CARNIVORE [MxM+]

Chapter 9 [REVISED]

Tycho Black.

THE DOORKNOB TURNS, OPENING THE FRONT DOOR INTO THE DARK NIGHT. A large hand grips the roots of my hair tightly. I'm thrown out into the pouring rain. 

"I catch you anywhere near here tonight, I'll fuckin' kill you, boy!"

I flew through the air sideways and landed hard on my side before rolling once. My face was buried deep in our muddy yard, each drop of rain feeling like a razor slicing through my skull. Its temperature seemed to be steadily dropping as I lay there catching my breath and calming my heart. I remembered the forecast this morning- it was going to reach the low twenties tonight, with a hundred percent chance of rain. I couldn't stay at the park and binge-drink this away. Not tonight. 

I sat up, careful not to put any pressure on my left hand. Jason's and my little scuffle had removed the bandages and torn open the thick scab covering the center of my palm, all but restarting the healing process. It already sucked enough to practice with, so why couldn't I get a fucking break?

I wiped my sleeve across my forehead, noticing the smear of dirt and blood that made its way onto my hoodie. Thankfully, this one was black. A sudden pang struck my forehead, sending a headache to my thoughts. The pain reminded me of what had happened just five minutes ago.

I had just walked in the door, sore from a longer-than-usual practice, when Jason had come out of nowhere, screaming about the annoying mess I was making by trekking mud everywhere in the kitchen. To my surprise, I really did make a mess in the kitchen coming home late last night. I was too tired, and it was too dark to notice. 

Jason's fury led him to do what he was used to doing when angry or stressed-- using me as a punching bag. He had grabbed both sides of my face as I sat there stunned, and forced my head in the direction of the mess. He then proceeded to slam my head onto the ground, where the dried mud sat on the cold tile.

It took me an hour to clean it, and by the end of it, my forehead was sporting a sizable gash-slash-knot, and I had to clean up my own blood while I was down there. 

I shivered lightly, the cold wind penetrating straight through my soaked sweatshirt. I really needed to go. My mind immediately went to one place, or person, rather. 

Kacey Holt. 

I coughed, the action sending pain ricocheting through my barely healed ribs. Jason and football do a number on my bones, and ribs are usually the first to suffer. Who knew a boot with a lot of force behind it was bad for the lungs?

I coughed again and groaned. My senses were being snubbed by the cold. At this point, every intake of air felt like frostbite. With shaking hands, I turned on my phone, caring little about the smudges on the screen, and went straight to the contacts. 

Kacey's number was one of the only saved contacts I had, other than my coaches' and Jason's. 

I felt the phone vibrate in my hand as I brought it to my ear, barely able to hear the ringing emitting from it. I recognized her voice instantly, though. 

"What's up, Tyke?" Soft, as always. She had probably just woken up, and I had a terrible habit of inconveniencing her.

"Sorry t-to wake you, Kace, but I need a f-favor." I sounded pathetic. I wanted to clear my throat and sharpen my voice, but I knew there was no point.

"On my way." Her response was immediate, as usual, so I shut off the screen to tuck my phone into my pocket.  

The park was only a short walk from my house, but it felt longer. I had to slow my pace down because any faster and I could feel my ribs with each step, so I kept it to a stroll. Except this also sucked, considering it was still raining too fucking much.