INIQUITOUS

CHAPTER XLII

CHAPTER XLII

My sweatshirt was prickly, and uncomfortable, itching away at my skin like sandpaper. Or maybe that's how I imagined it to be. I was antsy with nerves and restless, on edge, and hot under the collar. I woke up, showered, pulled a skirt over my thighs, stuffed my feet into boots, snatched my backpack from the hallway, and left the house to walk to school. The streets were almost soundless under sheets of rain and grey, grumbling clouds. A silver Toyota drove alongside me for a while, the driver – a yawning woman with a coffee cup and spirals of hair spilling out of her bun – seemed lifeless, a replica of my feelings. It was too early in the goddamn morning. I wanted to be in bed, under warm covers that could suffocate me, with birds I wish to kill twittering outside a bleak window, in a nightmare of my mother committing suicide on a forever loop. That would be far more favourable than seeing Frank in the god-awful early hours of the morning so he could threaten me about Eton.

On my to-do list was the murder of Frank Rider. It was pushed to the very top, underlined, highlighted, and circled. A must in the wake of his threats and phone calls. I needed to staple his mouth shut, sew his lips together with tight thread and blood-stained, clumsy hands. Anything to quieten him.

Fabricating wicked illusions of his death encouraged my stride to school, I was tempted to spin on my heel, break my hip as I twisted around to trek back home. I could always show up uninvited to his flat and shoot him in the skull. Stage a suicide. A robbery. Whatever. His death would be ticked off and half my worries would disintegrate into fine dust. It would be glorious. My lip tilted up into a half smile and a janitor with a dirty mop streaking across the wet floor glanced at me with a raised eyebrow.

I passed by him, walking along the science block and reaching a set of double doors, heading up the staircase, along the corridor, to the very end classroom. I didn't bother knocking and pushed open the door to the scene of Frank at his desk, crossed ankles, beard neat and trimmed, and tilting his head at me, a bemused smile to his face. "Cleo," he greeted, sardonic, "I didn't expect to see you here."

"What are you, a spastic fan or a retarded vigilante?" I dropped my backpack, walking over to him with a sway to my hips. He angled towards me and I sat on his lap, a bare leg on each side. I brushed my fingers across his bristly jaw and leaned down as if I were to kiss him, my voice light and mocking. "Perhaps you're a diehard freak, you collect true crime confession books, write to prisoners you don't know, print off black and white images of potential criminals, tack it to a board and pretend you're a detective? My brother's murders have already been solved, Shaggy. The mask has been torn off, he didn't get away with it. It's over."

"Is it?" he gripped my waist with a tight grip, suddenly maddened by my torments, hateful and spiteful eyes glaring at me. I could tell he wanted to hurt me and it amused me. I wished to see him raise a hand, strike me like he oh-so craved to. It would be...eventful, and I was curious to see how far he would take the situation. If he nudged me far enough, I would tumble over the edge of the cliff and I had an embarrassing crush on the idea of losing control. How incredible would it be to splatter his brains across the blackboard, to taint the desks with his stains, to call for the janitor and ask for him to clean up? He spoke. "Who do you believe I am, Calla? Am I a deceiver and a behavioural observer like you? A liar, a criminal, a murderer like your brother? Or a coward like your mother?"

I struck him across the face harshly. My hand left an imprint, his skin was aflame. Shocked, he cupped his cheek in disbelief. I warned, voice low and furious. "Speak of my mother once more in such a way and I'll ensure you'll never utter another word again." I kissed him then, and he reciprocated, the hateful, angry feelings towards each other clashed in sparks, an explosion, electric. His mouth moved against mine, his hands rushing up my stomach, squeezing my breasts painfully. Our breathing was heavy, harsh. His erection strained against his trousers. I unbuttoned and unzipped his trousers, and palmed the length of his member, and he shoved me away.

I hit the desk, still straddling his waist.

We stared at each other, mouths bruised and red, breathing loud. The sight could've been comical or horrifying to whoever stumbled through the door, depending on their maturity. His tongue swiped over his bottom lip, and he spoke discourteously, "This is my decision."

I eyed him contemptuously, and tilted my mouth upwards. "Of course it is, Frankie,"

He closed a hand around my throat, squeezing with a twist of his expression, lip curled upwards. "I could kill you," his voice was a low whisper, eyes gleaming, manic and drunk with power, "you'd be dead in the next minute. Is that what you want? ANSWER ME! Shall I kill you, Calla? Beg. Beg for your life, I want to see you weep, snivel."

My breathing was restricted and I was fast feeling lightheaded. Resilient, and standing on top of an ego that refused to deflate, I scorned him. "Who hurt you, Frank? Was it my brother? Was it your mom? Maybe your father, you're excessively violent. Did you inherit daddy's heavy hand? Are you hurt, Frank? Have you bottled up your emotions, allowed them to age like fine wine, except...it's poisonous and now you have no outlet so you attack school girls, stalk the hallways for your next victim, am I right, Frank? You know, therapy isn't that expensive. I could put you in touch with a lovely lady. She's got a soft voice, a jar of M&M's, and she really knows how to comfort you when you're crying and using up all her tissues. You could benefit from her help. She'd help you find some purpose in your worthless life, and maybe you won't feel so powerless."

"I knew this façade would crumble," he seemed vainglorious, boasting. "It was only a matter of time." He pushed my skirt upwards, tugged my panties to the side with rough hands, and shoved himself inside of me, grunting, animalistic. He grabbed my face. "This is my decision." He thrusted, and it was a matter of time before he came, and then I. He kissed my mouth, greedy to claim, and shoved his tongue inside my mouth.

I hated tongues.

I leaned away, running a hand through my unkempt hair, and took a deep inhale. I smiled. "You will always be a weak, cowardly man. You hold no power over me. This wasn't your choice and you'll soon discover why." I climbed off his lap, straightened out my clothes, feeling a wetness slither down my leg. I addressed him. "Soon, the class and hallways will be filled with students. I'm going to the bathroom, I can't wander around with semen dripping down my leg and you should put your dick away. It's a stomach-curdling sight."

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Sorry for the late ass upload. Next upload will be tomorrow. :)