Nothing To Prove

12 A Freak Like Me

Ashton

After Sam joined Luka in the living room, I stood dumbstruck facing her crumpled bedsheets. Holy shit. That was hot. She had unleashed a beast.

Her tortured sounds. Her needy and freaked out expression. The way she clung to me. Fuck. I pulled out my cock, picturing Sam on her knees. Mouth open, looking up at me with her doe-eyes and my cum dripping down her chin.

I yanked a handful of tissues from her nightstand before the sheets got ruined. Great. Her room now smelled of my cum. As my head cleared, I heard Luka and Sam in the living room, and guilt struck me like a brick.

I just jerked off in her room, and before that, I attacked her. Did she even consent? How could I be so careless after everything I'd learned? My chest compressed, making me sick to my stomach. How did everything escalate so fast?

One moment, I was mad she was filming herself, looking so sexy, next she was whimpering under me with my hand around her neck. She wanted it, but it didn't fucking matter. I knew that. I should've fucking known that.

I headed straight to the kitchen. Sam was curled on the couch, in a white hoodie with droopy ears, watching a TikTok video with Luka.

With a ten-year-old muscle memory, I breezed through the potato routine. Fried a can of bologna on the side for Luka and me. I also used Sam's purple water glasses in geometric shapes and gold edges since she hated my 'lame' ones.

I was such a dick. She had doubts about her body, already so insecure. I called her dirty and teased her, after everything she'd been through...

Fetching lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers from her side of the fridge, I made a quick salad. Luka's therapist used to say fresh produce helped to balance the nervous system. Not that he needed me to do this anymore; mom cooked for him, or he ate out most of the time. So... I don't know why I did it. Maybe to feel less like a dick.

Sam came back from the parking lot, smelling like a joint. The cold night breezed in as she walked through the door and stepped into the kitchen. I couldn't bring myself to look at her.

"Oooh, the sky is so pretty tonight." Her mushroom nightlight poked out of her hoodie pocket. She beamed at the purple glasses on the counter. "Aw, you used my stuff?"

"Yup." I turned the heat off.

"Do you need any help?"

"No. Everything's ready."

"Are you okay?" She tilted her head, the curiosity as sincere as ever. It made no sense.

"Are you?"

She blushed, looked away, and mumbled a yeah.

I wanted to get on my knees and beg her to just be honest. "Sam. Seriously. Are you okay?"

"Yeah." She met my eyes now confused. "Why are you asking?"

The words stuck in my throat like a lump. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that to you.

"Is this about your birthday tomorrow?" She narrowed her eyes with amusement. "Because I know, Mister. Luka already told me."

"That son of a⁠—"

"I'm telling mom!" he yelled from the living room.

Sam giggled and inched closer, lowering her voice. "I'm okay, though. I promise."

"You sure?" My pulse kicked up. I killed the urge to put my hands on her. "Hundred percent?"

"Honestly..." She bit her lip shyly. "When I first met you—when I first heard you talk..." Her cheeks burned. "I thought you had the perfect voice for praise and degradation. So, yeah."