CARNIVORE [MxM+]

Chapter 16

God I am a mess.

Tycho Black.

Sometimes I wonder where I'll end up.

I'm not good enough to go into the NFL, and I'm not smart enough to actually pursue a job in chemistry like I want. My grades reflect that. So where do I go? That is, if Jason is willing to let me go.

A few days have passed since the whole fuckin' fiasco with Louis. I hated thinking about it because whenever I did, I got this sick taste in my mouth remembering what he said. Remembering what he is. But that was nothing compared to the gnawing guilt in my stomach whenever I thought of his face when he heard my words. I felt. . . terrible, almost. But I couldn't understand why, and I didn't want to. I just needed the entire thing forgotten. This weekend's party was going to help that. I just needed to get through the school week, and practice. I wasn't worried about school that much considering most of the team was here on football scholarships and I was one of the only members that actually gave kind of a shit what I went to school for. Just forget what I said earlier, of course. 

Luckily, I managed to escape the beating that Jason had planned for me when he caught me with them. He accepted my apology last night. And just like I thought, almost all memories of the night were gone. I just remember his anger, and then my plea, and then the drugs. I've never had so many in my life, but fuck did it feel good. My blood itched for more, just like it always did after he got me high. I sure as hell miss the euphoric feeling I got when I woke up in my bed the next morning. I've learned over the years to not ask questions about what happens when I'm blacked out, but I still have them. 

Like why I wake up in my bed, unscathed, every time. In new clothes, hair freshly washed, everything. I guess it didn't matter much. 

"Tycho!"

Jason's voice echoed through the house, colliding harshly with my weak wooden door. My heart kicked up like it always did. Why was he still here?

I jumped up from my bed, my feet hitting the cold hardwood. I didn't own enough socks to be able to wear any at home because I used them all for football. I twisted the knob and opened the door to enter the hallway, a chill clinging to my skin. It was always so cold in this shitty house. 

I stalked down the steps and looked through the living room for Jason, but he wasn't there. 

"In here!"

I went into the kitchen to find Jason sitting at our small dining table with an unusual smile on his face. My mom was standing at the oven, cooking what seemed to be breakfast. Except her back was rigid, her movements quick and careful. I looked at her face. She had a grim expression plastered on, and when she saw me, her gaze shifted to Jason behind me in warning. 

"Sit."

Two chairs were pulled up on opposite sides of the round table from him. He had a cigarette hanging from his lips, eyes bloodshot as ever, with an unshaven face. He looked exactly how he always did. So what the fuck was happening? 

I sat across from him. He took the cigarette from his mouth and stared at it, almost peacefully. He wasn't angry yet. That's good. He took a hit from it and set it between his knuckles. Then, he looked at me. 

"I had fun last night." 

I still hadn't pieced together last night, but the sadistic grin on his face told me that it wasn't good. I couldn't stop the uncomfortable shift I made in the creaky dining chair. 

"What do you mean, Sir?"

"Your apology."

A loud crash sounded behind me, tempting me to skyrocket from my chair and run through the front door. My ice-like grip on the chair stopped that from happening. I turned to see my mother, her face downturned in agony. It was always one of two faces with my mother. Pain or sorrow. Sometimes I wish I could stop her feeling that way, but sometimes I was glad she did.