexican food, and my dad
was a pretty good cook.
As soon as we got home, I jumped out of the car, throwing myself at my father
to give him the most forceful hug that I could, squeezing him tightly and
saying a small thanks, before I picked up my bags and fled upstairs. I slid
into my door, quickly unlocking it and throwing it open. Once I'd shut it, I
relocked it and tossed the bags down, digging through them to find that blue
shirt. I grasped onto it, tossing it onto my bed next to my laptop. I paused,
opening the computer and speeding my fingers over the keys to type in my
password. Once it booted up, I clicked over to the live feed, removing the
earbud cord and turning the volume on low so that no one outside of my room
would be able to hear. I hated spending so much time up in my room, away from
him, but I knew that this was the only way I'd get any information, and I was
frankly quite sick of being ignored in favor of Bard.
Returning to my previous task, I walked over to my closet, swallowing as I
slowly opened the door. I pushed the hangers along the bar until I found what I
was looking for. I pulled out several of my blue shirts, turning around and
bringing them over to my bed. I laid them all out, before setting the new one
above them. I studied each of them in turn, comparing them to one another, and
I felt dread coating my stomach lining. This wasn't real. None of it was real.
I wouldn't, couldn't, accept this. I hung everything back up, and then set
about removing the tags from my new clothes. I'd send them down the chute
later; for now, I needed to make sure I had everything I needed for my plan.
 
===============================================================================
 
My feet carried me silently down the stairs, my craving for affection and
attention spurring me down further until I reached the bottom. I'd had a shower
already, and all of my new clothes had made it down to the laundry room. I'd
dressed in comfort clothing, which consisted of charcoal grey joggers and a
loose t-shirt. I trailed into the kitchen, where I knew my father was. I wanted
to be held and snuggled up into his side, and there was only one surefire way I
knew of to achieve that.
As I breached the kitchen's entrance, I parted my lips and made my tone as
light as I could manage. "Daddy, we should have a movie night."
"That sounds good, Ciel," he answered over his shoulder, shutting the cabinet
he'd been hunched over before straightening out. "I have to run to the store
first though."
Before I could ask, Bard raised his voice and yelled from the couch that he'd
made his home. "How come?"
"We're out of cheese and beans!" My father shouted back.
"Dumbass!" The blond chuckled out in response.
I watched as my father smiled fondly, and he walked over to me to ruffle up my
hair. I'd never understand everyone's obsession with messing up my hair, but I
felt only affection when he did it to me. "I'll just walk down to the corner
store real quick; it won't take me long. Is there anything you need?"
I heard Bard call out about beer, but my thoughts immediately went into
overdrive as I shook my head no. I wasn't expecting an opportunity so soon, and
the walk to and from the corner store would give me approximately enough time
to accomplish what needed to be done. I couldn't waste this opportunity,
because I had no idea when another would arise.
"I'll be back," he said as he messed my hair up even further. The next
statement out of his mouth was louder and clearly directed toward the blond
idiot. "Don't burn the house down!" His words earned him a snort.
"Don't worry, Daddy, I'll take care of him," I said sincerely, wrapping an arm
around him in a partial hug. He had no idea what I truly meant by those words,
but I wasn't lying when I let them pass my lips. Don't worry, Bardroy, I
mused. You'll be well taken care of, in more ways than one.
I watched my father walk out of the front door, waiting several minutes before
turning and heading back upstairs. It would do no good if he came back
prematurely; I was already in a time crunch as it was. Once I was back in my
bedroom, I ran over to my closet, the carpet quieting my footsteps, and I
yanked the door open. Dropping down onto my knees, I shoved my shoes away
carelessly and pulled back the carpeting, fumbling with the edge of it. I
folded it beneath my legs and picked up the metal strip hidden there, using it
to pry up the loose wooden boards. I set them aside, leaning down to dig
through the crawl space, pushing unnecessary items out of the way, my fingers
settled on an old metal first aid kit. I pulled it out, flicking the clasp open
and looking over the contents.
Luckily, Undertaker had stressed the importants of keeping a little bit of
everything with him at all times; you never knew when a drug would come in
handy, or if a situation you hadn't planned for had popped up and required a
little help from a substance. Digits carefully pushing glass bottles or plastic
pill containers around, I searched until I found what I was looking for. I
picked up a small container that fit neatly in the palm of my hand; it closely
resembled those mouthwash strip packages for people with halitosis, and I
closed my fist around it as I shut the box and slid it back into place. I stood
up quickly, stopping by my desk to rifle in a drawer for a pair of tweezers,
and exited my room.
I headed down the stairs, and once back in the kitchen, I yanked the fridge
open. Relief washed over me; this would have been a lot harder if there hadn't
been any left. I lifted up the last beer and set it on the counter, popping it
open and letting it fizz. While I waited for the froth to die down, I carefully
flicked open the container, not daring to touch the innocent looking white
strips sitting inside. Using the tweezers, I freed one of the squares of its
confines, and calmly dipped it into the beer. It bubbled frantically as it
dissolved the strip, and I gave an extremely satisfied smile as I clicked the
package closed. Once Bard noticed something was wrong, it would be too late;
the hallucinogenic was completely flavorless and had no odor, and it was potent
enough that it would start working as fast as I'd need it to; I should beat my
time limit just so.
I strutted out of the kitchen, determined feet leading me into the living room,
and I stopped by the couch, noting the fact that the beer that Bard had been
nursing was very nearly empty. With a victorious smirk, I cleared my throat and
tapped his shoulder, forcing my expression into an innocent mask.
"I brought the last beer for you, Bard," I hummed lightly, letting my cheeks
redden slightly and darting my eyes to the ground. Look bashful, I lectured
myself. Make him believe that you're appreciative. My gaze slid back up to him
momentarily as I spoke slowly, shyly. "It's a thanks for today. You know, for
all your help." Look back at the floor, my thoughts instructed. Lay on the act
thick, or else your manipulation won't work. I held out the glass bottle to
him, trying to seem apologetic for putting him through hell today.
After a few seconds of silence, I heard the shifting of fabric signifying that
he had moved forward, and he lifted the bottle from my grasp. Bard brought his
free hand up to ruffle my hair, and when I looked at his face I saw that stupid
grin of his plastered there. It took a lot of work to keep myself from
flinching away from his touch, and even more not to sneer at him.
"No problemo, kid." He sat back, and I watched eagerly as he took a large swig
of the drugged alcohol. My predatory gaze went unnoticed by him as he went back
to watching whatever sports thing he'd been formerly consumed with.
Feeling the pressure of time, I walked calmly out of the living room, and once
out of sight, sprinting up the stairs two at a time. I shut my door and strode
back over to my closet, dropping down to yank out everything I thought I would
need. I felt entirely too unprepared, having to rush from this being suddenly
sprung up on me, but who knew when I'd have this opportunity again. I tore open
my bag of pre-made prosthetics, searching for everything I would need to pull
this off. I yanked out item after item, assessing them carefully before deeming
them perfect for my needs. The next bag I rifled through was clothing, and this
I had to be even more selective about. It had to be convincing and bold, but
not so eye-catching that it would draw stares to it automatically. I settled on
a few articles, laying them down with my prosthetics. Out came my bag of
makeup, and soon I was gathering everything up in my arms and scrambling to the
bathroom, my small legs carrying me as fast as they could manage.
Hurry, hurry, hurry, I thought along with the wild pounding of my heart, and I
shut the bathroom door behind me, locking it. I set everything down on the
counter and looked over it.
If there was one thing that I knew with absolute certainty about the cockroach
currently vegetating on my couch downstairs, it was that he was a bonafide
straight man. I doubted he had ever questioned his sexuality or looked at a
dick with anything but disdain. This would be extremely challenging, hence why
I needed the assistance of a hallucinogenic. I couldn't just march downstairs
as-is, to a completely sober Bard, bend over and stick my ass in his face and
beg him to fuck me. The man would probably vomit, or his dick would retreat
inside his body faster than light, and that would spell game over for me. I had
to remember to be subtle, manipulative. The drug would just make his mind that
much more pliable. Implant an idea into his tripping brain, and the
hallucinations would do the rest of the work. If Bard believed that a beautiful
woman was coming on to him, he would be putty in my hands. It just took
finesse, and an ability to seduce even the strongest-willed men.
Information on my father wasn't the only thing that I'd learned over this week
of surveillance. One night when they'd been blitzed out of their minds, they
started talking about Mey, and the relationship struggles that the blond was
having. They had a very heartwarming bonding moment, to be sure, I thought with
a sarcastic eyeroll. So not only was Bard a straight man, but his libido was
suffering; his sexual appetite was being denied, and with all of these factors
coming into play, he would be weak to his needs. It would be so easy to break
the man, to have him seek out pleasure, I just had to play my cards right.
First things first, I stripped out of my clothing completely, standing entirely
nude in front of the mirror. After unzipping my makeup bag and pulling out a
skin adhesive, I painted it onto my chest, avoiding my nipples so that I
wouldn't have an excrutiating removal later, and then picked up a set of faux
breasts, aligning them perfectly and pressing them against the glue. I held
them in place for several minutes to give it ample time to attach to my skin. I
moved quickly, sliding my arms into a bra and fastening it behind my back.
Expertly tucking my dick, and pushing my balls back with it, I winced at the
discomfort, but taped everything into place securely. I slid the panties up my
legs and into place afterwards. While Bard should be high out of his mind by
now, it wouldn't do me any good if he felt my dick and freaked out. Not like I
would get hard with that cretin touching me.
Next came the last article of clothing; a tight button-down dress shirt that
would hug my newly found curves sinfully. Annoyingly enough, I had taken a page
out of Hannah's book, and I left the top three buttons undone to show off the
faux cleavage. Even I had to admit that that woman knew how to wear a blouse to
her advantage.
Makeup application was almost second nature at this point; if I wasn't using it
to disguise myself as a woman, I was using it to change up my features just
enough to be mistaken for someone else. A light layering of foundation,
followed by expert dabs of concealer, which got blended into my skin. I lined
my eyes to make them pop, even daring to give the eyeliner a slight wing,
before applying the god forsaken eyelash wigs. I absolutely loathed false
lashes; they made my lids heavy and itchy, but I would be damned if I wouldn't
go all out to ensure my success. The lipstick I chose was red, one I myself
wasn't very fond of, but I was sure that Bard would take to it like a duck to
water, and I carefully lined my lips before applying it. The smallest of dabs
of gloss was the final touch, and I rubbed my lips together, pouting them
slightly in disgust at my appearance. I felt like a child playing in their
mother's makeup for the first time, but I forced those thoughts away. It was
worth it. This was entirely worth my desired outcome.
Washing my hands and drying them quickly, I finally slid my prosthetic gloves
into place, gluing them down and blending them into my skin with a small amount
of latex. Once dried, I matched it to my skintone and studied the false skin.
Sitting on the tops were fake nails, long and sensually curved, the deep
burgundy color brilliantly reflecting the light. Hopefully these would
satisfactorily. I felt apprehensive, nerves coiling my stomach up. This had to
work. This couldn't fail. This could ruin everything.
But it won't go wrong, I assured myself. Of course it wouldn't. Nothing I ever
did went wrong. I always thought everything out carefully, acted cautiously.
I'd never been caught before. I never fucked up my plans. I could do this.
With my peptalk out of the way, I gathered up my things and exited the
bathroom. Dropping them off in my room, I made my way quickly down the stairs.
I was running out of time. I silently moved to stand behind the couch, hoping
beyond all hope that the hallucinogen had kicked in and was already working. I
carefully, slowly slid my arms around his broad shoulders, letting the tips of
my nails drag along his throat. My lips pressed near the shell of his ear, and
I exhaled lightly against it, raising my tone several octaves to give my voice
a seductive, feminine lilt.
"Bardroy," I purred, swallowing inaudibly as I studied his every movement for a
positive or negative reaction. A shiver ran visibly down Bard's spine as his
breath hitched in his throat. That was a good sign, and I took it as
encouragement to continue. My fingers splayed out, running down over his
shoulders, brushing along all of the muscles in his chest and arms. Pressing my
chest against his shoulderblades, I allowed him to feel the squish and pressure
of the faux breasts, and he let out a low groan.
"What's- I-" his voice sounded so shaky, his tongue having trouble fitting
inside his own mouth as he slurred and stuttered the few words that he'd
managed to wrap his head around.
Confidence filled me, and I guided his head to look back at me. I took one look
at his eyes - the way his pupils were blown wide, the black sucking up nearly
all of the color of his irises until there was only a thin ring surrounding the
dark abyss - and knew without a doubt that he was far gone. Bard was completely
strung out, tripping from the drug, most certainly already hallucinating.
"Such a big, strong man," I cooed at him, making my voice breathy and high,
trying to mimic an aroused woman. "Aren't you going to touch me?" I asked
coyly, dragging the nails along his stubbly jawline.
He shuddered, his eyes trying to focus on my face, but his gaze was drawn to my
red lips. With a considerable amount of effort on his part, he swallowed
loudly, and forced his words out slowly, as coherently as was possible in this
state. "Who... are you?"
I giggled, circling around the couch, watching as his head turned to keep me in
his sights. I knew he was trapped in the fantasy that I was spinning for him.
"Hush, Bard," I soothed, grasping onto his wrists and bringing his hands up to
press against the tits sitting against my chest. "Please, touch me, baby," I
said the last word with a keening moan, my eyes locked onto his face, observing
every slow reaction that morphed his expression. "I just want to please you."
My words came out a little too low, a little too throaty, but he didn't seem to
notice.
In fact, Bard seemed quite enthralled. His hands squeezed of their own
volition, pushing the fake tits together, and his expression began glazing over
with lust. I fought off a wince as the adhesive pulled at my skin, trying to
ignore the discomfort.
"...fuck," he mumbled, and I took that as an invitation to slide one of my legs
on the outside of his.
"Don't you want me, Bard?" I purred, giving him an innocently sexy look. "Don't
you want to ravish me, leave me looking debauched?"
"I.. dun't know whaf that means."
I couldn't help rolling my eyes. Really? Debauched? That fucking uneducated...
No, I don't have time to dwell on that. I have to hurry. I carefully straddled
his lap, one hand moving down to cradle his growing erection. His response this
time was immediate; he let out a tortured groan, hips rocking up to grind into
my hand. I had to bite my tongue on a praising statement that nearly slipped
out, doubting very much that Bard would appreciate being called a good boy.
"That's right," my voice was encouraging, kept purposefully breathy, and I
leaned forward to breathe heatedly into his ear, flicking my tongue out against
the lobe teasingly.
His hands began to roam and grope along my body, one large appendage coming
down to grab and squeeze my ass. I let out a surprised squeak, which only
seemed to fuel him. His mouth parted, and his low voice rumbled out in a slur,
his unfocused eyes taking in what I was wearing. "D'ya wear my shiiirt," he
started, mouth accidentally drawing out the word in a strange accent, before he
continued, "jus for me?"
I smirked, forcing another seductive giggle between my lips. "Of course I did,
baby." I rubbed my hand along his near fully hard dick, biting and sucking on
his earlobe and earning and appreciative grunt. "But I bet you'd be more
interested in what's under it, wouldn't you?" I guided one of his hands beneath
the shirt to cup the outside of my bra, and his breath hitched again.
"Uhfuck," he gasped out, and I saw all of his control easily crumbling beneath
my prodding. He just needed one more push, one more fucking thing, and I'd win.
"'s this real?"
I had to hurry. I was running out of time. It was now or never.
Moving my hand out of the way, I ground my hips down into him, the feel of my
body rubbing against his obscenely coaxing him into full hardness, and he
growled, actually growled, in arousal. Bingo; hook, line, and sinker. I rolled
my hips like a fucking slut, forcing out tiny, gasped moans, entirely fake yet
sounding too convincing to my own ears.
"Please, Bard, please..." I whined pitifully. "You won't break me, so please."
My tone was tortured, begging to be ruined. "Show me what a beast you are. Get
rough with me, baby."
I could practically hear his control snap; as he lost it, he shifted his body
before throwing me back against the couch, drawing a shocked gasp out of me.
Then, just as fast, he was on me, hands running all over me; between my legs to
grab at my inner thighs, sliding up to pinch my ass, cupping and massaging the
prosthetic tits. His mouth latched onto mine hungrily, tongue forcing its way
between my lips; his eyes were closed as he practically fucked my mouth with
his wet muscle, and I let out an unbidden whine at the feel of it. Most of me
was disgusted to have Bard do this to me, but another, smaller part, got a
thrill out of being manhandled the way I was. Fuck, if only Daddy would hurry
up and do this to me. My hands came up to grip into his shirt, just at his
shoulders, so that it could look like I was being forced down and trying to
shove him away. At least the first part was very true; I was being forced down
into the couch. Bard was grinding his hips almost viciously against mine, his
hard cock pressing insistently into my thigh. For all I knew he was trying to
fuck me into the couch through our clothes. I shouldn't feel turned on by that,
it was wrong. This wasn't Daddy, this shouldn't make my dick twitch and
threaten to grow erect, it shouldn't strain against the tape and make me wince.
My eyes fell shut, my expression twisting up into one of distress. Holy fuck,
holy fuck this was not okay. What was I going to do if my father just never
came home? Would I just lay here, let Bard strip me and fuck me senseless? That
was not the way I wanted my virginity to go. My mind was getting hazy from my
intense panic, and from the unwanted pleasure licking its way up my spine every
time his crotch ground against mine in just the right way. No, no, I couldn't
let this happen, I couldn't let this get carried away. His tongue was forcing
mine to dance erratically against his, silencing me, and I felt myself tense up
in pure anxiety. This was not okay, no, not allowed. I dug my fingers into his
skin, nails biting into him, ripping at his shirt almost violently. Get off,
get off, get off of me, I chanted inside my head, panic blinding me to my
entire surroundings. I shoved as hard as I could, but it wasn't nearly enough,
I wasn't strong enough. Fuck, he was stronger than me. Shit. Maybe that
shouldn't have surprised me, but it did, and I didn't know whether to be scared
or aroused.
Thankfully, I didn't have time to even process that line of thinking, as the
sound of glass bottles ripped through to my awareness, and my eyes snapped
open, gaze immediately flying over to the front door. There my father stood,
his expression a perfect contortion of utter shock and disbelief.
Welcome home, Daddy, I thought faintly, my heart pounding against my ribcage
wildly...
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