Electra Heart | Malum

Chapter Four

Electra Heart | Malum

Copyright © Ella Simpson, 2015.
All Rights Reserved

Chapter Four
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The world seems to slow down; seconds turn to minutes; minutes stretch on for hours. Calum can only hear his heart, thudding so loudly that his eardrums begin to dully ache. The hands gripping his shoulders feel like burning coals on his exposed neck, their fingerprints familiar. He shivers in anticipation as the man stumbles back a little in shock.

                The man, who is still nameless, blinks, bleary-eyed behind Calum. “Who says you can tell me what to do?” He slurs, his fingers only tightening on Calum’s waist. He attempts to drag him forward, but he’s too drunk to manage it, thankfully. “Who the hell even are you?”

                “I’m his—“ Michael stops himself, stutters over his words for a moment—because really, what the fuck is he to Calum? They’ve not even fucked, yet here Michael is, a practical knight in shining armour at his rescue.  “That doesn’t matter. What matters is I told you to get your fucking hands off of him, and you’re still touching him.”

                The man tilts his head slightly, smirk playing on his lips. He removes his hands as if he’s only just realised Calum’s body is made of burning hot coals, brows raised, “You’re his boyfriend, right?” He asks, snickers a little, “Little slut didn’t tell me he had a boyfriend. I wouldn’t have touched if I knew he was taken, man.”

                Michael’s face reddens a little; in anger or embarrassment, Calum doesn’t know, but he doesn’t think that Michael Clifford gets embarrassed too often. His fingers tighten into fists as he pulls Calum to stand behind him and takes a step closer towards the man, dominance and possession radiating from him in waves.

                Calum’s breathing catches highly in his throat as Michael leans in threateningly and practically spits at him with rage, a hiss Calum barely catches, “Call him that, one more time,” He says, baring his teeth, almost feral, “One more time, I fucking dare you.”

                The man doesn’t seem effected in the slightest though, and either he’s completely stupid, or too drunk to care, because even an utter fool could tell how agitated Michael was becoming. But he only edges closer, head tilted in attempts of being intimidating, his sloppy features degrading it completely. He opens his mouth and a short, bark of a laughter slithers from between his lips, low and sending a shiver down Calum’s spine.

                “I can’t help the truth,” The man purrs, flicks a seductive gaze over Michael’s shoulder and meets Calum’s eyes, “The way he dresses—short skirts, pretty dresses, I’ve seen it. He’s fucking asking for it. He’s a whore.”

                “Michael—“ Calum gasps, reaching out a hand to clasp onto his shoulder, tensed under his delicate touch, but it’s already too late; Michael’s fist collides with the man’s face with a horrendous crack before Calum can even take another breath.

^             ^             ^

 

Needless to say, when they were standing outside of the club fifteen minutes later, shivering from the cold and only illuminated by the dim, scattered streetlights, having been kicked out, it was no surprise.