Five Hundred Miles

3.2: Her

Chapter 3.2: Her.

[False false, have you been, to me my love]

-Gideon's P.O.V-

What am I planning to do? Reap out his brain and slash his throat, then castrate him and tear off his skin?

Then burn him, then burn him.

This, I planned for a long time ago. But yesterday, after what he did to my princess, I decide that I'm going to make his life like shit. Yes, I'm going to sue the fuck out of him, send him to jail and claim my name. He is going to be so dead.

My mother called me this morning, she wanted to meet up with me. I know where our conversation will be going, and I'm prepared to brace myself.

The memory of Maple's bleeding cunt engulfs my mind completely. Her pained, scared expression is something that will haunt me forever. Where was I when she needed me most?

It's all my fault. She did this for me.

No. I chide myself. It's him.

Fuck William Gilbert and his company, I don't need his money. Quarter of my company's share? I don't need it after he raped my princess!

Calm down, calm down.

Maple is sleeping soundly next to me after the both of us practically lay with each other for an hour in fatigue. She is so peaceful, so beautiful, so soft.

I'm getting out of here before I lose control.

Silently, I get out of my room and walk to the end of the hallway, to my best friend's room. Without knocking, I open the door and barge into his room.

His snores pollute my ears.

I pick up the nearest thing to me, which happens to be his phone. The next thing I know, I'm aiming it at his head and throwing it at his direction.

Head shot.

He groans softly and rubs his forehead. He hisses. “What the fuck, man?"

“Are you up for some ping pong?" I ask.

He peers at me in confusion and visible grudge from waking him up in the middle of the night. However, he tries and sit up and stares at me for several seconds before saying, “Yeah,"

I really appreciate his sincerity, but I am just unable to express my gratitude. He'll get it.

We hop into the gym room at the basement and prepare for the ping pong table. I pass him a bat and myself another. Derek is already fully awake and attentive.

We play for five rounds, I've won it all. It isn't something to be proud with as I know that Derek has been easy on me. He must have sensed something off about me and he's been clearly waiting for me to spill my guts out.

Later.

I sweat only a little even after some more matches. I am not even satisfied of my results.

Of course, my best friend is willing to do a hundred pushups, two hundred situps, two hundred crunches and half an hour on the threadmill with me.

“What day is today?" I ask him as I run heavily on the mill. I think it's time to stop.

“Tues," he replies briefly.

“I'm ordering pizza," I turn of the mill and walk off in a spin, wiping sweat off my face.