Deflower

Chapitre Trente

The three boys sat inside of the cream colored vehicle, and one of them appeared particularly crestfallen—more than either of the two boys, one besides him, the other in the back of the car, had seen him in their long years of being close comrades. Allistair placed his hand atop of Thomas' shoulder to comfort him, but with the way his fingers shoved his hand off swiftly, his gesture appeared to be to no avail. The one behind the steering wheel, with thick tendrils of black hair and dark eyes, cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry, man. Were you that close to her?" Kyle questioned his friend, who was clearly obliging himself to stay strong under the eye of his two friends, who would probably only laugh if they took notice of the tears that had begun to bother his eyesight. His features were hard in order to keep composure, but nonetheless, they carried certain vulnerability to them; as if he was about to crumble to nothing more than dust upon every second that passed by.

"Not at all. But my grandmother was a nice woman. Sweet, always offered me cookies or gave me money. I'll miss her." Tom informed, and Allistair clenched his jaw from behind him; he had registered enough information already, and nothing could make him fathom the obvious fact that Thomas cared more for the loss of presents and money than he did for the loss of a family member. "No one knows what happened to her, either. She just went, just like that. I don't understand it." He stared deeply at the scenic vista before him and he appeared void of emotion, but the aching in his chest defied the manner he looked.

"I'm really sorry, man. It'll get better, I'm sure of–" Kyle pursued his feigned episode of compassion, but words were taken from his lips and so was the ability to compose a sentence. His enlarged eyes were shaky, and his lips parted. "What the fuck? Look, the house—the fuck is the police doing over there?" Kyle looked over his shoulder, to Allistair, with widened eyes, and the latter, as well, found himself amidst a guilty indulgence of confusion. Kyle stopped the car and whilst an endless soliloquy plagued his mind—What the hell? What the hell? What the hell?—the young boy practically jumped out of the car.

The two others followed suit.

"You don't think something bad happened, right? Holy shit, dude, the police and everything. Guess my mom will know what to gossip about for the coming weeks," Thomas chuckled to himself, the corners of his mouth arising—but his lascivious grin faded almost as rapidly when Kyle's unsettled pupils snapped towards him. He clearly didn't know what was funny, and at that moment, Kyle failed to recognize another human being like himself, but he saw an animal. One that reveled in animalistic instincts. Thomas observed him cautiously while he approached the brusque scenery, of loud sirens and chanting people, before himself. A scowl defined his features and he forgot to breath when he took sight of a mother and father—both screaming, one on the floor, appearing to plea for mercy, and the other attempting to tame his wife.

Kyle ran closer toward the pair but a heavy, large hand gripped his shirt with all the might it had to provide. "What happened? Answer me! What the fuck is going on here?" Kyle questioned, but there came no answer.

Elsewhere, a woman held a piece of paper in hands. With narrowed eyes, she began to read.

Hello to whichever unfortunate soul is reading this, I hope you're well.

Allow me to start off by saying that this letter does not go out to my mother. Instead, to my father, to my cat, although she was on the aloof side at times, to my aunt, and to the one person I love: Vincent. To all the inhabitants of this town and to the hypocrisy you carry on your conceited heads like crowns. At last, this is to Allistair, to Kyle, and to Thomas.