Chapter 12
Holden
Ihate her.
The locks clicked, the latch dragged, and before I knew it, my phone was out, and I was tapping away while eye contact was being avoided.
Her pestering agitates me. Should Mr. Carlisle end up exploding one evening, my car will be ruined. Silver lining, it will give me an excuse to unapologetically finish the job I started just the other night. Those points will be mine, one day.
I lied.
What should be noted is, the board was never emailed.
I don’t care for the attention that would come from such a gesture.
Nor do I have the patience for the hassle it would cause.
Meetings would be called to schedule and discuss upcoming issues.
I’d put a gun to my head if they were to suggest mediation.
My skin itches at the thought of being stuck in a room with her.
And as much joy as I would get from seeing her be hauled away in handcuffs, I couldn’t be bothered to report her violent tendencies either.
Speaking of, I can’t believe she touched me, again. Her assault was completely unwarranted and unacceptable behavior. I am beginning to wonder if her parents forgot to condition her to be a member of this civilization.
The moment her knuckles connected with my Adam’s apple, I had decided a file would need to be started on my pesky neighbor.
She needs to be removed at once. If this one were anyone else, she wouldn’t still be alive.
Don’t believe me? Ask Mr. Carlisle, he has firsthand experience.
Mind you, it was his son who did the dirty deed.
I don’t kill children, physically. Mentally, I hope he is crippled, with emotion and regret slowly invading him from the inside out.
You don’t touch me or my property and think consequences are beneath you.
No matter your status, it comes. Karma is real.
By believing in karma, I am aware of the oxymoron I could be insinuating. To be bothered, I would have to care. Breaking news, I don’t.
As my mind races with the possibilities, I stand naked under scolding hot water with bleach wipes in hand.
Every inch of my skin will be sanitized.
Third worst thing to blood and the unbearable sound of a human moaning in self-pity, is human touch.
Those three things make my skin crawl, my stomach turn, and internal rage turns external.
Again, if you don’t believe me, ask Mr. Carlisle.
The man has seen and experienced it all.
Red, raw skin stares back at me as I glance down my naked body, and beads of water glisten with soap suds still at my feet from the initial cleaning.
While my hands continue to scrub, the glass surrounding me fogs.
Steam rises and my pores open. Every remnant of her must be removed.
Snagging another wipe from the shower ledge, I go another round on my neck, ensuring nothing is left behind from our interaction.
The strong smell of bleach no longer bothers me.
It’s comforting now. Calms my mind and relaxes my body.
A cleansing which brings me peace of mind.
It was a peaceful Sunday. A simple day of bathing Mr. Carlisle. It was the only thing on my agenda. Then the irritation returned because she intruded on my solitude. Bulldozing through any acceptable personal space and absolutely ruining my day.
Squeezing my fist tight. Knuckles turn white and I slam my closed hand against the lone tile wall next to me.
Sharp corners nip at my skin. It doesn’t bother me.
I go once more. A growl joins from deep within my chest. The moment she forces herself back into the forefront of my mind, anger rushes through me.
Breathing becomes heavier, causing me to get lightheaded when combined with the hot steam. “You need to calm down, Holden.”
The one time I allowed myself to get out of hand, I ended up passing out.
My head bounced off the glass shower wall, and my nose fractured on the faucet before finally collapsing to the ground.
Water ran on me for twenty minutes before regaining consciousness.
Diluted blood circled down the drain. Even my own blood repulses me.
Therefore, I had to bleach my entire body, and the shower, before emerging from the hostile situation.
Having cameras positioned around my penthouse was done out of precaution. On that day, it came in handy as I rewatched myself. Truly nothing is more unattractive than a naked man getting beaten up by his own shower, then falling limberly to the ground. Defeated.
As that embarrassing memory takes over, I feel a wave of relief washing over me. My heart rate has returned to its normal rhythm as I drop the last used wipe into the ziplock bag. This entire process would be pointless if I just let the used ones lay there, only further contaminating the space.
Twenty used wipes sit divided into two bags evenly. Blue medical gloves wait for me on the bathroom counter alongside a biohazard bin, which will house the used contents. This is also where syringes are placed after an evening playtime session at the warehouse.
As the last bag seals, the feeling of satisfaction follows.
The process is complete and I am whole again.
Reaching forward, my fingers wrap around the shower faucet.
Slowly, my hand turns it. The temperature of the water changes as it rains over me.
From scolding to freezing. It restarts the body.
The mind. And puts me at ease. Steamed walls slowly fade.
Goosebumps ripple over my skin. Raw red turns into pale white.
And as the first chill rolls up my spine, I wait for the second to follow before shutting the water completely off.
Damp hair hangs over my forehead. Water droplets drip down my nose, over my lips, and down my chin. My cock twitches, not from arousal but from the cold. It appears to have climbed back inside my body in search of warmth. He does this every time, you would think he would be used to this by now.
“Pussy.”
Taking two more deep breaths in through my nose, and exhaling through pursed lips, I release the faucet and push the glass door open.
Reaching for a towel off the heated rack, I wrap it around my waist while speaking to my hidden appendage.
“Better?”
I grab another towel and dry off my chest, face, and hair.
The mirror is still fogged as I step forward, placing the used towel in the laundry bin.
Taking the gloves next, I slide one on each hand.
The rubber wristband slaps and stings against my skin before I walk back to the shower to dispose of the bags.
Once placed in the biohazard bin, I finger the gloves off, adding them to the pile.
Using my hand, I clear a part of the mirror, then wipe the condensation accumulated on my hand onto the towel around my waist. Taking hold of my comb, I watch myself meticulously slide the bristles through my dark locks, slicking it back like one of those pompous pricks on Wall Street.
Chuckling to myself, I place the comb back down and use my fingers to mess it up slightly.
I could never take myself seriously with my hair slicked back like one of those coke addicted assholes.
Desperately, I wish for one of those pricks to fuck up.
To piss me off at the wrong time, on the wrong day, so I can teach them a little lesson in moderation and self-control.
Dollar signs drive them, and money lines their poorly tailored suits.
Big bonuses and taking advantage of the unsuspecting while filling their noses with snow is the ecosystem they choose to live in.
Vile human beings. You never fuck with the money.
If you do, you deserve to be fucked with too.
To be clear, I manage my own money. How I obtained such fortune is none of your fucking business.
And no one else will ever have access to it.
I trust only me, myself, and I. Not even Mr. Carlisle is aware of the gravity of my finances, because talking about money is tacky.
If you have it you don’t need to discuss it.
If you don’t have it then all you do is overcompensate. That, too, I find absolutely annoying.
But, until I can soothe my soul and cut a Wall Street prick, I wait patiently and aim my focus on the short, perky inconvenience next door.
This woman has me going mental. Never have my thoughts been so chaotic. No doubt it’s anxiety driven by the lack of control I have over this current situation. She has to go. I will fulfil the challenge Mr. Carlisle gifted me and collect those motherfucking points once and for all.
Placing both palms flat on the hard, cool, white stone surface, my head hangs as I attempt to recollect myself.
“Don’t let her get tangled in your thoughts, Holden. This is exactly what she wants. To be the bane of your existence. Instead, be the bane of hers.”
My heart rate slows. I fiercely concentrate on the present. Because despite popular belief, I can be rational.
Standing straight up, I glance at myself once more in the mirror and give a curt nod of encouragement.
Removing the towel from around my waist, I toss it into the bin with the others while my feet pad on the warm tiles into the bedroom.
Blinds are closed, it’s dark, with a single bedside lamp illuminating the space.
Prior to cleansing my body, I placed a clean pair of black sweats and a crisp white tee on the dresser from my walk-in closet.
Swiftly, I get dressed. I have tossed my old glasses with the clothes from earlier, which I will incinerate.
Opening the accessories drawer, I reach for one of the many secondary sets of black, thick-framed glasses and slide them onto my face.
Taking my phone, I slide it into my pocket, but not before noticing the green light by the screen camera is lit. My brow arches in confusion.
Fascinating.