CARNIVORE [MxM+]

Part II: Chapter 2

Heyyyyyyyyy

Sorry guys, the self-hatred got too big, so my brain turned off, and I lost 40 pounds and work long ass days now. I blinked, and now it's not April? Whatever.

Tycho Black.

IT'S THE END OF PRACTICE, AND I'M MENTALLY AT HOME. In my mind, I'm sitting at my desk, pencil in hand, blank journal page before me. At first, I don't know what to write, but then it suddenly flows from me, and I can't stop.

I know what I'll write about: I'll drone on and on about my relationship and how it affects me. I'll write about football, and a certain someone's disappearance that I want to look into. I'll write about my mother, and I'll write about the consuming need to feel Jason's warm blood on my hands.

Odd. That's odd to admit to myself. Despite my nature, I don't think I'm a violent person, even though I was for a very long time.

I look down at my hands currently, disappointed to see them clean. I flex my fingers, then tighten them into fists.

I'm in the locker room, sitting down on a bench in front of my belongings, nothing but a towel around my waist. I observe the skin on my... Hands. Not weapons. Just hands. I notice my prominent knuckles and snakelike veins. I feel the rough calluses on my palms. I run my fingers over the wide, horizontal scar on the front of my right hand. I remember dodging that swinging pocket knife like it was yesterday. I'm glad he only ended up getting my hand.

I stare at the open locker in front of me. My gym bag is in arm's reach, but I can't bring myself to move. I just listen to the people around me. Despite Louis's attempts to improve our team morale last season, everyone else seemed to fall back to square one the moment we were back on the field. Although I was no longer being harassed, I had freshmen I've never even met giving me death stares as we drilled. Yet, I didn't care about any of that. The only opinions I cared for were my coaches' and Louis's.

But there was something wrong with that. This was our sixth practice, and Louis still hasn't shown his face. I was damn close to asking around for him, but I think my best course of action would be to ask Coach Roy. I'll give him another week or two because it wasn't uncommon for guys to miss these days because of vacations and stuff. Hopefully he's alright.

The front doors slammed, bringing a silence over the room. I looked around and realized I was alone. Huh. I guess I've been here longer than I thought.

I got dressed and packed, then left the room and headed to the parking lot, where I welcomed the scorching August sun. I made my way to Riley's car (that he so thankfully let me borrow) and threw my shit in the back seat before entering the driver's side. I'm so thankful to have a license now.

The drive home wasn't long, but it was quiet. I had the windows down and let the breeze roll through the car, but I couldn't bring myself to turn on the radio like I usually did. I didn't know what was in the air, but it felt wrong to break the silence. Dangerous, almost. So I didn't.

I entered the house and kicked off my shoes, gym bag in hand. The door swung shut behind me as I set my belongings on the kitchen island.

I shouted into the abyss, "Riley, I'm home!"

I continued my daily routine, moving around the kitchen to assemble a protein shake. Usually, by the time I reached the blender, I'd hear footsteps behind me and a certain someone's arms would snake around my waist, but surprisingly, I didn't get that familiar warmth I was so used to. I turned around, eyeing the hallway that led to our bedroom, expecting him to come strolling around the corner any second. I didn't hear anything, and he was nowhere to be seen.