She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXIX)

Disclaimer

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 and webseries!

———

“Fucking bitch,” he muttered angrily.  His words were muffled and barely recognizable, as if he were speaking through a mouthful of cotton.  His hands shook with rage and from somewhere far away, he could hear the cold laughter of the ‘other’ mocking him.

It had only taken him a few minutes to get dressed.  He had done so carefully, without once removing is eyes from the enormous mound of flesh on the bed.  His heart hammered in his chest, pounded relentlessly in his ears and it was everything he could do to keep from betraying his actions with a careless gasp for air, but he was able to dress without so much as disturbing her.

He was hurt, on the inside as well out.

It seemed like it was so far away; that day when he sat across from her at Dewie’s Drugstore.  It had been like a dream come true.  Of course, he had known that she was there for a reason other than what he was thinking, but he had been unable to control his imagination.  She had been wearing a white, short-sleeved blouse that was obviously a couple of sizes too small.  It had clung against her skin, barely containing her bosom and he it was all he could do to keep his eyes from wandering too far down.

She had given him a friendly hug when he arrived, but he had been powerless to return it.  His arms remained limply at his side, while other parts of him did not, and he would still feel her skin against his for many nights to come.

And it was that look in her eyes.  After she had stopped Tommy from putting him in the hospital that day, she had thrown him a single, flirting glance before they were gone. Her smile had been like the sun, and combined with the effect of the one playful finger at her lips, he had thought there had been a promise of something more.

“Fat fucking Lucy Winters,” he had screamed afterwards.  How his chest had ached! As he sped away on his bike, it had barely contained the remnants of his broken heart and he would have been none the better had Tommy just flattened him instead of pulling abruptly before him.

“More like Crazy Fucking Lucy Winters,” he growled.

He couldn’t believe he had been so gullible.  Not only was she a complete and utter tease, but she was no better than the shitbag that she was dating.  She came at him, trying to be his friend, but in reality…

“Oh get over it already,” the other whispered from his thoughts.

…she was setting him up.  It wasn’t enough that they talked about him behind his back. They couldn’t simply be happy continuing to stare and laugh at him every time he walked by.  Apparently, even the occasional ass-kicking was no longer any fun!  Even worse, it was probably her idea.  Only a woman would think of a way to completely destroy her enemy; heart, mind and soul.

“…don’t ignore me Scottie.  I’m the only friend you’ve got.”

He stood silently across the room, lost his in his thoughts and staring at the sleeping form before him.  His skin crawled as he remembered the feel of her against him.  His skin was still damp from the light sweat that coated her, and smelled faintly of sweat and stale Fritos.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

“Some friend,” he countered silently.  “Do you really think that there’s any way in hell I would have stayed after what she did to me?”

“Do you think you would have gotten what she did to you from anywhere else,” it answered sarcastically.

“SHUT UP,” he screamed.  He raised his right hand, balled it into a fist and punched it through the wall next to him.  The effect would have been no less devastating had he swung a hammer at the wall instead.  The plaster gave beneath the force of his blow, folding inward and belching a light cloud of dust around his wrist.

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