Kiss with a Fist

Chapter 5

After dabbing some cologne on his skin he slipped on the fingerless black gloves he'd worn to the Halloween party, his usual rings, made sure his Virgin Mary pendant was still securely fastened around his neck and tugged on changed the battered converse for his black combat boots.

It felt uncomfortably ironic-wearing a Virgin Mary pendant when he was going to a party to drink, do drugs and have sex, he wasn't even religious, didn't see the point of believing in a god that ignored his cries of pain. Neil dragged him to church every Sunday with the family, in an attempt to straighten him out-literally.

Billy just wanted to scream and throw the fucking bible at the priest ever time he had to hear the man drone on about how his disgusting way of life was a sin and that he needed to pray and repent. So Billy didn't believe in God of Christianity, but he wore the pendant anyway because it was his Mother's and was one of the few mementos he had left of her.

She would clutch it in her hands every time things got hard and whisper small prayers.

Billy clutched it too but he wasn't praying, he was cursing.

He sneaked into the room his father and Susan shared, and went over to the safe, praying his father hadn't changed the combination.

He thankfully hadn't. The safe popped open and Billy grabbed two of the Tylenol. His father kept pain killers locked up because men didn't need painkillers so Billy needed to learn to toughen up. Billy locked the safe back up and swallowed the pills dry, grimacing slightly at the bitter aftertaste.

He moved into the kitchen, chugging the rest of the orange juice to wash away the taste, he chucked the carton in the bin as he grabbed his leather jacket and shrugged it on, keys in hand he booked it out the house, not bothering to let Susan or Max know where he was going. It wasn't like they cared. They probably wouldn't notice he was gone-and if they did they'd probably be happy about it. No one wanted a monster living in their house and they already had Neil fulfilling that role, they didn't need him too.

The Camaro roared down the street, The Scorpions blasting from the speaker.

Everyone knew when Billy arrived. The unmistakeable engine and loud music signalled the grand arrival of the King. Billy lapped up the attention. It was the only attention he ever got, and even if the faux admiration and desire that his body and popularity garnered him was so false it was sickening, he didn't care, because it was better than being ignored.

He slid out of the car gracefully and entered the party to cheers and chants of "the keg king has arrived."

He threw his arms up, going along with the cheering. He was handed a beer as the sound of Summer of 69 filtered through the room. At least the music wasn't completely awful. Not as hardcore as he usually listened to but it was better than some jazzy pop shit.

Billy down his beer and got another. He did not want to be sober tonight.

A six pack of beers, four shots of vodka and half a bottle of whiskey later, Billy was tipsy enough that he no longer cared what happened to him, he didn't care as he was dragged to a bathroom by a girl with blonde curls. Didn't make a fuss as she slipped her hand into the leather trousers, only let out a small hum when she wrapped her hands around the base of his cock and pulled it out before sucking him off. He was too drunk too care. Could close his eyes and pretend she was someone else. A guy.

He let the pleasure wash over him, and desperately denied the fact that his brain was imagining bambi brown eyes and tousled brunette locks.

The girl didn't seem impressed that he barely touched her but he didn't care, he reached his high, cleaned himself up and left.