CARNIVORE [MxM+]

Chapter 22

Tycho Black.

The amount of bags I currently carry in my hands was disgusting. I wish Riley had warned me before we had gone to the mall that he was more than just a damn shopper. No, that man was a sweeper- in the sense that there was nothing left untouched in those store aisles after he walked through them. 

Four trips back and forth from their expensive-looking SUV back into their house were needed to bring every bag in. In the end, I was six outfits richer, with new curtains, bedsheets, pillows, toiletries, and about everything else that was needed. Riley had tried to buy me a phone, but I didn't allow that. I was already having too much trouble keeping track of how much money I had to pay him back anyway eventually. 

After this morning, I didn't know how awkward it would be around Riley. But weirdly enough it wasn't. He was engaging throughout the entire trip and wouldn't let more than a minute go by in silence. As much as I wanted to find it annoying, I couldn't. From the kitchen, Riley shouted for me. 

"Dinner will be done in an hour and a half. Both Alexei and Xavier will be home by then. I encourage you to eat with us this time." He looked over his shoulder to meet my eyes. "I'd really like it." He smiled, flashing his teeth. I nodded my head and just left. 

A few days ago the house had agreed that the guest room I stayed in on my first night here would be turned into my room for as long as I lived with them. It was already equipped with everything I needed besides everything I had gotten today. I started putting away my new clothes to pass the time. I checked the time. 

8:03 pm.

A half hour ago practice ended. I couldn't even remember what day it was currently, so I found myself wondering when the next game was. I wonder how they'll do without me. My heart ached a bit. I didn't want to let go of football, but there was no point in going back to a place where I wasn't welcome. Not after what I did. I opened my phone again, going to my call logs. 

Seventeen missed calls. Twelve texts. Ten voicemails. Almost all of the calls were from Coach Roy. All of the voicemails were his. I deleted them. I went back to my call logs and scrolled through them. Surprisingly enough, two were from Jason. Two were from my mom. I thought about calling her, just to assure her I was safe. But I knew she most likely didn't care. So I threw my phone on the bed, not bothering to check who the texts were from. 

Laying down next to it, I silently wished I had brought even a single book with me, or something to keep me occupied. My brain was so wired around the physical pain of football and Jason that I never had time for anything else. So now this hour and a half felt like four. I could do something useful, like put up my new curtains or something, but honestly? Fuck that. I sighed, lifting a hand to my face to scratch my cheek. My face felt rough from going so long without shaving. I sighed again, realizing that was what I was forgetting from the store. I made a mental note to ask someone here if they had an extra razor. 

I did nothing but sit and think for a while, visiting this past week's events over and over again. 

But after what felt like forever, I grew bored. As I tried to sit up from the bed, a sharp pain met my side, damn near winding me. I brought my hand to the part of my ribs that hurt, touching the tender skin. Flashes of Jason's boots met my vision, making me feel the initial force all over again. 

How long has he been abusing you?

Abuse? Bullshit. Nobody knew what they were talking about. 

I surveyed the room around me. A full-body mirror sat in the corner near the bed, and before I could stop myself I rose from the bed, taking off my shirt. The movement hurt, making me wonder how I forgot I had the injury in the first place. Before stepping in front of the mirror I made a point of getting close enough to it so that I wouldn't see my face when I did see myself. I had never been self-conscious before, but for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to look at my face lately. 

The body that brought itself into view was... nothing. My torso was covered in wide, ugly blotches of knots of purple, blue, and black. I was built well due to football, with wide shoulders and thick arms. Veins protrude from my skin due to the thick muscle beneath it. My stomach was flat and intertwined with more muscle. Yet, I didn't find myself attractive at all. Whenever I tried to, all I saw were my too-prominent ribs, my sharp hips and collar bones, or the scars that seemed to glow on my skin so they were vibrant enough that everyone could see them. 

The doorknob rattled behind me, making me dive for my shirt. 

"Hey, dinner's ready- oh shit." Alexei stood in the doorway with a nervous look in his eye. My shirt was halfway on, but his eyes were locked on the bruises on my ribs. I yanked down my shirt, all of a sudden feeling disgusted. I clenched my hands in sudden anger. "I'm- I'm sorry, Tycho, I really didn't mean to." 

And just like a light switch, my anger drained. Because Alexei genuinely looked sorry, and he's already dealt with more than enough of my hate. I huffed, wiping the stray hairs out of my face. "No, I'm sorry... You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just..." His eyes met mine, expectant. And I didn't wanna let him down.

"Embarrassed. I'm not exactly pretty."

Alexei took a second to process what I said, then surprisingly smirked. 

"I'll have you know you're very pretty." I snapped my head back in his direction. He seemed more surprised by what he said than I was. Even more surprising, I wasn't mad. Just confused. A sudden voice from the hallway interrupted us both. It was Riley, telling us to hurry. I readjusted my shirt and brushed past Alexei, ignoring the way his hand brushed my thigh. 

I genuinely have no motivation. Like, at all. I've opened my computer a good five times this week with the intent to write and stopped as soon as I actually opened the draft for this chapter. I am hungry. Goodbye.