Page 13 of Freak
I growled, shouting out in frustration.
“Only good boys get pussy…” she scolded, squeezing my neck, constricting the flow of blood that made my lips feel so euphorically fuzzy. “Don’t worry, I’ll get that cum out from your fat cock. I’ll shoot your load all over these fucking abs, then leave you here for Mrs. Wilkins to find you.”
Her heel dug into the tip of my dress shoes, piecing a unique pain that was as sharp as the sound of my belt she freed from my waist.
Fuck, I was already sweating, dripping onto her body, covering her with a sheen that slipped along her tits. I couldn’t believe how full she made me, my cock springing up and out from my pants, teasing an uncontrollable dot of precum that boiled to my tip. But all that: the pain, the pleasure, the shame and impending humiliation softened itself as her grip on my neck loosened up. She lifted her free hand out from my pocket, confused.
“Why do you have this?” she asked quickly, the tail end of her question met with an unexpected somber tone.
I focused on her hand by my waist, her tight grip clutching onto the bracelet I made for her over a decade ago.
Summer
Copper & Tellurium. I thumbed the blocky black letters in my hand, smoothing over the old translucent beads that I so desperately treasured long ago.
“Answer me,” I fought my lips from frowning, from accepting the fact that he held onto such a juvenile piece of our history right in his pocket.
Rafael blended into the shadows, a proverbial boogeyman whose dark eyes glistened in what little light captured their glare.
“Whatever you think of me, whatever you want to say to me, isn’t something I already told myself a million times over.”
“And what? You carry this? Like it’s some punishment to remind yourself that you were a piece of shit?”
The crease of leather curled into a noise out from the closet, Rafael’s fists bounded into hammers, his body puckered into grooved muscles, as the wood bar above his head creaked once again.
“It’s not for punishment,” he finally answered.
“Good. How could it be? Whatever you think you feel, fails compared to me. It always will.”
“I know.”
“No! You don’t and don’t stand there and pretend that you do.”
“Then what? Say what you want, do what you want, because the truth is, I carry that fucking bracelet around everywhere I go! Into work, during surgeries; it’s a debt I owe, a burden of being unforgiven, of begging and praying for the chance to make things right… to fix us.”
“There is no us!”
“Then there’s only you!” He shouted, his voice filling the entirety of the classroom. The gold chains sawed themselves into the wood above his head, rattling the closet with the force of his bullish strength. “And that’s how it should be. I don’t have the privilege of knowing the depth of what you felt, but I have the desire to resolve it, to fucking beg and work for even an ounce of pity.”
His eagerness to even explain felt selfish, to desire some resolve to make himself feel better. He wanted it, and I could tell, but the urgency in his eyes, the desperation, was as upsetting as it was cruel. This was supposed to be my moment, my chance to fix what I felt inside, and now, what I felt was more of a punishment than a reward.
“You want pity?” I clutched the bracelet in my hand, squeezing it, letting its beads dig into my palm with pain. “You called me a freak. You all did.”
Rafael simmered in the closet, his voice finding itself up my knees and into my ears from across the room.
“Freak… Bugs… Summer… whatever they called you, whatever I called you, was a fucking lie. Not even your name is good enough to be said, because all I wanted to call you was love.”
“Stop.”
“I love you, Summer.”
My hands began to shake as I backed away from the closet, reaching for the balled-up paper next to my dress on the floor.
“Stop it!”
“I’ve always loved you, and not just the woman standing in front of me, but the girl with glasses, the one with frizzy hair, and cute front teeth. I loved every perfection you thought was imperfect, but I loved how you’d look at me the most, like I was the only person in the world who deserved you, when in reality, I deserved nothing at all.”
“See this?” I held up the receipt, the insignificant proof that I was owed his time. “I own you. I’m supposed to own this moment.”
