Chapter 12 Aston
Aston
Stick an arrow in my ass and call me Shnookums,
because Cupid is on the prowl tonight, baby.
And he ain’t stoppin’ until he gets a little
somethin’ somethin’ for himself.
PRESENT DAY
“Watch where you’re going, freak!” a girl screeches when one of my wings bats her face.
“Watch the merchandise, bitch!” I sass back, whirling away with a snap of my fingers.
Rude much?!
Adjusting the gold laurel leaf crown sitting prettily atop my head, I resume my journey to the kitchen.
When I overheard there was a party happening tonight—Halloween costumes required—I figured what better opportunity than this to dust off my calendar and make my grand debut into high society.
And what a glorious debut it’s been so far. I look ah-mazing.
“Hello, hello,” I say, waving and giving little curtsies as I slink through the crowd of gawkers rearing back to make room for my wings. “Lovely night, innit? Oh, heyyy, ’sup girl. Love the dress!”
That is the fugliest dress I’ve ever fucking seen.
“Oh, look at those scary claws!” I snap my teeth around a growl. So ferocious!
Heavy bass thumps through the walls, vibrating the floorboards and rattling the hung-up picture frames. I don't know whose house this is, but I think I recognize one of the girls in the photos as part of Alicia’s clique. Maybe one of the other Alicias. They’re all the same to me.
“Hey, hi, hello. Hope you’re all having fun. Your costumes are fab. Don’t forget—no glove, no love. Make smart choices. Say yes to drugs, no to hug—shit, I got that backwards. Don’t— Freddy!” I gasp. “Hey, boo. Lookin’ sharp.” I blow a kiss. “I’ll see you in my dreams tonight.”
He blushes and looks away, biting back a shy smile.
Entering the kitchen, I ignore the rap blasting through the house, instead humming and mouthing the words to “Somebody to Love” by Jefferson Airplane as I go about making myself a drink.
A little bit of this… I pour a couple glugs of rum. …and a whole lotta that. I empty what’s left of a carton of pineapple juice into my cup.
I read pineapple juice makes your cum taste sweet, so the more the better, methinks.
Not that I have bad tasting cum! It’s actually pretty sweet on its own. I’ve tried it.
Now, Clark, on the other hand…his cum was pretty gross. But sucking him off got me extra bubblegum for my crafts when Bruce wasn’t around, so it was a sacrifice I happily endured.
I wonder if Vale’s cum is sweet.
I sigh at the thought, taking a hearty sip of the liquid goodness. Imagining it’s his liquid goodness.
Vale, Vale, Vale.
Why am I not even surprised that’s where my head went? If my brain was a museum, three-fourths of it would already be covered in shrines to Vale DuPont, completely eradicating all the passions and trinkets that came before, like a quick-spreading infestation of the most tantalizing kind.
Oops, scratch that, I mean Riviera. He’s Vale Riviera now. My bad, my bad. One day I’ll get it to stick to my wacky noggin.
I’ll be honest though—with each passing day since I’ve been out of Ashwood, it’s getting harder and harder to remember there even was a before.
Or rather, an in-between.
Like the past six years were just one long fever dream. One so tragically empty of the boy with the cute stern face and the nearly black eyes. The boy I once tasked myself with protecting. My little brother, not in age, but size. My best friend. My sun and my moon and my stars.
He’s bigger than you now, a voice reminds me.
Much bigger.
I grin wolfishly around the rim of my cup at the thought.
Those arms…
Hubba hubba.
They could easily pick me up. Throw me over his shoulder. Hold me up as he pounds into my ass with that huge cock I got a glimpse of yesterday, pressing against his chinos..
And it wasn’t just big, it was hard!
I can’t wait to see it and feel it and taste it…
And those hands! Holy Cher Horowitz, those hands.
I reach up and brush my thumb over my neck, recalling the feel of that monstrous grip squeezing my throat. Basking in the memory of our little creepy bathroom rendezvous.
He somehow managed to not leave bruises; the reddened fingerprints have long since faded. But I wish they didn’t. I wish—
The sound of a screen door opening draws me from my little reverie, and what do you know—the object of my new obsession has finally graced us with his presence.
Slipping around the refrigerator, I keep out of sight as none other than the big handed, big dicked Vale Riviera enters the house.
About damn time he showed up. Counting on him being here was the only reason I let Eden off the hook tonight, only using him for a ride.
You see, I’m on a mission. A mission that would straight-up scandalize my sweet, virginal baby bro, given that I’d have no choice but to leash him to me for the night.
We all saw what happened at the Furnaces. The boy’s a magnet for handsy jocks. Heck, just last week, I had to scare off two football players I’d caught harassing him at the water fountain.
And I didn’t even have to pull out my knife!
They saw me coming, smiling oh so sweetly their way, licking my lips and rolling my hips, and they scattered like bugs.
I would’ve been a tad offended if Eden didn’t proceed to rip me a new one for not minding my business…again…reminding me why I was over there in the first place: to protect his virtue and honor and butt.
Speaking of butts and scaring people off…
Of course Vale didn’t show up to the party alone. Peeking around the fridge, my nose wrinkles at the sight of that prim, whiny drag of a butthead boyfriend gripping his arm. The urge to storm over there and shove him away is strong.
Mine! I imagine myself barking, snapping my teeth at him as I clung to Vale’s side. Kind of like those seagulls in that cute, sad fish movie calling dibs on their snack. Mine, mine, mine!
“I told you I didn’t wanna come,” Vale says, turning around. I quickly duck behind the fridge before he sees me. “Don’t get all pissy that I’m not happy. You didn’t have to bring me.”
There’s a huff, then, “You could at least pretend.”
I have to strain to hear them over the music.
“Why? What’s the point?”
I picture what’s-his-face turning all red and stomping his foot. “What’s wrong with you today? First, you forget it’s our anniversary, and then…” I tune him out as he goes on and on about all the woes he’s been suffering. All the while waiting and praying for him to spontaneously combust.
A boy could dream.
“I’m sorry,” Vale says, not sounding sorry at all. I make a face and mouth into the empty space, What? I roll my eyes and shake my head.
A sniff, then, “Let’s just have a couple drinks, say hi, and then we can leave. Okay?”
A beat passes, in which I assume Vale nods, because then there’s a wet, smacky sound that makes me wish I didn’t just chug all that rum and pineapple juice.
“Seriously???” I grit through my teeth. The cup creaks under my crushing hold, moisture splashing my knuckles. Does he have no sense of decorum? No shame? No—
“Did you hear that?” Vale says.
I freeze. Uh oh.
There’s a petulant sigh, followed by more kissy sounds, and a muffled exchange of words I can’t make out.
My lip curls, and I’m just about to say to hell with my own shame and decorum, when the arrival of girls chanting “shots!” cuts their little moment short, saving me from sabotaging everything..
And not a second too soon.
I finish my drink in one long gulp, crush the cup, and toss it somewhere behind me, slipping from the room before I draw anyone’s attention.
Fire licks at my throat, and it has nothing to do with the lingering burn of liquor I just guzzled down. But rather everything to do with the memory of them touching—the sounds they made when they kissed.
This time, I barely notice the stares and sneers of my jealous peers as I head in the direction of the thumping music and flickering shadows consuming the front of the house.
Bodies swarm around me, cloaked in an array of disguises, bumping and grinding to the music. My heart pounds in time with the heavy bass—a deafening war drum in my chest, summoning me into battle.
What does he even see in him?
Did yesterday mean nothing?
I don’t stop my furious march across the house until I reach a dark corner in the packed living room to sulk and plot my next move.
He felt it too. I know he did. He was hard. He wanted me…
And yet he was just kissing him.
How? How could he?
Blinking rapidly, I fist my hands at my sides. My skin feels stretched thin—too thin. Caught in a maelstrom of rage and jealousy unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, I’m practically vibrating.
Am I overreacting? Maybe a little.
Do I fucking care? Nahhhh.
And I especially don’t want to try and make sense of why I feel so…so triggered right now, despite the cacophony of voices in my head belonging to therapists, past and present, and years’ worth of conditioning urging me to do just that.
Reflect.
Identify
Modify.
But just because I have the tools to slow my roll, doesn’t mean I have to use them. Not anymore, not if I don’t want to.
My doctors. The orderlies. Tillie…
Rick.
They’re not here.
I’m free.
And I’ve never been as acutely aware of that fact until now, standing on the cusp of right and wrong. Good and bad.
I was a good boy. He said so…
I was good, I was good…
A bolt of pain shoots through my head. Grimacing, I swipe the drink out of someone’s hand, ignoring their protests as I take a long pull of the fiery liquid. Welcoming the burn.
I don’t want to be good tonight.
Good never got me anywhere.
Across the sea of dark bodies, the happy couple appears, hanging back under the lights in the entryway, drinking and mingling with their friends.
Won’t be happy for long…
My mouth ticks up over the rim of my cup.
Fuck therapy.
Fuck all these rules, rules, rules.
Fuck Seth and his stupid polos and the spindly claws he’s got hooked in my man.
Cupid’s villain era is here…
And he’s taking no prisoners.