Chapter 4 #2
“Look who’s lurking in the dark shadows of the library. It’s the little faggot.”
I look up from my book, and the food in my stomach churns. Why can’t he just leave me alone?
“What ya reading, loser? How to Suck a Cock for Beginners?”
I close my book so he can see the cover, not that it matters.
He takes a seat on the table, knocking my book to the ground, and his buddies start laughing in the background.
“Mr. Baxter gave me back my report. He said it was missing two references. Gave me an A minus on it. That’s awfully close to a B, faggot, and that makes me very angry.
” His foot wedges between my legs on the chair, and I fight the urge to shift back and cover my junk.
“Now, you’re going to pay for this mistake, and if I ever get anything lower than a ninety-five again, I’m going to make it to where you don’t have a cock for some little twink to suck on. ”
He shifts and then I’m keeled over in pain as my nuts get crunched in from the kick of his heavy shoe. The gleam in his eyes is unnerving. There’s something wrong with him.
He stands to leave, his buddies in tow, and I slump forward, hating the tears running down my cheeks. I’m so fucking weak.
I shove the memory away, feeling the rage slithering up my spine, but I keep it locked down. If I don’t, he’ll be dead before I get what I need from him.
“So, what was the deep-rooted pain that caused you to take your anger out on me?” I ask.
There had to be some reason for his rage.
Kids that are happy, who live in a lap of luxury, and are worshipped by everyone in school don’t usually turn into bullies.
Not unless there was something going on that no one saw on the surface.
I always thought it had to do with his mother leaving at such a young age.
That his abandonment issues became a systemic poison that grew over time and drove him to be a fucker in high school.
But even if that was the case, it doesn’t excuse his behavior.
My father walked out on us when I was young, and I didn’t take it out on anyone.
“What was it?” I ask again, my question going unanswered.
“Was it because you felt like you were stupid? Inadequate? Did your insecurities make you jealous of me?” Though, I never pegged him for being stupid, and he’s clearly smart enough to run a company.
“Or did your dad beat you?” I lean forward, cocking my head.
“What would’ve caused all that pent-up anger? ”
“Fuck you,” he snaps back, looking like he’d love nothing more than to gouge my eyes out. “The only motive I had was your ugly face.”
I stand from my chair, stepping forward as the rage runs up my spine, saturating my nerve endings, tightening every muscle in my body.
I crouch down, my lungs working overtime as I peer into his blue eyes.
“I don’t like your face either.” I put my knife up to his temple, ever so slowly tracing a path to his ear, leaving a little red line in its wake. A tease of my intentions.
His face has haunted my thoughts. Day in and day out I see it.
The clench of his jaw when he wailed his fist into my sides.
The searing rage as he’d hold me by the neck, watching as I almost lost consciousness.
I see the smirk on his mouth as he’d stand above me, leaving me shattered and broken.
Maybe it’s finally time to destroy this face once and for all.
“Imagine waking up in the hospital bed and finding out that you’ve been mutilated.
” I press the tip of the blade into the skin of his cheek, watching as more blood draws to the surface.
“Imagine having to look in the mirror every day and not even recognize yourself.” I make another scratch on his cheek, watching as his eyes flare with fear.
Finally, I’m getting through, but it’s not nearly enough.
I want him drowning in the emotion. Suffocating by the clutch of the anxiety.
“Do you know how it feels to be called a freak?” I make another scratch.
“And having people turn away because they can’t bear the sight of you?
” And another. More blood dripping down like little tears streaming down his face.
“Imagine your own mother being unable to look you in the eyes anymore because she doesn’t want you to see her cry. ”
This time I run the knife down to his chin, making a longer line. I think it was good I was locked away in a cell. Seeing my mother’s pain nearly destroyed me. I wanted to take my own life to put an end to her suffering.
“I wonder what people will think when you walk into the boardroom, looking like a mutilated monster.” Another little line is drawn down.
Another drop of blood running down his skin like a raindrop sliding down a window.
He won’t be walking into a boardroom ever again, but I’ve decided to feed him some hope that he might actually return to his life, realizing I can use that hope to my advantage.
“I doubt women will be begging for your attention though. They wouldn’t be able to stand having to stare into your face as they ride your cock.”
His breathing is becoming ragged, and his eyes are filled with tears, but he hasn’t begged for me to stop.
His strength is truly admirable. But…it’s not winning him any favors.
I move to his other cheek, ready to even out the marks.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and my hand jerks, making a deeper cut than I intended.
I step back and look at my screen, not recognizing the number. Chances are it’s a spammer, so I send the call to voicemail, waiting to see if the person leaves a message. When one dings in, I listen.
“Monk, it’s Raid. Got a hold of a phone. Listen. I need to talk to you. Have a favor to ask. Shoot me a text that you got my message and I’ll call you when I can.”
I tuck my phone back into my pants. Until I ensure my location can’t be traced, I won’t be able to make contact. Right now, it’s going to have to wait because I’m right in the middle of something.
“Now, where were we?” I return my attention to my pet who’s watching me closely.
“Right. Let’s get to another question, shall we?
How come you didn’t go pro with football?
” I thought for certain he’d die if he couldn’t play football.
I was shocked to find out he went corporate instead of playing for the NFL.
He played all throughout college, but then nothing.
“I didn’t want to play football my entire life. It was just a hobby. Something to do to cut the boredom.”
Bullshit. Football was his life. He used to walk around in a Patriots hat, saying he was going to play for them one day.
He’d hold my neck within his grasp, telling me I better not fuck up his chances of making it pro.
For years, he blackmailed my ass to do his work for him so he wouldn’t get cut from the team.
And it’s not like it stopped in college.
So, I find it hard to believe that someone who lived and breathed for the sport would just give it up.
“I saw that your good buddies Tyler and Connor went pro. You ever regret your decision?”
The three of them always said they wanted to play on the same team.
The invincible O-line. A trifecta of power no one could get through.
Tyler and Connor went on and made that happen, but Hunter became a suit.
There’s a piece to that puzzle that’s not aligning quite right, and the tell-all look on his face proves my suspicion.
He does regret leaving the game, which has me curious as to what could’ve triggered that decision, because you don’t just up and decide one day to abandon your lifelong dream. Not unless you’re forced like I was.
“I don’t regret shit,” he practically spits his answer at me. “Football is for meatheads. In spite of what you may think, I actually have brains.”
“Could’ve fooled me. I carried your weight back in school. If it weren’t for me, you would’ve failed.”
“Why bother doing boring school work when you have a willing slave to do it for you?”
He’s going to be paying for that remark. Right after I get the answer to my question.
“Is it that you didn’t get drafted? Did you not make the cut, pretty boy, so you had no other choice?”
“I never entered the draft.” He tightens his jaw. “I chose to get my MBA and do something real with my life. Now, why the fuck do you care? Is this really what you brought me here for? To ask stupid questions? Get to the fucking point already, Lawson. What the hell do you want from me?”
At the moment, I want answers. Retribution is going to have to wait because I want to finish the puzzle first. Turns out Hunter is a mystery to be solved.
“I thought it was pretty clear what I wanted. To make you pay for destroying my life.”
“Destroying your life? Isn’t that a bit of a stretch? You’re the one who decided to steal from me and get your ass thrown in jail. That choice was all on you.”
I lunge forward, grabbing him by the shirt and then release my fury.
Punching him in the eye, in the jaw, hearing his nose crack under my knuckles.
The toe of my boot planting itself in his rib cage, into his stomach, into his shin.
When his body slumps, I grip onto his hair and nearly rip it from his head.
My breath seething from my chest. The anger roaring through me.
But I have to rein it in. I can’t break him yet.
It’s too fucking soon. He needs to stay breathing until it finally sinks in.
Until he owns up to what he did. I won’t give him the mercy of death until he feels an ounce of my pain. He’s a fucking piece of shit.
“The next time I come back into this room you better give me some real answers.” I shove him back to the ground and storm out, needing to cool off.
It’s time to start demolishing his perfect world, tearing it to pieces brick by fucking brick.