Deflower

Chapitre Vingt-Neuf

A deadly shade of night decorated the skies, and the mood between the two friends that stood next to one-another with an unfamiliar sense of tension. The air was suffocating and warm. Both males could barely breath; it felt as if a large hand had clamped over their mouths and no matter how hard they tried to fight it off with their limp and much smaller hands, it was to no avail. It was a peculiar feeling that resembled to the emotions Allistair had read about in the literature books he often stole from his father, but never understood; but now, unfortunately, he did.

"You don't understand, Allistair— I had no choice but to do it. He overheard Kyle and I talking, about the bet, and some other things," Thomas spoke, carrying uncertainty within his tone. Allistair took a drag of the cigarette that was enveloped by his parted lips, and though it didn't better the state he was in—the one where he felt on the edge of losing consciousness because of the lack of oxygen—he didn't care. He never did.

"Which other things? Thomas, you better be honest with me. I'm your best friend," the taller boy of two demanded firmly, his features hard and a disapproving expression on his face. The other one hesitated to speak again—and Allistair could tell from the way his two pillowy lips distanced themselves from one-another shortly before enclosing once again. Allistair took a quick look at his expensive watch, and Thomas ran a distraught hand through his hair. An entire stranger could overhear them, and would still be capable of gathering so much: somethinf was vacantly wrong amidst the two unsettled boys.

"I can't tell you, Allistair. Because I can't trust anyone, anymore, don't take it personal—if I did choose to tell you, I'd have to kill you, too," Thomas stared at Allistair with a look so convincing and devious that it nearly drove Allistair over the edge—it was simply frightening. Though Thomas could see how much he was hurting Allistair, for the latter did see Thomas as a true friend and would trust him with his life on the line, he did not think that he had overstepped; it was simply the truth. In a world as deranged as his, it was not insanity or paranoia to distrust everyone; that was his sanity.

"Stop bluffing. Tell me, T. You can trust me. You have always, and you will always be able to trust me," Allistair repeated himself, and this time, Thomas looked up at him with large eyes; he let out a breath, and recalled that there was no point in discussing or arguing with Allistair—he was far too sensitive to things that could possibly set him off, like a ticking time-bomb that urged to go off, and would even because of the faintest touch. "You know that I'm right—well, when am I not? You can talk to me, about anything. That's why we've been friends since, practically, birth, Tommy. Go 'head."

"You remember Dorothy?" Thomas' voice was exceptionally low and somber. "Well, it's something about Dorothy; something I told Kyle a while ago, that I shouldn't have. The Vincent kid heard Kyle and I talk about it, and he was going to tell the cops; and tell Lo about the bet, too. We wouldn't stand a chance with her anymore—she wouldn't fuck us, ever, if she knew she's just a toy to us. So I did what I had to do, A. I got rid of him. I'm not letting anyone take this bet from me—I need to win. I'm going to win, Allistair; I've been given no other choice."

"Wait, wait, wait, what the fuck do you mean? And what the fuck does this shit have to do with Dorothy? She's dead, yeah, and? What did you two have to discuss about her? She's long gone, we didn't do anything wrong—" Allistair furrowed his brows, a glimpse of hurt reflecting within the irises of his big eyes; maybe it was something else, but Thomas recalled it to be sorrow. They were shaky and quickly snapped to the ground. Anticipation coiled between the two male individuals. It bothered Allistair that there was no sense of regret weighing Thomas' words and features, either, when it came to Vincent's demise; sure, Allistair despised him, too, because of the fact that Lo was wrapped around his finger, but that didn't mean that Allistair wished death upon him.