TW: fire, burns, talk of abuse and death
w i l l i s
❝As I flip through the pages, my eye catches on someone: Waylon Chance. I pick the book up, bringing it closer to me. It can't be— Waylon Chance is supposed to be dead. ❞
☠
I don't waste time in rushing back to the store, telling my mom I've got an urgent errand to run. It doesn't take me long to find him, his platinum blonde hair stands out in the aisle.
"You're supposed to be dead." I say directly.
He laughs, smiling at me. "Yeah, supposed." He says.
"I'm confused. What's going on?"
"Can you give me five minutes? My shift ends then."
I sigh, looking around. "Fine. But we're going to a public place."
He nod, cocking his head. "That's fair."
We head to a coffee shop, about five minutes north of the coffee shop.
"So... are you a ghost? Or? What's happening here?" I ask after we've ordered and claimed our seats.
He glances at me. "Before I start, what else do you remember about me?"
"You... you were my best friend, in kindergarten." I say, looking up at him. "But, we drifted. Although you were always in school with me. What is going on? Aren't the dead supposed to, you know, stay dead?"
He laughs, smiling. And his smile is so beautiful, I'm falling in love. "Yeah, if you look up my name on any local news site around here, it says I'm dead." He says, cutting off when the barista brings us our drinks: a hot chocolate for him, and a hot caramel mocha for me.
"But you need to understand," he continues. "That I never died. My house caught fire. They never found me, assumed I was dead. I was locked in the basement. Which is why I have scars on my face, and a burns on my back."
I take a deep breath, looking at him. "You never thought to say, 'Hey, I'm not dead'?"
"I couldn't. I don't know how much you remember, but you know I used to come into school with bruises all the time, right?"
I nod. "Yeah, but—"
"My dad was abusive. He set fire to the house, locked me in the basement, told me he hoped I died. Yeah, he wasn't very smart because I was able to get out of the house. He found me though, and told me that I had to play dead, like everyone thought I was. So, I hid out for a few years. I was able to get out of the house one night, and go to the police. That was a very, very long night of talking, but they got him."
I look at him, taking the story in. "No one ever told me that you weren't—"
"No one really cared about me, Will." He says.
I look at him, meeting his eyes, taking a deep breath. "I'm so sorry... you didn't deserve this." I say, reaching across the table for his hand.
He smiles back at me.
☠
For the past couple of weeks, Waylon and I have been hanging out a lot together at his house. He got his own apartment.
"I should probably go home," I say, looking over at the clock (6:48 PM) and getting up from his couch.
Waylon nods, walking me to the door. "Text me when you get home?" He says, posing it as a question.
I nod, looking into his deep green eyes, a smile appearing on my face. I pull him into me, pressing my lips against his. He pulls my body towards his, away from the door and onto his couch. He pushes me back, climbing on my lap and kissing my neck. I smile, his name escaping my lips in a gasp.
He sits up, and I put my hands on his waist, looking up at him; when I move to take his shirt off, he looks at me.
"I think you're beautiful," I whisper, pulling his shirt off and turning him around, pressing my lips to his back where the scars are.
He pulls me off the couch, grabbing my hand and leading me into his bedroom, where he gently pushes me back on his bed, undoing my belt and pulling off my underwear and pants.
He starts sucking slowly, twisting his wrist around. I gasp, leaning my head back and moaning his name.
He pushes himself in slowly, looking up at me as he does. "You okay?" He asks me; I nod, moaning his name again.
He starts thrusting in and out quicker, looking at me every few seconds. Leaning down, he presses his lips against mine, smiling.
He pulls me to my feet, bending me over and pushing himself in again, harder this time. I arch my back, grabbing one of his arms and wrapping it around me, sliding my fingers in between his.
"Right there," I gasp. "Oh, right there. Right there. Don't stop, Waylon..."
I lean down again, putting my head on my arms as Waylon pushes in and out faster than before. I grab my dick, jerking myself quickly. Waylon is completely in control of my body right now, and honestly, I like it. I want him to touch me forever.
He pulls out, pulling me up straight. "Turn around and lay down," he whispers in my ear, pressing his lips behind my ear. I do as I'm told, laying back on the bed. He grabs ahold of my legs, pushing himself in and grabbing my dick, moving his hand up and down quickly. Arching my back, I look up at the ceiling, moaning his name as I cum on my stomach and his hand. I try to catch my breath, watching Waylon as he focuses on what he's doing, pulling out and adding his own cum to mine.
He bends over, pulling me into a sitting position and kisses me.
"Do you have to go?" He asks me.
I look up at him, smiling. "No," I say softly. "I'm not leaving."
He smiles back, pressing his lips to mine again.
2/20/21
I know this probably isn't what you expected...
Do you think Waylon's telling the truth? Should I do a part three?
