25. Zane
25
ZANE
M y knuckles are fucking cut from where I hit that shit stain. Why I lost it so badly, I don’t know. Little Venom is our plaything, not our girlfriend.
But damn, her body is smoking, and the doubt and hurt I saw in her gaze when that fucker called her fat made me see red.
She’s not remotely fat; she’s gorgeous. Jesus, her ass. Her hips. Those pretty thighs. I want to lose myself in her all over again. Even her pussy is pretty and plump, and I long to sink into it.
I can’t stand that kid who insulted her, anyway. He’s such a preppy, arrogant bastard. The sort of boy I imagine graduating from Harvard and getting a job in finance, with a trust fund in case it doesn’t work out. In fact, the rumors say his daddy is a disgraced hedge fund manager who did time in prison for insider trading, so he looks the part. He’s not really one of us.
I’m pissed at Vani now, too. I’d have expected more gratitude instead of the way she looked terrified as if we’d get her into trouble. Not that I had any ulterior motives when I did it. I just acted on instinct, but like Lex says, she owes us now. That means I get to taste her again. I can’t wait.
The math professor is still droning on about the fight, and I force myself to pay attention.
“So, you won’t go to Nathaniele if we apologize to him,” Saint says, nodding at the bloodied kid.
Saint’s expression is hilarious. He looks like he just drank sour milk. I expect he’s looking forward to apologizing to Trust Fund Ken as much as I am. Still, if it means we don’t get any more crap from Nathaniele, I can do it.
“Go on. Get out of my sight. It’s always you three, isn’t it?”
He’s not wrong because these days it really is. The Devils used to give us a fair run for our money, but now they’re all whipped and playing house. It’s like some fucking messed up sitcom. Them, their trashy baby mamma, and the kid they’ve just had. Fuck knows who’s the daddy. They’ve all been swimming in her.
I take out my pad and write something as we leave the cafeteria. Once we’re in the hallway, I tap Saint and Lex on the shoulders to make them look.
I want to fuck Venom, but we need to make sure she’s on contraception. Don’t want to end up like Kirill and Co.
Saint shudders. “Jesus, no. Last thing I ever want is a kid.”
“I’ll ask her,” Lex says. “I can do it nicely. You two will fuck it up and make her pissed. Also, we can’t let her think we are already planning on screwing her. It needs finesse.”
“Finesse, like telling her she owes us because Zane lost his shit?” Saint scoffs at Lex. “You know, you might not be as smooth as you think you are.”
“Oh, yeah?” Lex glances around and lowers his voice. “I guess I’m smooth enough that I got her gushing all over my hand in the bathroom. A fourth fucking orgasm, and it was her best. That’s how smooth I am. The women love it when I’m nice.”
“Nah, they like my nasty side,” Saint laughs.
They continue arguing, and I tune out. I know why they are the way they are. I think I’m the only person they’ve ever told. We were stoned one night after an epic session with a girl from town, and I asked them if the good cop-bad cop routine was something they’d thought up. Saint went quiet, and eventually Lex spilled.
Turns out it isn’t some pre-thought-out way to get the girls all hot and bothered. It’s their kink for real, and the way they got it is fucked beyond belief.
“Hey, I’m heading to the gym,” Saint says. “Want to come?”
I shake my head. I want to work on my table, and I need some alone time after that scene. If I don’t get time to myself, I get over-sensitized to noise and people and it drives me insane. Going to bug out , I sign.
“You okay?” Lex asks.
I nod. Want to work on the wood.
He nods. “Okay. Later.”
They peel off and head to the gym, and I take the side stairs toward the kitchen area. I’ll head out the side door and slip into the woods there.
I wash the sawdust off my hands and dry them before walking back to the table to admire it. It’s the best piece I’ve done yet. I found the inspiration to try this design for myself from some fancy interior design magazine. It’s turned out really well. I like the smoothness of the entire thing, no hard corners, no jagged edges. Soft to look at, like Vani.
There’s not a part of that girl’s body that is hard. It’s all soft lines and sensual curves. Her personality is a different matter, and she can be feisty when she wants to be. I think deep down she’s shy. I don’t know her, haven’t spent enough time with her to claim I do, but I watch people. When you can’t speak, you get used to being on the outside, being silent, and observing. I watch people a lot, and it means I’ve come to be able to read them quickly, and Vani? Our little Venom? Well, she’s got that fire, and she’s brave. The way she stood up to that prick before I socked him in the jaw shows that much, but she’s sheltered, I think.
When she believes no one is watching, she glances around her all wide-eyed, like a baby bird out of the nest for the first time. A baby bird who can pick locks and hack cameras. What an enigma. I like puzzles. Love them, in fact. She’s a very pretty puzzle. Because of that, she’s the first girl in a very long time to hold my interest.
I put my tools away, clean up, then head back through the woods to the college.
Maybe I’ll have a sleep when I get back to my room. No one knows how tired I get sometimes. The repeated surgeries, the infections I’ve battled, it all takes its toll. Not even the twins know, because if there’s one thing I understand in this life, it’s not to show weakness. I still work out, so I look like a beast, but some days, I ache with exhaustion.
Today is one of them.
I reach my room and open the door to see my mail slid under the gap. Not thinking much of it, I pick it up, toss it on the small table by the door, and head to my mini fridge to grab a drink before I read it.
I settle into the chair at my desk. Chugging back the water, I read the first letter and toss it in the trash can. It’s from the bank telling me I’ll need a new card soon. The second letter is from back home, and I take my time reading it. It’s from my younger brother. He misses me the most because he has to live with our two sisters now and they drive him nuts. All is good with everyone, but he says our mother is missing me.
My gaze falls on the final envelope, and my heart skips a beat. I recognize the header. Fuck, it’s from the hospital.
I open it with shaking hands and blow out a long breath before letting myself read. My stomach lurches as I try to take in the words, only some of them hitting home.
Futile. Might make matters worse. Risks serious side effects. Drawbacks outweigh the benefits.
Then the kicker.
This surgical board recommends no further surgery. Treatment going forward should be limited to speech and physiotherapy.
Fuck, no. No. No. No.
I ball the paper in my fist, scrunch it tight, and throw it as hard as I can against the wall.
My mouth opens, and I fold over, my fists clenched, and let out a silent roar. It sounds pathetic, a wheeze or a whisper not a shout. I launch to my feet, needing to let this rage out. I pick up the chair and throw it onto the ground, then pick it up again and smash the legs on the floor. It splinters, and I continue to pound it against the floor. It’s not enough. I stalk to the counter in the small kitchenette that makes up the left side of the living space in my room. I sweep the glasses and cups onto the floor. I punch the cupboard doors, over and over until my knuckles bleed, relishing the pain.
It's not enough.
I storm into the living space and upend the couch. There’s a part of my mind telling me to stop. The rooms at this college cost a fortune. Because they felt sorry for me, and were trying to make me feel better, my parents upgraded me and paid for top level accommodation, and I’m ruining it. I can’t stop.
The couch is on its side.
It’s still not enough.
I pull the bookshelf I made from the wall, the books going flying and the crash making a heavy thud that reverberates. I bet next door will come knocking soon.
Sure enough, the door opens. The kid next door is a scrawny little creep who is always answering questions in lectures and trying to get on the good side of the faculty.
With a soundless growl, I pick up a heavy ashtray and throw it at the door. I miss the dark head entering the room by an inch. I realize it’s one of the twins, not my creepy neighbor, and my stomach lurches. Fuck. I could have cracked his skull open.
It’s Saint, I realize when I look closer. He’s got ever so slightly sharper features than Lex. Again, only something I notice because of how much I really look at people.
“Jesus fucking Christ, Zane. What are you doing?”
He walks to me, which is pretty brave of him, given the mood I’m in right now. Lex follows him into the room and stands there, eyes wide as he takes in my destruction.
Bending down, Lex picks up the letter and unfurls it. He reads it, and his gaze softens.
“Shit, Zane. I’m sorry, man.”
I don’t want their pity. I push past them and out the door, ignoring their voices as they shout after me.
I want to hurt someone. Make someone pay. I want to give someone else this pain.
As I stagger down the corridor, one face fills my mind.
Venom.