Dirty || Seulrene FF

-twelve-

*sorry first week of school ya know*

~~~~

Of all the absolute absurd, fucked up and downright salacious questions that stampede endlessly inside my twisted void of a mind, there was one question in particular I was dying to ask.

Kang Seungyoon, how does my cum taste?

It now springs to my mind whenever I see his crusty lips entwine with hers.

Irene's.

The woman I broke.

Even as I bore witness to their disgusting 'afternoon grope fest' far off in the isolated shadows, the insane question managed to syringe its way into my vast web of thoughts.

Tell me, Kang...

Just how does it taste...?

The moppy-headed pretty boy had his girlfriend propped intimately against her locker, trailing a path of butterfly kisses along her jawline and past her chin to whisper soft sweet nothings in her ear. That dopey shit-eating grin was slapped on his stupid face, which proved simulating enough for Irene to flash one of her immaculate smiles in reciprocation.

Then I smile.

I smile because I know.

I know the unethical amount of loaded bullshit heavily straining that 'smile' of hers.

A smile that is no longer genuine.

She knows it too.

Deceit glistened in those stunning jade orbs.

Seungyoon wasn't any the wiser.

He wore her lies like a smug sweater.

I honestly felt sorry for the fucker.

It was almost heartbreaking how oblivious he was to the fact that my juices were stained all over those rose petal lips he loved to kiss so much.

But oh yeah.

I don't have a heart to break.

Kiss my ass, Kang.

Time soon forced Horangi high's most beloved couple to cease their hallway romance and reluctantly separate themselves from each other. After a final set of sickening kisses, Seungyoon trudged around on the heel of his foot and headed for the school's main exit.

He wasn't missed.

Like heat seeking missiles, my eyes keenly locked onto the shamrock-eyed beauty. She remained immobile against her locker door, staring on after her departed boyfriend in a dazed trance.

I watched.

She then twirled to face the metal compartment with a wooden sigh, anxiously fiddling with the bulky combination lock bolted to its handle.

And I watched.

A pulsing tension stiffened my spine upon seeing her slender fingers elegantly raking through her silky waterfall of brown curls. Hypnotic shock-waves nearly paralyzed me in a coma of pleasure as I ogled her petite little figure bending down for her school bag, unloading and reloading its content into her locker.

God...look at her.

Even with the simplest of tasks, I was reminded of her wickedness.

Her aggression.

Just how can she go on pretending to be so fucking perfect?

How?

Why is it that no matter how many cracks I split into its refined surface, her mirror of facade always seems to hold its shape?