Inhale

Chapter 30 - Worthy of A King

When we arrived in front of room D, the group disbanded. While Phillip walked went into room D, we settled down in front of the door, awaiting the start of the battle.

Seeming to notice us, the person in the broadcasting room turned up the volume of their conversation, their voices in the room loud and directed.

"So, you're the infamous tit-girl," Phillip stated, keeping his distance by the door. "Nice to meet you."

"We meet again, Philly," she sang, seduction evident in her tone. She extended her palm as she looked at him with half-lidded eyes, "but it's still a pleasure."

"You know, someone told me that you have really big tits. But, now that I'm really looking at you," he dragged on. He blatantly squinted at her chest, not even bothering to hide the fact—smooth move.

"Your tits aren't that big."

"Huh?"

"What is that dumb-ass saying," Esmae murmured, covering her face in embarrassment, "he's practically asking for her to kill him."

"You heard me: your chest isn't that big," Phillip continued, much to our interest. By our, I mean mostly mine. "Average, maybe. Are you a 34DD?"

"Yeah," she said, flipping her locks in annoyance, "that's supposed to big."

"You don't read a lot, do you? In some parts of the word, like here, 34DD is considered average. Meaning, of course, you're average... or rather, your fake tits are of average size," he stated with a sigh. "Go big or go home—there's no point in undergoing a painful procedure to look average."

He was doing this on purpose—he had to be. He called Ella, a girl, she was simply average and the amount of makeup that was plastered on her face displayed that she wanted to be deemed otherwise. If I was her, I would be locking him in a headlock or at the very least, beating him to the pulp. I glanced at the prep, acknowledging the expression of annoyance that she was desperately attempting to hide.

"Thanks for the advice," she forced herself to say. The corners of her mouth were twitching, giving further assurance to my claim. Tightly clenching her fists to maintain her sanity, her pointed, polished nails tore into tender flesh. Blood was streaking, yet that was the furthest thing from her mind—after all, who wouldn't think of their perpetrators at this point?

"Cat got your tongue?" he inquired, tilting his head though a mischievous smile was plastered on his face. "Fitting."

"Are you trying to say something?"

"I mean, you are a cunt," he muttered. My nose crinkled. "That's why it's fitting. I mean, you can see the connection, right?"

That was it. Almost immediately, she broke. The skin of her fist broke, and blood began to dribble onto the floor, tainting it. She peered up, and leered at the boy, fury and anger evident. "I'm going to kill you," she spat.

"Are you two ready-"

"We're ready, hurry up!" she hollered impatiently.

"Okay..." the moderator trailed, unimpressed by her lack of control, "started."

Ella wasted no time. Immediately, she went in for the kill. Attempting to latched onto her opponent, she flung herself into the air. He effortlessly dodged her, an amused grin on his face. This only caused more fury to emit from her, and she continued to aimlessly trash about: this spree continued for most of the match.

"She's lost it," I commented.

"No kidding," Esmae stated, "can't believe he purposely aggravated her—I didn't think he'd go that far."