I just gave him a tight nod and followed him into the living room, ignoring all the booze around us. I could admit, this was new for us, but I suspected things were going to change now that Chance had his sights set on Margot.
When we entered the dining room we were greeted with choruses of “Hey, Mr. QB is here”, and “Chance, my man”. We returned the greetings with our customary head nods, but our eyes were searching for Margot…well, Chance’s eyes were searching for Margot. I was searching for the curvy, quiet sidekick of hers.
Mystic Anderson.
The girl that saw too much.
The girl I did my best to stay away from, but, ultimately, couldn’t.
I cursed whatever it was that made Mystic Anderson cross my path that day, four years ago. We had only been into our second week of our freshman year at Washington High when she had passed me on her way to her locker, which had happened to be only six down from mine.
It had been a Monday after one of my father’s sex-filled weekends and I had been...enraged still. But by that time, I was no longer a twelve-year-old confused boy.
No.
By that time, I was a damaged fourteen-year-old boy who had no healthy way to view a girl. Where most boys that age were ready to blow their loads from some simple soft petting, willingness didn’t get me off. Violent images of girls, begging for it, was what had started getting my dick hard. And as much as I knew it was wrong and sick, I couldn’t control the urges. They existed even if I didn’t want them to.
The hate, anger, and disgust had to have been plastered all over my face that Monday, but when I had turned and noticed Mystic looking at me, her face hadn’t been one of apprehension or fear.
It had been a look of confused curiosity.
But then, the fear finally did set in.
As we stayed staring at each other, long after the bell had rung, I had seen her.
I had seen her.
I had seen past the fear, and whatever she had seen on my face, had been turning her on. And I knew whatever she saw, it hadn’t been the facade everyone else saw. She had gotten a glimpse of the darkness that simmered below the surface and she hadn’t run.
I remember walking towards her and stopping long enough to whisper in her ear that I saw her. She had trembled but hadn’t uttered a word in response. For over a year, I had stalked her until, one day, I had spotted her walking home, alone, after school.
I remember the fear in my veins. I remember the shortness of breath. I remember the adrenaline coursing through my body. I remember my vision clouding and seeing nothing but Mystic walking down the sidewalk.
I remember my hands shaking.
I remember feeling like I might throw up with the uncontrollable need to get my hands on her. I remember thinking my life was going to end as I knew it because I couldn’t stop what I had been about to do.
I. Couldn’t. Stop.
Like an addict who swears they won’t do it anymore, but the addiction controls their actions even while their mind is screaming at them not to do it, that had been me that day.
I was only fifteen, abusing my learner’s permit, and my mind had been screaming at me to just keep on motherfucking driving. It was telling me to look away and to just. Keep. On. Driving.
But I hadn’t.
I hadn’t because Icouldn’t.After over a year of pure torment, I couldn’t stay away from Mystic any longer.
I had found a possibility in Mystic Anderson, and no matter right or wrong, my sanity wouldn’t allow me to pass up the chance to find out what she could be to me.
I had pulled over as she was nearing the east side of the park, leading towards her neighborhood. I had pulled over and followed her as she passed the park restrooms. As soon as I had made sure no one was around, I had grabbed her and dragged her into the restroom.
She had screamed in surprise, but once I’d had her up against the restroom wall and she saw that it was me, her screams had turned into frightened whimpers.
She had known why I was there.
I remember her fighting at first.
I remember her confusion and her distress.
