She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XV)


The following is one of many installments for a story designed specifically for my blog.  While it does step out of my usual genre, there are some things still not suitable for a younger audience.  Violent/Graphic descriptions, strong language and sexual situations may be found through different sections.  Each entry will tell a small portion of the story during different times and may not directly follow the one prior to it.  

This story follows the direct interactions, as well as the deteriorating thoughts of a young man who is struggling not only with the relationships he has with those around him, but with the relationship he has with himself as well.

Finally, all work is strictly fiction and does not reflect the views of the author.  Any resemblance to actual person(s) is only a coincidence.

If this isn’t your cup of tea, then avoid these excerpts and hopefully I’ll see you around my other posts!



Scott stood before the mirror as he worried over every last-minute detail.  He ran a comb through his hair for the umpteenth time as he tried to get his red hair to lay down, but not even the strongest gel was any match for his rowdy locks.  He threw the comb into the sink in frustration and then reached up to loosen the knot of his tie.  It had been a tough decision, to wear his dress shirt and tie, but considering that his nice clothes had been ruined when Tommy hit him with the truck, he didn’t really have a choice.  It was between this or showing up dressed the way he does for school; wearing blue jeans and a tee-shirt.

The knot looked perfect, but it was a little too tight. As he adjusted it, he reflected on how easy it had been to get Megan to help him tie it.

“Hey sis, are you busy,” he had asked as he stood outside her door.  Their new-found relationship was still a bit unusual for him and he didn’t want to enter without either her approval or her permission.

“I’m just getting ready to go out with my girlfriends,” she answered. “Why, what’s up?”

“I was wondering if you knew anything about tying a tie?  Dad never really showed me and I…”

She suddenly opened the door, startling him into forgetting the rest of what he was saying. He had apparently interrupted her as she was changing because when she opened the door, she was only wearing shorts and a sports bra.  She didn’t say anything as she worked and her expert hands had the knot tied in no time.

“Shit!  Where’d you learn to do that?”

“I learned by watching mom tie dad’s for him,” she answered as she turned away.  She walked over to the bed and picked up the white blouse she was going to wear out for the evening.  “That what you’re wearing to your date with Lucy tonight,” she asked as she pulled it over her head.

“Yeah…  My good clothes are ruined,” he said.

Her expression was only of impatience as she reached for her jeans and taking the hint, he turned around so she could finish getting dressed.

“Oh well.  I’m sure she won’t care what you’re wearing anyways.”

He frowned at the memory of what she had said.  It wasn’t that he had been seeking her approval.  In fact, he didn’t recall ever asking for it!  Maybe it had been just his imagination, but it had sounded like her inner bitch was trying to get out.  She hadn’t really said much more to him beyond that.  It had only taken the time he struggled for a response for her to finish getting ready, and by then she was out the door and gone.

Finally happy with his tie, he began to fuss over a pimple that had erupted on his nose.  It was large, red and angry and he knew that if he didn’t at least pop it, it would be the only thing she would see before the lights went out in the theater.

“Well look at you!  I leave you alone for a few minutes and you gay yourself up!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered under his breath.  “I’m not about to be dealing with you tonight.”

“Oh really now?  Like you’re going to have a choice?  You know as well as I do about the power I have over you.”

He struggled with his feelings at that and wondered at just how much of it was true.

“Don’t forget to take out the trash,” it taunted as he was thinking this.

“I thought I told you to shut up.”

The unwelcome guest didn’t answer, and for the moment, he felt that it had gone.  By this time, he’d popped and cleaned the mess from the pimple and was blotting the blood dry when suddenly Tippy began yipping from downstairs.  A quick glance at his watch confirmed there was still a couple of hours before he had to leave, but he still sighed in frustration.

“Damn it,” he yelled.  “Why am I always stuck taking care of their GODDAMN DOG!!”

He turned and slammed the door open, storming through it and toward the stairs.

Tippy, the family’s miniature Maltese, was at the bottom.  She was sitting on her haunches, barking toward him, but as soon as he stepped into view she flew into action.  Jumping to her feet in excitement, he began running in circles, pausing only long enough to watch his thundering approach.  Her need was so urgent that she had no idea that the mood of The Boy had become full of deadly intent.

“It’s NOT my FUCKING job,” he screamed into the air above her head.

He took the steps two at a time as he descended the stairs at breakneck speed.  His vision had focused into a narrow beam, the target of which was the spinning ball of white fur now pawing at the door.

He landed at the bottom of the stairs with enough force that he’d had to crouch to lessen the impact.  His hands had balled into fists at his sides, opening and closing in time with each deep breath.  Tippy was standing on her hind legs, whimpering as she continued to scratch at the door and she wasn’t as concerned so much with his approach as she was with getting to the other side of the door.

“Get back,” he growled to her.

She didn’t listen, or understand, as he closed the distance between them.  It no longer mattered.  He grabbed the door and yanked it with such force that it bowled her over and sucked her hind legs underneath.  There was the sound of two sudden cracks as the bones in each leg broke, and…

…suddenly his head was filled with the sound of an air raid siren, only, that wasn’t right.  He whipped his head once to the right and left as he tried to shake away the feeling of disorientation that had come over him.

“What the hell,” he muttered groggily when the sound didn’t go away.

The voice began to laugh hysterically and it was at that moment when his mind slipped back into place.  His hand was on the doorknob, the door was open about eight inches and Tippy lay on her back, screaming unlike anything he had ever heard before…

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