Chapter 10 Disease Infested Dick
Disease Infested Dick
Charlie | The Past
For the first time ever, I find myself clinging to the unfamiliar comfort of this borrowed bed, as if its sheets could shield me from the humiliation waiting outside.
Out there, everyone knows Keaton cheated.
I doubt anyone’s shocked. Most of them have been watching Keaton and Rianna with raised eyebrows since day one.
Crawling out from under these covers means stepping into another day where the boy I loved like a fool has shattered me in the worst way imaginable.
Does Amelia know that she's got dirty fingerprints on this wall? She should really wash those off.
My eyes sting so fiercely that I have no choice but to finally blink away the ache.
Maybe I should be grateful the bastard picked Friday to screw her. At least I got two days to patch myself together before facing the sea of whispers and pitying stares at school.
There's a soft knock on the door, and then Amelia pushes it open. She steps in and her eyes roll over me; her face carefully blank as she takes in the messy state I'm in. Her icy-blue eyes become glossy, but she doesn't let them fall, which I'm grateful for. I cry enough at night.
Amelia takes a seat on the bed. "It's Monday, which means we have to, unfortunately, head to campus for class.
I know it's the last thing you want to do right now, but I also know that you'll kick yourself in the ass if you fall behind this close to graduation.
I can't help you with your heart, Char, but I can help with this.
What do you say about hopping in the shower and then doing your makeup and hair?
I'll grab you the sexiest school-appropriate outfit I can find between our closets.
We'll load you up on armor so that they don't get the satisfaction of seeing this version of you.
That's what they want. They want to see you bleeding out at their feet.
" She pauses, lost in thought for a minute, before finishing softly, "She does anyway. "
Amelia’s right. Rianna is practically perched, waiting to feast on the wreckage she helped create. After more than a year, she’s finally clawed her way to the spot she’s always wanted. If I let her see me crumble, she wins, and I refuse to hand her that victory.
Amelia's lips curl to the side, and she stands, holding her hand out. "There's my best friend."
My smile is a pale imitation of itself, tight and shaky, but at least I’m making the effort.
I'm trying to live.
I'm trying to smile.
I'm trying to fucking breathe.
There's this weight that sits on my chest, and it never leaves. It's a reminder that my nightmares are real and that even the people you love the most can betray you the worst.
But it also reminds me I'm a lot stronger than I believe I am. It reminds me that they have power over me only if I choose to give it to them.
And I don't.
I don't fucking give them the power.
So, even though I know I'm going to face shit I don't want to when I walk onto campus, I climb out of bed and head into the bathroom.
My first glimpse into the mirror breaks my heart.
Who is this girl staring back at me?
My lilac hair is a greasy, tangled mess, and no amount of concealer could mask the hollow, bruised eyes staring back at me.
Here stands the ghost of Charlie Henderson.
That's what it feels like as I observe my reflection.
They’ve whittled me down to a shadow of who I once was.
At least in the confines of Amelia's house. Outside of these walls, people will know I'm in pain, but they'll never see just how much I'm broken.
A quote I read recently by R.H. Sin, one of my favorite poetry authors, floats into my mind. It gives me permission to feel whatever the hell I need to feel right now.
'Broken doesn't mean the absence of strength. Even the strongest souls alive know what it means to feel weak.'
My mind is so foggy I barely remember showering. The sour apple scent filling the space as I wipe the steam from the mirror proves I did.
Critically, I run my eyes over my body. Is this where he found fault? Does she look better than I do naked? Is that why he did it?
I cup my boobs in my hands as I study them. They're round, perky, and a decent C-cup. My areolas are about the size of a quarter and a pretty shade of umber, with nipples that aren't too big or too small.
I've got really nice boobs, so that isn't it.
Trailing my hand down, I run it over my stomach. There's a slight pooch I can grasp between my fingers, but I've never been self-conscious about it because Keaton always seemed to love it.
Maybe he was just good at pretending he did. Maybe he really wished it were toned and flat like hers.
A frustrated growl escapes me as I drop my hands and spin away from the mirror.
No. I am not doing this.
I fucking love who I am.
I love my body.
I love my personality.
And until a few days ago, I loved my damn life.
I march into the bedroom, naked and unbothered, catching Amelia off guard as she walks in with an armful of clothes.
"Give me something so sexy it shows Keaton exactly what he lost and makes him regret it.
But also appropriate enough that the staff won't give me too much trouble before I witness his fall.
" After sliding on a lacy black thong, I quietly admit, "I need to look like a fucking queen, Mel.
He smashed my heart, but I'm fighting to keep my confidence. "
"I got you, girl." Amelia winks. "We're going sexy rockabilly, baby," she says, laying the clothes out on the bed and waving her hand in their direction.
After I'm dressed, I swirl one way, then the other, in the mirror, taking in the outfit she's picked out.
Sexy, sassy, and subtle, just like I asked.
A pair of black skinny jeans with a wide red belt hugs the lower half of my body, showing off the thick thighs Keaton used to love being buried between.
I turn to take in the back of the jeans, and my lips move slightly.
And honestly, these jeans make my ass look downright irresistible.
Amelia smacks it with a smirk. "Bootylicious, baby."
I shake my head at her antics.
Man, I love this girl. Through thick and thin, she's been there for me, and I'm not sure I could ever love her more.
The red, white, and black polka-dotted shirt shoves my boobs up so that the only thing you see is an abundance of cleavage. It's got a sort of hanging ruched design going around the top of it, and the sleeves rest a little off my shoulders.
She helps me into the black leather jacket and steps back with a wicked smile. "One last thing, and your outfit is all set, but we'll add those last. Do your hair and makeup while I run to get ready, and then we'll walk through campus to give them hell."
I have to admit, Amelia nailed it. This outfit screams me, and I look absolutely fire.
Eat your heart out, Keaton, so I can stomp on it and grind it to dust.
How would he feel if I weren't the person I am and our roles were reversed? What if I were the one who cheated on him with someone that I just swore was my friend? Someone like...
Someone like no one, because I don't have any guy friends, no matter what I told Keaton. To me, it always felt disrespectful.
Can men and women be friends only? Absolutely. It just wasn’t something I was interested in doing.
He doesn't feel the same way, obviously, because he not only disrespected me by not thinking about me or my feelings, but he also did it when he screwed another girl.
Would he be as broken as I am? There was a time when I could say yes without hesitation. Of course, there also used to be a time when I could say Keaton would be the last person to cheat on me and break my heart, too.
Honestly, what the hell do I even know anymore?
I pile my hair into a messy knot on top of my head, wrap a red headscarf around it, then add some candy-apple red matte lipstick to finish the look.
Amelia catcalls as she passes me the red Louboutin heels, and I slide them on my feet. I stick one foot out and turn it back and forth as I admire them.
Her parents are always trying to get her to fit into their image, so they're constantly buying her clothes and shoes, hoping she'll one day wear them. She's got a damn impressive shoe collection going in her closet, and nearly all of them have never been worn.
One perk of being her best friend is getting to pick the ones I want to use.
And today, the ones I want are these because Keaton won't be able to look at them without picturing them digging into his back just like I am.
Except I'm one hundred percent positive our pictures are completely different because while he's picturing them doing it for sexual pleasure, I'm picturing doing it out of sheer disgust. Then I finish by shoving them into his disease-infested dick.
"Do I even want to know why you have such a diabolical smile on your face after two days?" Amelia asks.
I stick my foot out and wiggle it along with my eyebrows. "What do you think? They'd look even better with Keaton's ugly, tainted dick staked on them, yeah?"
Amelia lets out that husky laugh of hers that always draws attention, and my smile stretches wider. It feels strange, flexing muscles I haven’t used since Friday night. I know the pain is waiting to drag me back under, but for now, I’m clinging to this rare, light-hearted moment.
A single moment where the sun peeks out from behind the dreary clouds to shine on me.
Because right now, that's all I'm living for.
Moments of peace.
Moments of laughter.
Moments that are tearless.
Moments where I'm just trying to find the light when my world's overtaken by darkness.