Post by mac on Jan 8, 2018 5:11:51 GMT
Intro for: Kat
It all started with a boring lecture.
Cliff was at his desk, his phone hidden underneath it. He had no interest in the science Ms. Summers was preaching his way. He couldn’t have given any less fucks about mars or Uranus or whatever the hell comet she was talking about. Instead he was fixated, his eyes wide, at his phone at the text that had just come in from one of his friends. This friend was one of many who knew him merely as Rhett – and one who thought he was over 18 as well. He had a lot of those friends now-a-days.
Isn’t that your girl?
Attached was a picture of someone who looked like Cleo – honestly the lighting made it difficult to tell, but he swore he could spot her back in a sea of hundreds – wrapped up in the arms of someone who was clearly Fletch. He had been staring at the image for a long time, his forehead on the desk. It could not be her. It could be some other girl in his hold. But her hair, her outfit, her skin tone… it all looked too accurate. Way too accurate. Cliff grit his teeth together.
He didn’t notice that class was dismissed; he was still hunched over at his desk with wide eyes and shaking hands. Fucking hell. He had yet to open the full message to reply to the guy. He knew Cleo was fooling around with Fletch – it wasn’t as though it was a secret. But that didn’t mean he wanted to fucking see it. Her hands on his neck, on his body, his hands on her ass… he didn’t want to see it. He couldn’t stomach it. He couldn’t stand looking at her figure anymore, not when it was wrapped around him like he was a fucking pole.
”…Cliff?” Susan came to a stop beside his desk, and then Cliff finally looked up. Hastily he hid his phone but not before Susan saw the fact he’d had his phone out. Susan’s expression soured slightly, as she leaned to one side. Her foot tapped. Though, something in Cliff’s expression worried Susan slightly. ”Are you all right?”
”Sorry, dozed off Ms. Summers,” Cliff avoided looking at her as he got up, pulling his bag over his shoulder. He quickly walked to the door, not waiting to hear her response or pleas for him to listen. Rather than walking to fifth period algebra, Cliff walked right out the school doors, just as the late bell rang.
The afternoon sun was nice, and Cliff spent all class outside. One perk to California, he had to admit, was that even during winter months it was never that cold. He stayed there for a while, the image he’d been sent glued to the back of his eyelids. He couldn’t stand it. He knew it was happening, but to see it? To see the curve of her body as she leaned into him, to see the way he squeezed her, it made it too real. Too nauseating. Too depressing.
By 5 PM, Cliff had decided fuck it. He needed something else. Something to distract him. He got up. He wore a black undershirt with a forest green plaid shirt unbuttoned over it; the wind was picking up and beginning to rustle it. He tried to call Sylvan, but there was no response. He texted a few people, but they didn’t respond. By 5:30, he was antsy. He swung by his dorm and threw his messenger bag onto his bed, nearly knocking over the photograph of himself and his father on his desk. He didn’t notice, slammed the door, and grabbed his cigarettes from the bottom of his drawers.
Nicotine helped, but not entirely. Cliff was used to smoking now; he usually had Sylvan buy him the things and he paid the guy back. He held the cigarette between his lips and smoked out by the janitor’s house so no one would see him. He flipped open his phone to snapchat. Nothing new. He stared at Cleo’s false name a little too long before he closed it. No. Fuck her. Think of something else. He should’ve brought the nips of vodka he had hidden in his fridge with him when he grabbed the cigarettes.
His eyes drifted to the forest and before he could stop his mind from wandering he remembered slamming someone against the tree violently, fucking the shit out of them, and feeling better afterwards. The brief cold he’d gotten was worth it, fuck was it worth it. Cliff bit his lip as he thought about that night in the trees; it had been a while ago, and he had not seen Peter since. But the guy was into it, knew how to beg like a little bitch, and hurting him always felt good. It always helped, the past two times he’d done it.
Besides. It wasn’t that he was gay, but if he tried to kiss another woman, he’d think of her. He’d imagine her lips, her perfume, her body under his hands. Peter’s body was both familiar and unknown to him, somehow. It was a comfort and a curiosity.
Before he could stop himself, Cliff was propelling himself towards Peter’s doorstep. Thoughts of someone else being there didn’t matter. He wanted a distraction and the only person who he hated enough to beat the shit out of right now was Peter.
At the door, he didn’t hesitate before he pounded on it with purpose. If anyone other than Peter answered right now, he didn’t know what he’d do. He wasn’t thinking. But he knew exactly what he’d do if Peter answered the fucking door.
