She Has A Pretty Face Though (Part XXX)

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!

———

“Scott, what the hell are you doing,” Lucy shouted, awakened from the noise.

He continued to stand by the wall past the foot of the bed, where he pondered over his bleeding knuckles as if he hadn’t heard her. The injuries weren’t serious at first glance, the blood only trickled thickly down the the back of his hand, but somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that he should be feeling some kind of pain.

“…huh,” he muttered.  “Nothing.”

“Nothing,” she screamed angrily.  Her voice began near a normal pitch and rose until it was loud enough to wake any dogs that might be sleeping nearby.  Scott winced slightly, but continued to stare at the back of his hand as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen.

“You punched a hole through my WALL, and you call that…nothing?!”

“I wasn’t talking to you, you fat cow,” he replied indifferently.  His eyes looked in her direction for the first time since she spoke.  “And for God’s sake, cover those things up.  You look like you’re trying out for the next GILFS GONE WILD video.”

She sputtered, pulling her sheet up over her chest, as a hurt expression crossed over her features.

“GILFS,” she repeated slowly.  Realization finally dawned over her as to what he was meaning and the hurt was instantly replaced by rage.  “How, dare, you talk to me that way?!  After everything I’ve done for YOU?”

He chuckled softly as he lowered his hand and slowly approached her from the side of the bed he had recently vacated.

“Wha-  What are you doing,” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer, only reached down and collected something from the floor and, in one swift movement, launched it at her face. She screamed as she thought that he was attacking her, only to discover that he had only thrown her considerably sized brassiere.  By the time she removed the left cup from her face, he was opening the door from her room.

He was halfway out of the house when she caught up to him. He noted, with some satisfaction, that she had at least taken the hint he had left her with.

“You son of a bitch,” she shouted as she spun him around.  “I’ve done things for you that you wouldn’t have gotten from anyone else!”  Her right arm pumped once, quicker than he had been prepared to react to, and her fist connected solidly with the left side of his face.

He hadn’t been ready for the attack, but he didn’t lose his footing from it either.  His head followed the course of her swing as tears formed in the corners of his eyes.  This was the only reaction she got from him, and he slowly returned his terrible gaze upon her. His face was already beginning to swell where she had hit him and in a few days it would match the bruise on the other cheek. As his eyes fell upon her, she took a careful step away.

“…I said; Shut. Up…”

The other no longer spoke words he could understand.  It now chanted in another language, repeating the same few phrases over and over in his mind.  At first it was comforting.  It could have been the words of a shaman about to heal his patient, or of a priest about to deliver his prayer in Latin, but it had slowly grown in volume and fervor until it became a maddening cacophony of voices.

He shook his head back and forth so violently that from her perspective, there were blur lines in the space between each side that his face stopped.

“Scott,” she said more than asked.  Her voice had become child-like in her state of terror and the sweat over her thick frame had suddenly grown cold, sending chills down her spine and causing her to shiver ever so slightly.  “You’re scaring me.”

“Get. OUT,” he screamed.

His grabbed his head just above each ear, as if to hold it still, and leaned forward, groaning.

“…let…me…out…” he whispered softly.  This time when he spoke, it was his voice, but then it also was not.

She took another step backward as he began to struggle with himself.  He continued to clutch at the sides of his head as his body whipped violently back and forth.  It was as if he were wrestling for control over some unknown entity inside of him.

“NO,” he screamed as he slammed his head into the wall next to him.  She began to scream as his thick skull broke through the wall, and together, their voices filled a house which no other person currently inhabited.

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