#suffering and gnawing cigs

[v7lgar]

good morning guys

[perlelune]

Creep | Oliver Quick

Though you can’t grasp exactly what, you know something is very off with your boyfriend’s peculiar new friend.

Warnings: NON-CON, DUB-CON, Stalking, Voyeurism, Cheating, Coercion, Blackmail, Drinking, Smoking, Unhealthy Relationship Dynamic

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

Felix’s long digits drum over your back as he pouts, “You really brought me here just to study, babe?” His raspy, flirtatious tone tugs your lips skyward. Still, your attention doesn’t stray from your laptop screen. Sentences bleed from your fingertips at a quick-fire pace. A little under three thousand words on Bentham’s theory of utilitarianism, due by Monday. The topic isn’t exactly thrilling but you have to hand it over in time.

“If I don’t ace this essay, I’m going to fail this class,�� you absently reply. Failure. The one thing you literally can’t afford right now, though you forbear sharing that particular bit with Felix. Best he perceives your single-minded determination as a core stare of your character rather than what it actually is…a necessity, one born of dire circumstances.

He takes a long drag off his cigarette. Grey smoke floats around you, smudging the words on your screen. You repress tears as your eyes burn. You wished he’d curb the nasty habit. You’ve dropped hints before.

But no one tells Felix Catton what to do. Many would kill to even breathe the same nicotin-infused air as him. Felix is the sun and everyone on campus craves to be in his orbit, eager for the slightest chance to bask in his warmth, shower in his light.

You’re no different. The day he asked you out, a little over a year ago, you pinched yourself twice to make sure you weren’t dreaming. Felix Catton wanted…you? It couldn’t be real. 

This was the boy you held in your heart for a decade, the only one you ever had eyes for.

And while your relationship suffered its share of hardships, namely Felix’s wandering eyes, you couldn’t picture life without him at your side.

He’s your everything.

He could hurt you a thousand times and you’d forgive him each of those times.

Felix’s bare shoulder grazes yours as he states, “They won’t fail you, not with who your dad is.”

Your stomach knots with his comment. Still, you shrug, pretending away the guilt steadily gnawing your insides.

“I don’t want to get special treatment just because of my family name, Felix,” you say, trying your best to sound nonchalant.

Though his smile never falters, his jaw ticks. “And I do?”

The ice in his tone scatters in your veins. Immediately, you discard your homework, concerned gaze finding his.

“I’m not saying that.” When Felix doesn’t respond, panic roars inside you. You touch his exposed chest to bring his attention to you. He doesn’t move. “I didn’t say that.”

A thick blanket of silence engulfs the room and your airways constrict. It feels as if your heart is on the verge of collapse as you wait for a reaction from your boyfriend, his chestnut gaze glued to the ceiling.

His head turns to you slowly. He releases a large puff of smoke in your face. Tears rush to your eyes, filling them to the brim.

Felix shrugs.

“It sounded like you did. A little. But that’s okay.” His tone is mellow in that way that oozes displeasure. “I’m just a legacy kid getting by on his trust fund and good looks, right?”

Your mouth quakes and he bursts out a chuckle. He cups your cheek, a wide grin breaking onto his face. “I’m just fucking with you, babe.”

You swallow your budding tears, wiping your eyes swiftly as Felix reaches around you to put out his cig in the ashtray.

You punch him in the chest, your own laughter bubbling out.

“You’re an arsehole.”

His grin expands. Twining your fingers with his, Felix’s tone gets softer.

“I wanted to ask…” He trails off, brown gaze clinging to yours. “Can Ollie come to the party you and Anabel are throwing tonight?”

You tilt your head in befuddlement. “Ollie?”

He traces the lines in your palm, adding absently, “Yeah, Oliver. I told you about him. Saved my arse when my bike broke.”

“Right, bike guy,” you say, remembrance hitting you. You tilt your head. “What’s he like?”

Felix sighs.

“He doesn't have too many friends.  He's also had a rough upbringing. So I thought we could help him a little, you know?” You study him. However casual your boyfriend attempts to sound, you instantly recognize what this is. Yet another try at playing knight in shining armor. Whoever this Oliver guy is, he’s now become your boyfriend’s side project. His charity case possibly.

“He’s not like us so we could try to be nice.”

Not like us. You mask your discomfort with a bright smile. 

About a year ago, your dad’s company filed for bankruptcy. Thankfully your scholarship still allows you to attend Oxford, but your lifestyle has drastically changed. No more shopping sprees. No more casual leisure trips to Europe. No more frivolous spendings with daddy’s black card.

The last straw was when your father emptied every account, including your trust, and left the country without as much as a goodbye text. Since those events, your mother has taken refuge at the bottom of a whisky bottle. You can barely get a hold of her these days.

So not only are you penniless, you might as well be an orphan. 

Felix is all you have left. You can’t risk him finding out the truth. He can never know about the part time jobs you’ve had to take to cover tuition costs or the small flat your mum had to move into after your father had to sell the family manor. He might think you’re beneath him now, working class, destitute. Or worse, he might pity you, treat you like a charity case too. 

You follow the curve of his dark brow with your thumb, sweeping over his silver stud.

“Hm, sure. I can be nice,” you promise.

“I know you can,” he teases, large hands pulling on your thighs to spread you across his lap.

You squeal before scolding him, “Felix…I really really need to finish this essay.”

His eyes darken with lust as he licks his lips. He wiggles his hips, causing the bulge in his jeans to rub against your clothed center. Your breath hitches. “And I really really need you to take care of this for me.” His hoarse, desperate inflection makes your core clench. His palms run over your thighs beneath your short dress. “Just five minutes? Come on, I’ve been hard for like an hour, babe.”

He hums, already playfully fiddling with the edge of your lace panties.

“It’s your fault for wearing this fucking pink dress. You know the way your ass looks in it drives me crazy.”

You resolve crumbles beneath Felix’s heated stare. You can never tell him no. And he knows that. Releasing a deep sigh, you relent.

“Five minutes,” you offer.

He slides one finger inside your weeping core. As you draw a sharp breath, Felix beams.

“It’s all I need,” he coos.

The party’s at his height, loud music blasting from the gigantic speakers and glow sticks waving in the pitch blackness of the underground cellar. You thread your way between tipsy students, carrying two cups of beer in your hands. 

As you reach the VIP corner, you hand Annabel her drink. The redhead mumbles her thanks as she bobs her head to the music. You peer at your surroundings, glad to see everyone having fun. 

It’s a frank success. Pride trickles inside you at that. It’s been hard collecting pockets of free time to put it together between classes and assignments. But you did it. 

Truthfully, you’re also craving some fun tonight. All you’ve done lately is studying. You miss the days when you were more carefree, unconcerned about your grades deciding the course of your future.

You glance down at your watch, scowling as you notice the time. He was supposed to be here three hours ago.

“Where’s Felix?” you ask Venetia. Your boyfriend’s sister  lazily opens her eyes, a drunken smile spreading onto her lips. She shrugs. “Don’t know. Haven’t seen him around.” 

You pivot to the rest of the group. 

“Have you guys seen him tonight?”

Annabel shakes her head apologetically while Farleigh brings his blunt to his mouth with a taunting smile.

“Desperate much?” he teases.

“Farleigh, come on,” Anabel chastises. She bumps her shoulder into yours, her expression sympathetic. “Don’t mind him, you know he’s always a jerk after a few drinks.”

Farleigh sighs. “Darling, you know I love you. It was just a joke.”

“A joke, right…” you mumble. Your cheeks heat though you try not to let your feelings show. Still, Farleigh’s words linger in your head. Maybe you’re being too clingy. It’s something you should mind.  What if you became too needy and Felix grew bored of you? It’s not like he wouldn’t find a replacement for you in a heartbeat.

You lie back on the plush couch, sipping from your beer cup as your friends continue their chat. The conversation has long since stopped making sense, fueled by drug-inspired ramblings. Your attention is halved by your straying train of thoughts, the current whereabouts of your boyfriend still at the forefront of your brain.

Another hour flies by before Felix’s towering frame finally pierces through the crowd. A smaller boy trails behind him, his expression mirroring that of a lost puppy. He adjusts his glasses, awkwardly avoiding the drunken bodies around him. The word “Sorry” doesn’t stop pouring from his mouth. 

You realize this must be Oliver. Astonishment flows through you. This isn’t the kind of company Felix traditionally keeps. But you elect to try your best to be nice and welcoming.

It’s what Felix asked of you after all. Besides, entering a new group of people cannot be easy, your tight-knit circle having known each other since kindergarten for some.

You don’t miss Anabel’s fleeting,  condescending glance as she takes in Oliver though. Getting her assent to let him come had been a hassle, as she regards him as some weird, scholarship kid who’d just bring the mood down. But you insisted and she finally caved.

You trade a meaningful look with her, silently nudging her to be nice. The redhead practically rolls her eyes but squeezes her lips shut. Annabel may be one of your best friends but even you’re aware that she can be quite snobbish at times. 

A sullen expression decorates your face as Felix enters the private booth. 

“You’re late,” you blurt out. Farleigh snickers behind you and your cheeks flare. But everything around you fades as Felix grabs your face and presses feverish lips over yours. Your irritation melts in the heat of the passionate kiss. 

When he frees your mouth, his thumb runs over your swollen bottom lip as he explains casually, “Yeah we were just hanging out and we lost track of time.”

He then introduces the shy boy.

“That’s Ollie.”

“Nice to meet you,” he stutters.

“Likewise,’ you reply smiling.

You gauge him. Beneath the large glasses, you note the slanted blue eyes and soft, round boyish features. Felix’s friend is cute. If only he weren’t so painfully awkward. 

“You should sit with us. There’s plenty of space,” you say. 

Felix draws you onto his lap as he sits. Oliver takes a nervous seat next to the two of you. His eyes keep rising to Felix, as if seeking perpetual approval from your boyfriend. You’re a little perplexed. Farleigh hands Felix a spliff and he lets his hand rest on your thigh while taking a long drag from it.

“So, where are you from exactly?” you ask Oliver.

His gaze on you and Felix is sharp, somehow constantly darting to where your boyfriend’s holding you.

“Prescott,” he answers.

You mull over his response. It’s a few hours away from Oxford. You don’t know much about it. Though, based on what Felix implied about the way he grew up, you expected him to originate from a rougher area. Prescott doesn’t seem too awful.

“Prescott? They must be proud of you back home, especially your parents.”

“Probably not, actually.”

Your curiosity is piqued. “Why are you saying that?”

Oliver shrugs. His eyes find the floor before meeting yours again.

“Just don’t talk to them much,” he mutters. “They got problems and stuff…”

You slant your head. “Problems?”

Felix’s hand tightens atop your thigh. “Babe, that’s enough prying, don’t you think?”

“I’m just making conversation, trying to get to know him.”

“You’re embarrassing him, babe.”

Oliver’s blue gaze lifts to yours, his face unreadable.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, though you detect a slight edge to his timbre that wasn’t there before. A small smile tugs his lips. “I don’t mind questions. Got nothing to hide.”

You nod. An icy tickle blooms at the base of your spine, scattering outward as Oliver’s intense focus doesn’t leave you. You turn away, shifting your attention to your boyfriend. Throughout the entire night, a strange sensation thunders through you, like the lightning before the storm. You can’t explain it. It’s like the world shifted off its axis, though you can’t pinpoint the reason.

Thankfully the strangeness is cast aside by Felix’s soft lips and heady, masculine scent. As the party goes on in the background, the two of you sneak away. You end up making out in a dark corner, Felix’s greedy hands slipping beneath your short skirt to grab a fistful of your ass. He pinches your flesh and you squeal.

A warm chuckle spills from his lips as he peppers tender kisses alongside your neck.

“Let’s go back to my dorm,” he whispers.

You readily agree. He takes your hand and the two of you hitch a ride back to campus. The two of you giggle in the backseat of the car every time the driver berates you for getting too handsy with each other. You laugh it off all the way back to his room, lips locking as you cross the threshold. You jump to wrap your legs around Felix’s tapered waist. He purrs, his hands latching around your hips, pulling you closer. He pushes you against a wall, tracing a scorching path in the valley between your breasts. Moaning, you toss your head back. 

As your eyes flutter however, you catch sight of a silhouette standing outside Felix’s window. Your heart bounces, your eyes growing saucer-wide. You gasp and leap away from Felix. 

“What the fuck?” he curses as you race to the window. Chest pulsing with your quick heartbeats, you peel the window open to peek outside. The cold night air whisks inside the room. Goosebumps break out on your skin.

Your gaze wanders, searching the darkness. Confusion swells within you as you find nothing. Nothing but greenery, the same trees and grass flanking your path whenever you stroll through campus. 

“There was someone outside, w-watching us,” you stammer.

Felix’s frustrated breath grazes the back of your neck. “Babe, there’s no one out there.”

You squint, dumbfounded when nothing but pitch blackness stares back at you. For a minute, you really believed someone stood there. In fact, whoever they were bore a peculiar resemblance to…

You catch yourself before finishing the thought.

Now that’s just crazy.

“But I saw…”

Felix shifts your body towards him. He cups your cheeks and rasps, “Hey. Hey, look at me. There’s no one but us here.” His lips collide with yours. He starts groping you again and you push him off  you, stunned that he wants to have sex at a time like this.

“No, Felix, I-I can’t.”

He stumbles back and scoffs, “Oh.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you inquire, glowering at him.

His gaze flicks over you, his expression cold. “All that teasing just to leave me high and dry?”

“Felix, wait…”

He avoids your touch, collecting his jacket from the bed when your fingers stretch towards him.

“It’s fine. I’m just gonna have a smoke. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Your stomach sinks.

“O-Okay,” you say as your hand retreats to your side.

The door slams shut and you collapse on Felix’s bed. Your eyes veer to the window once more. You could have sworn you caught a glimpse of someone. Maybe all those late nights writing essays and revising for the upcoming exams are slowly catching up to you, dragging you to the brink of madness.

Felix doesn’t call you the following day. Of course he doesn’t. You broke the mood. You acted weird. What reason does he have to want to be around you again? It’s bad enough you neglected him in favor of your assignments and club activities for the last few weeks. Now you can’t even enjoy the sparse time you have together.

Still, you flip your phone open all day long, longing for a word from him, any trivial, insignificant word.

You get nothing. 

You gloomily drag your feet around campus and somehow find your way in one of the empty student lounges, save Farleigh and Venetia. Lying flat on the carpeted floor, eyes glued to the ceiling, the two of them are sharing a spliff. You wedge yourself between them, lying on your back also. You steal the roll from Venetia’s fingers and bring it to your lips. Your throat burns and you cough as you inhale a puff. Venetia’s lips curve upward as your eyes water.

“You gotta take it easy the first time,” she says, amusement lighting her olive orbs. “Tiny inhales.” She shows you how and you mimic her gestures. You go slower the second time and a pleasant numbness sets into your limbs. Your eyes shut. You kind of get it now. For the first time in several weeks, your mind’s almost at rest, your stormy thoughts quieted. 

“You don’t smoke,” Farleigh notes near you.

“I am today.”

“You guys will be fine,” Venetia assures. “You’re always fine.”

Your eyes open, settling on the pristine white ceiling. 

“I fucking hate him sometimes.” You pause, sucking a deep breath. “But I love him more.”

“Yep, that’s Felix,” they utter in unison.

You heave out a weary sigh. They grew up with him. They know better than anyone, how sweet and wonderful he can be, but also cruel and careless sometimes.

Just like the sun, Felix’s light can also burn whoever gets too close. 

For a while, the three of you hang out in silence, the spliff switching hands every once in a while. Eventually, each of them rises, leaving you to your mopey thoughts. 

Before taking his leave however, Farleigh whispers in your ear,

“Oh and darling, next time you wear a rental…make sure the price tag isn’t sticking out. It gives you away.”

You sit up immediately. A smile dances on the boy’s lips as he disappears. You grab the back of your neck, face warming as you feel the tag poking through the collar of your shirt.

You nearly forgot you’re due to return the designer piece in two days’ time. You can’t believe someone noticed. Though you suppose if anybody would, it’d be Farleigh. Nothing gets past his keen eye. You surmise it was a necessity with the way he grew up. Learning to read people, knowing what makes them tick, being able to spot a pretender from a mile away…which you are now.

Maybe it’s ludicrous, acting like you can still afford to live like this, like your life wasn’t turned upside down.

Still, you can’t fathom the alternative. The judgement, the pity, from your friends…from Felix. The thought alone makes you sick. The echo of Anabel’s voice as she disparaged Oliver’s background a few days ago never left you. 

Dunno what Felix even sees in him. He’s some weird scholarship kid who buys his clothes at Oxfam.

That was harsh…and made you wonder what your best friend would have to say about your current situation. 

So you’d rather lie, even if you sometimes look like a fool doing so.

You swallow a wide lungful, willing yourself to be calm. You repeat the mantra, again and again. You’re okay. You’re okay. You just need to keep your grades up and get through the semester.

The rest of the week is hell. Felix all but ignores you, not even sparing you a glance when he brushes past you in the university corridors. The itch to talk to him sears inside you. Unfortunately, he’s always surrounded by a swarm of people, the center of attention as usual, making approaching him near impossible. You can’t picture bringing up your relationship problems in front of so many eyes.

Besides, you don’t want to project desperation, Farleigh’s pointed gibe still resonating in your mind. You need to play it cool, wrap yourself in a disguise of indifference…despite the way you wither away every second he’s not texting you back. 

The agonizing wait is made worse by him. He’s everywhere now. Wherever Felix goes, he goes too. Oliver Quick has essentially become your boyfriend’s shadow. Whether in class, at pub meetups, at parties, the quiet, nervous boy  never abandons Felix’s side, always peering up at him with those round baby blues of his, a strange mix of admiration, devotion and…something else you can’t pinpoint etched on his face.

It’s sort of creepy in your opinion. 

Though you’d never say it aloud. For some reason, Oliver’s his new toy. And you’re acutely aware of how Felix is with his toys. He plays with them for a while then moves on to the next fancy, shiny new one. He did it to Eddie before. Now Oliver. 

And maybe it’ll be your turn one day���if you don’t do something. 

It’s how you end up in front of his dorm one night, already tipsy from half a bottle of vodka. Liquid courage to get you to knock on his door. It’s pathetic. Of course it is, but you just can’t wait anymore. 

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes and shaking off your nerves. Your knuckles are less than an inch from the door when a broken whimper reaches you from the other side of Felix’s door. 

Brows furrowing, you place your ear against the wood. You hear a moan this time. Deep, distinctive, masculine…familiar. Your heart stops. 

You plummet to your knees, peering through the keyhole. You feel wrong for doing so, for invading Felix’s privacy like this. But guilt crumbles beneath the weight of heartbreak at what you witness. 

You almost find yourself wishing you hadn’t looked. Almost.

Rivulets of anguish flow down your face as you watch your best friend and boyfriend lip-locked, practically swallowing each other’s faces. Their clothes aren’t off but the urgent way they’re grinding against each other is a dead giveaway as to what’s to come.

Legs trembling, you stumble back from the door. You shouldn’t have come. This was a mistake. You’re a fool.

You drunkenly stagger through the corridors, clinging to the walls each time you almost trip over your own feet.

You wind up slumped on some stairs, too inebriated to carry yourself much further. Your lids sag as you exhale. More hot tears spill down your cheeks. Your chest aches, a knife piercing through your heart as the memory of Annabel and Felix lost in the throes of passion fleets across your brain. Why are you even shocked? It’s not like you never caught Anabel leering at him while she thought you weren’t looking. And it’s not like Felix is some kind of saint. Still, you can’t help but feel massively betrayed. You thought you meant more to him. You thought they wouldn’t…not with each other.

When your eyes flutter open, you find a pair of intense cobalt orbs studying you.

“Oliver…” you mumble. In your drunken stupor, you don’t bother wondering how he got here, seemingly materializing from thin hair.

He hunkers in front of you. His scent tickles your nose and it twitches. The smell of his cologne is so strikingly reminiscent of the one Felix wears. A wave of emotion engulfs you. Sobs shake your frame as you shrink against the wall.

Oliver’s gaze rises to your weeping face as he questions, “Are you okay?”

“M’fine…” you slur, wiping your snotty nose. You must look a fright, a pathetic heap of tears aimlessly wandering the university corridors.

He tilts his head. “You don’t look fine.”

You consider Oliver. He is cute, which you noticed before. And in the dimly lit stairway, his blue eyes burn even brighter. You loathe that Felix is allowed to hurt you the way he did and can just…keep on. If your friends aren’t off-limits, why would his be?

You bat your lashes at Oliver.

“You got any alcohol?”

His lips curve upward as he rasps, “Would you like me to have alcohol?”

How did you end up there? The question keeps swirling in your head as Oliver’s mouth hungrily devours yours, his arm snaking around your waist to pull you closer. He trails fevered kisses down your neck and you squirm. As his teeth sink into the flesh at the crook of your neck, you let out a sharp cry. You tug on his dark locks and Oliver growls against your skin. The pain mixes with pleasure in your haze. His tongue then circles where he punctured your flesh, dragging slowly as an elated purr rises from his chest. His hard-on presses into your thigh. Alarm bells ring inside your mind.

It’s all a little too real, you realize. You got carried away. You draw back, pushing against his chest. “Oliver, wait…”

You might as well have said nothing, your words falling to unlistening ears as Oliver grabs your wrists and nudges you on the bed on your back. You peer up at him. Lust darkens his blue gaze, making him appear almost inhuman in the darkness.

Your mouth wobbles.

Pinning your wrists at your sides, Oliver kisses you senseless. Soon his lips are tracing a scorching path down your body, his hands moving to peel off your short skirt and panties.

His attentive gaze doesn’t leave yours as he sluggishly drags the tiny layer of lace down your legs.

His throat bobs when your bare cunt is exposed to him.

Biting his bottom lip, Oliver crawls his way to your core. Your legs quake. There is a strange glow in his eyes that sends chills down your back. 

“Oli-” you start, but the protest dwindles in a helpless whimper when Oiver buries his head between your thighs and flicks his tongue against your bundle of nerves. Oliver’s firm hands clasp around your thighs, keeping you in place when you attempt to close your legs. He greedily eats you out, fingers digging into your soft flesh. He suckles your tender button in his mouth and your eyes roll back. Your fingers get lost in his dark mane as your back arches against the sheets. Oliver’s feverish tongue sweeps around your folds and you grow weaker, slumping against the pillow. 

Quickly, stars dangle in your vision. Your fists tighten around the sheets while your legs turn to jelly. A long breath flows from your lips. 

You don’t remember ever coming that hard before, not even with Felix.

Tingles are still dancing over your legs as a sliver of clarity returns to you.

Oliver’s tongue slowly moves, collecting the remnants of your essence off his lips as a look of sheer bliss decorates his face. You shiver.

You try to move off the bed. “I think that’s enough,” you say, folding your knees.

Oliver’s mouth quirks lopsidedly. “Oh, we’re nowhere near done, luv.”

Much quicker than you, Oliver slithers his way up your body and cages you beneath his frame. He steals your lips in a hungry kiss, trapping your wrists above your head. His fingers are tight enough that you just know it’ll bruise. You taste your own bittersweet flavor on his tongue. His hand creeps under your shirt, groping your tits. He plants urgent pecks on your face, dragging his teeth along your jaw.

“Oliver, please…”  you beseech, shock making your voice shake.

He sinks a finger between your slick walls. Your stomach tightens.

Oliver releases your swollen lips and twists his finger inside your core. Your breath hitches.

He smiles down at you.

“But you’re gushing down there, luv. This is what you want.”

Your face warms. You hate that he’s right, that your body clings to him, making space you wish it didn’t…almost inviting his actions.

But Oliver’s mouth and hands are far too good at knowing which buttons to press to turn you into a whimpering mess. Shame pools in your gut as sharp keens leave your lips.

He pumps inside you at a steady pace, his thumb teasing your heap of sensitive nerves every once in a while, pressing until you cry out. He adds another finger and the air in your lungs falters. His hands feel everywhere at once, his teeth and mouth scattering marks all over your body.

He doesn’t stop until you clench around him, soaking his hand with your juices when you shatter with a high-pitched wail.

You crash over the pillows. Your body is still coming off the high. Half-lidded eyes blindly rise to the ceiling. Oliver yanking off his shirt and discarding his pants doesn’t register, not fully, the entire bottle of vodka you emptied before making your mind slow.

He’s suddenly inside you, his thick length splitting you apart as he places his forearms besides your head.

Your lips part in a quiet shout. It feels like if you might break, your walls aching as they stretch around him.

He begins to rail into you, each of his thrusts blunt and animalistic. As if he were possessed by some beast. You know it’s ludicrous. But as the lewd clapping of your damp skin against his rises each time he buries himself balls-deep inside you…it’s how you feel. Like a wild animal somehow broke free and started rutting into you.

Your head lolls against the pillows, your thoughts going blank every time he grazes your sweet spots. Your fingernails rake down his back. 

“Does Felix fuck you like this?” he rasps. He presses his chest against yours, his cock hitting an angle that draws a lengthy moan from you. A crooked smile ghosts over Oliver’s lips. “Or maybe more like this…” 

His warm breath fans over your earshell.

“Tell me luv… How do our cocks compare?”

When you don’t respond, he roughly shoves inside you, his fingers cinching around your windpipe. You gasp in horror, gaping at him through tear-filled eyes.

“Answer me,” he instructs, his voice deeper than before.

“Y-You’re bigger than he is,” you sputter, struggling to get the words out with his hand squeezing your throat. 

A peculiar blend of excitement and disappointment swims in his gaze when you answer.

You weakly claw at his chest, squirming beneath him. He doesn’t let you go, bending to shove his tongue in your mouth. He drags his tongue over your face, licking your hot tears. Sobs jostle your frame.

“Oliver, please,” you repeat.

He shushes you, framing your chin. His thumb follows the outline of your bottom lip, bleeding and swollen from all his rough kisses. 

“Stop fighting it. Be a good girl.” He showers tender pecks across your collarbone before softly whispering against your temple, “Or I’ll tell Felix everything. That you came onto me, begging me to fuck you.” His devilish smile sears into your skin. “I’ll tell him what a good little slut you were for me.”

Your stomach drops. Oliver collects your tears with his fingertips. He shoves his fingers in his mouth, emitting a throaty moan at the taste of your despair. He then dips those same fingers in your mouth, his pelvis snapping into yours.

“It’s beautiful, how much you love him,” Oliver mumbles, growing harder inside you as a fresh wave of tears brim beneath your lashes. “You’re beautiful. I can see why he always comes back.” He rests his forehead against yours, a mischievous smile dancing on his lips. 

“Maybe I’ll keep you for myself when this is all done.”

The awakening in the early morning is rude, the wicked headache and ache in your limbs reminding you of last night’s events right away. Strips of sunlight sneak between the curtains, caressing your face. The usually pleasant warmth does nothing to soothe your frayed nerves. Your stomach clenches as you peer at your side. Oliver’s completely naked, only wearing the silver chain always around his neck. His arm is lazily spread over your belly. You don’t dare move, fearing he’ll wake up. 

What would you even say?

This is a disaster. You somehow ended up in Oliver’s room and…had sex with him. 

You swallow a shaky sob as your gaze travels low. Your panties are torn, which you didn’t notice last night. At least your clothes can still be worn, lying in a messy heap at the bottom of the bed. Carefully, you writhe your way out of Oliver’s hold and grab your clothes. 

You hastily put your skirt and shirt back on, trying not to cry when you realize you’re going to have to walk back to your dorm without your knickers. Heat rushes to your cheeks. 

You toss a glance behind you, relieved when you find him still sleeping soundly. 

You climb off the bed. Your heart leaps when the mattress squeaks as you rise. 

Pulse quickening, you head for the door. 

Pain radiates through your lower body when you move. You stagger the rest of the way, constantly tugging on your short skirt as you pray not to encounter any strong gust of wind on the way back.

Before leaving,  you look back. 

Oliver’s still sprawled on his side on the bed but his eyes are wide open now. 

No word leaves his mouth as he studies you in silence.

A wide, lazy smile slowly unfans on his lips. 

Your blood turns to ice. Fumbling with the doorknob, you scurry outside the door.

Once you’re outside, you slam the door closed.

You dart panicked glances around the corridor. Relief fills you when you note that it’s empty. For now. It won’t be long before students start milling about.

You shamefully return to your dorm. The entire walk back, paranoia lurks at the edge of your mind. You keep wondering if every stranger you come across can tell what you did.

And you keep hoping not to run across anyone you know.

When you reach your bedroom, you lock the door. You make a beeline for the bathroom. You need a shower, expeditiously. Oliver’s smell still lingers on you. When you catch your disheveled reflection in the bathroom mirror, you’re shocked. You approach the mirror on unsteady legs. You crane your neck, your fingertips skimming over the two puncture wounds on your neck. A cool wave ripples down your back. It’s twisted. You feel like a character in a Polidori’s tale. Except this is reality somehow.

The one where you have to face the fact that you shagged your boyfriend’s new friend…and you’re not even entirely sure that you wanted it. Your mind throbs as you search through your memories. You changed your mind midway through. Oliver did not care.

Oliver did not care…

The ghastly realization has you keel over the toilet bowl to empty the meagre contents of your stomach. You slump to the floor and start quivering over the bathroom floor.

A sudden knock on your door has you rising from the floor.

Your heart skips a beat when you glance through the peephole.

“F-Felix?” you stutter, panic hitting a peak inside you.

His deep voice penetrates through the door.

“Hey, can we talk?” he asks. 

He sounds heartbroken, desperate. You almost unleash a sigh. You recognize this. You’ve been there before. This is a rollercoaster you can never get off of, the thrill when you’re high up entirely too intoxicating.

“Right now is not the best time.”

He heaves out a deep sigh. You can literally picture his kicked puppy expression, even with the door between you two. Your heartstrings flutter as you lean against the door. The craving to toss yourself in his arms wars with the sizzling betrayal still sitting in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck. Are you still mad at me?”

Swallowing the surge of tears, you reply, “No. Just feeling a bit rough. Had a tad too much to drink last night.”

“I could take care of you…”

You nibble your lip. It’s tempting. He’s done it before. Bought you pastries and showered you with kisses and cuddles until you got better. When he wants, Felix can be the perfect boyfriend. When he wants.

“No,” you say firmly. “What do you want, Felix?”

“Can’t you just let me in, just for a minute, babe?” His pleading inflection shatters your meek fences.

“The park. In two hours,” you concede. “I got microeconomics right now, can’t miss it.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

He’s overjoyed. You can’t bear it anymore. You race back to the bathroom as another wave of queasiness engulfs your insides.

Jittery steps lead you through the park as you rejoin him under an oak tree. You spent the last hour in class totally unfocused, your chest tight as you dreaded how this conversation would go.

“Felix,” you greet.

He wraps his arms around you. You remain still in his embrace, the distinctive scent of his cologne floating around you. You feel sick. Now it doesn’t remind you of Felix anymore.

“I really missed you.”

“Didn’t seem like it,” you mumble coolly.

His long exhale tickles your shoulder. “I know. I’m a wanker.”

“More like a selfish arsehole.”

His hold on you slackens as he draws back a little.

A look of hurt and shock covers his face. He isn’t used to you speaking to him so harshly. To him, you’ve only ever been sweet and forgiving. His brows crumple.

“I deserve that.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Listen I… I almost did something awful last night.”

“What thing?” You fiddle with the scarf around your neck. It’s the sole last minute resort you found to conceal the mark decorating your throat.

Of course you know exactly what thing Felix is referring to. You saw it with your own eyes, that thing. If it weren’t for that, you may not be a complete wreck today.

“Doesn’t matter, cause I stopped. It’s not who I want to be anymore.” He cups your face, warm brown gaze diving into yours. “You make me better.”

Words leave your mouth without forethought.

“Who was it this time?”

He hesitates, his jaw tensing. But beneath your heavy stare, he finally caves in.

“It was Annabel.”

“Oh.”

The knife inside your chest twists. It’s one thing to know, to have seen. It’s another to hear it confirmed from your boyfriend’s own mouth. Last night wasn’t some dragged out nightmare; it was reality. When you turn your head, Felix pivots it back to him. 

Sincerity vibrates in his tone. 

“I ended up kicking her out though.” He wipes the single tear that spills down your cheek. “All I could think about was you, the entire time.” He strokes your face. “You’re the only one for me, babe. This is the last time. I’ve never felt this way about anyone. Fuck…” 

You spot something you never heard in Felix’s voice before. Fear. And instantly, you break. 

He leans his forehead against yours.

“I love you,” he states.

You’re dumbstruck. Those words have crossed Felix’s lips at least a thousand times. He’s said them to so many, even strangers…but never to you. 

He came close a few times, but never has he been this clear, firm, his meaning unmistakable. Butterflies swarm your stomach. 

“I love you,” he repeats.

Felix plants a feverish kiss on your lips, leaving them tingling when he releases you. 

“I love you too,” you whisper as your hot breaths mingle.

A sunny smile breaks out on his face.

“No more lies from now on.”

A sinking feeling spreads through you, but you ignore it, returning his smile.

“No more lies,” you echo. Guilt eats at you the second you utter the words.

Felix’s attention veers from you as he waves at someone behind you.

“Hey, Ollie,” he shouts.

The air around you plummets to a few degrees. You go still against Felix, nudging a shaky smile onto your lips.

“I need to go to class,” you chime. 

You don’t even turn around, his presence alone sending your senses into alert.

Confusion scrunches Felix’s features.

“Your next class isn’t for another hour.”

You pat his chest, willing yourself to sound more cheerful than you feel.

“Just got some studying to catch up on beforehand.”

Felix’s fingers cling to yours as you try to leave. 

“I’ll see you tonight at the pub?”

“Sure.”

He doesn’t let you go until you give him another lengthy kiss. You’re uncomfortable, the weight of a certain somebody’s stare drilling holes into your back.

Things recede to relative normalcy, in some ways better than before, and in others worse. Better because of your relationship with Felix. It improves tremendously. He dotes on you more than he ever has, showering you with gifts and small attentions.

Worse because he’s still there, his unsettling presence the dark cloud over your rekindled romance. Each time you’re forced to be around him, there’s a knowing, smug glint dancing in his eyes, a subtle smile tugging his lips skywards. Perpetual fright eclipses your happiness, all because of Oliver Quick.

What if he told Felix everything? This was a mistake and you’re fairly sure you tried to stop it. You still have nightmares about that night, the way he held you down and wrapped his hand around your neck, stealing your air and ability to defend yourself.

You were helpless. Even letting Felix touch you is hard now, the memory of what Oliver did to you seeping through the cracks whenever you expect it least.

He branded you. And while the marks on your body may have faded, the ones engraved on your soul won’t vanish so easily.

It’s a blessing when Felix finally grows bored with him. You have no idea how it occurred. You simply know that they seem stitched at the hip for months then, suddenly, Oliver is gone. Felix shows up at group meetups without him and stops mentioning him altogether.

As if he took an eraser and wiped him from existence. Just like he did to Eddie back in the day.

You’re relieved…for an ephemeral while alas.

Oliver’s dad's abrupt passing changes everything overnight. 

Once more, Felix feels the need to be Oliver’s knight in shining armor. 

And once more the two of them are inseparable. Two peas in a pod.

You elect to take some distance. While you understand that Felix wants to help him, it doesn’t mean you have to. Thankfully, with summer fastly approaching, you won’t have to bear with Oliver Quick for much longer.

As usual, James and Elspeth urged you to come spend the summer at Saltburn, particularly Elspeth who couldn’t stop gushing about what a gorgeous couple you and Felix are. And while you may have tried to decline every other year, finding his family to be an awful lot, this year is different. This year, more than ever before, you long for an escape. 

Even the pits of hell would be a suitable vacation spot if it meant not having to run across Oliver Quick for two whole months. 

It’s a thrilling prospect. These days you can’t be around Felix as much because being around him means being around Oliver, and you just can’t do it. You look forward to having your boyfriend all to yourself. All day long, you dream about lazy afternoons by the pool and cloud-gazing in the grassy fields.

These are the balmy thoughts floating through your mind as you return to your dorm that day after classes end. A carefree smile decorates your face. You can’t wait to finish packing your suitcase. You saved every penny from your part-time job to buy a new swimsuit. And while it made a small dent in your savings, imagining Felix’s face the first time he’ll see you in it makes the tiny sacrifice worth it. 

But the smile on your lips dies when you cross the door to your bedroom. Your jaw drops, the stack of books in your hands crashing to the floor with a loud thud.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper. You shrink against the door, maintaining as wide a distance as the small room allows.

Oliver doesn’t even spare you a glance, casually lying on your bed with one knee bent like it’s his.

“Your taste in books. A bit of a letdown I gotta say, luv,” he says, flipping the yellowed pages of one of your favourite novels.

You lick your lips. “Look, I’m sorry about your dad…but you can’t be here.” He doesn’t leave your bed, engulfed in his reading. Your brows knit. “Get out of my room, Oliver,” you repeat, folding your arms as you approach the bed.

His cobalt gaze finally settles on you. He places the book on the night table, slow and unhurried as he gets to his feet.

Your pulse soars as he inches closer.

“Or what? You’ll scream?” he challenges. He circles you, gauging you in a way that summons a picture of a lion stalking its prey in your head. Your blood curdles when Oliver’s breath caresses your nape. “Then you’ll have to explain what I’m doing in your room and make a scene.” His voice lowers to a taunting rasp. “Do you want to make a scene?”

Your voice comes out shaky. “What do you want?”

Oliver takes a deep breath while placing his hands on your shoulders. His thumbs trace a slow path along the column of your neck. His lips graze your earshell.

“I want you to come over here, lie on this bed and spread your legs like a good girl for me.” You suck in a sharp breath. His fingers drag down your arm as he adds, “I’m feeling…peckish.”

When you don’t move, he releases a deep sigh. 

“...Or I can tell Felix everything.”

Your heart starts hammering in your chest. “What?” you exhale, spinning to face him. 

Oliver smiles. 

“You guys are great right now. He says you’re the best you’ve ever been. No more lies. No more secrets.” Oliver bends close to you, his smile expanding. “How do you think he’ll react when I tell him that we fucked…” He pauses and you hold your breath. “And that you’ve lied to him about your family this entire year.” 

Goosebumps spread across your flesh. You stumble back, your eyes practically bulging out of their sockets. “H-How do you know about that?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, Oliver takes small steps forward, causing you to retreat until the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress. He places his hands on each side of you. His  gaze traces the motion of your neck as you swallow the lump in your throat.

“I…It’s not the right time of the month right now,” you lamely offer. 

Oliver’s blue eyes rise as he sinks to his knees in front of you. Tingles bounce over your skin as he rolls your plaid skirt up your thighs.

“And you think it’s something I’m worried about?”

A moan tears from your throat when he buries two fingers inside your core without a warning.

“From now on when I tell you to spread your legs for me, you do as I say,” Oliver informs, his fingers curving inside you. You choke on your breath. “Don’t make me repeat myself. Do you understand?” The threat laced in his tone scatters ice in your veins.

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes, Oliver,” he corrects.

“Yes…Oliver,” you sputter, legs tensing as his digits reach deeper inside you.

“I’m sure it’ll be a summer to remember.”

Between uneven breaths, you stammer, “W-What do you mean?”

He strokes under your thigh absently.

“Oh didn’t Felix tell you?” He bends over you to whisper in your ear. “I’ve been invited to Saltburn, as a guest.”

When Oliver leans away, he’s smiling from ear to ear. Excitement sways in his cobalt orbs as he studies your crestfallen expression. 

“I know. I’m looking forward to it too.” 

[ollie-oxen-free]

didn’t try hard for a die hard

as it turns out i can write fairly quickly if i have no idea what’s going on and if nothing i write makes any sense and if its angsty/edgy

@paintys-actual-art this ones for u.......... you hot babey ;;;3

It’s the snarky comment that lets Fell know that he’s back. “Y’know, it’s rude not to die when someone attacks you.”

He’s still perched over Slim, has him pinned to the wet dirt of the ground with an attack and the majority of his weight, and he waits until he catches the glimmer of the other’s eyelights- shaky but stable, now, not jagged shapes- to let up the pressure, standing to his feet. He watches Slim stay where he’s laying, knowing that any part of him that may have been dry was slowly soaking the water from the ground, but he keeps an eye on him regardless, trying to ignore the way that his bones are vaguely aching from the fight.

It’s been entirely too long since he’s used magic in a fight, under a microscope like he is in his own universe, tiptoeing around anything that would be seen as more threatening than their mere presence, and it shows, a faint pain like a limb stretched too far. He rolls his shoulders in the sockets, trying to push away the feeling, as he glances back at the house, ignoring the few gashes in the ground and the plants that were torn from the roots from the small vegetable garden to the side. He knew Blue would be pissed, but it was nothing a small shovel and an hour or so of work couldn’t fix.

His gaze was more focused on the house, the yellow-tinted light through the windows and the glow it cast on the dark around them. Red appeared in the corner of one of the windows, walking by. He glanced out, finding his gaze and holding it for just a moment before the frame cut him from view. It was enough, though, that the others inside remained unaware.

A shuffle from behind him makes him snap his gaze back to where Slim was, having sat up, legs crossed and elbows resting on his knees, forearms limp, hands almost touching the ground.

Fell isn’t stupid, though, because he sees the thread of danger in his shoulders, eyelights virtually nonexistent. He has no idea what set the other off, knows that there’s a chance it was nothing, and had it not been for the universe they were in there was a chance he wouldn’t have even bothered to stop him.

It’s easier to think that, at least, because he has enough self-awareness to know he’d have followed after regardless.

Slim moves then, straightening for just a moment, bringing out the cigarette that he said he was going to smoke just a few minutes earlier when he left trailing that thread of danger and he followed, ignoring the look he knew he was getting from Red. He doesn’t smoke it, but puts the end in his mouth, gnawing on it hard enough that he had to be destroying the filter. A tremor shakes his body, quick and gone as soon as it comes, and he’s sitting still again.

“One of these days I’m gonna finally snap, y’know?”

“You have,” he says, taking a step forwards. Slim looks up at him like he might bite him if he comes too close, and he doesn’t really doubt it. “Many times. Yet you manage to impossibly drag yourself back together before it’s too late.”

It’s impressive, really. Slim can go on about his lack of control all he wants but he has more than he’s aware of. A Papyrus-thing, supposedly.

His sockets narrow like he’s trying to see something just out of eyesight before he chokes out something like a scoff and a laugh as he takes the cig from his mouth. “Damn. When you’re right you’re right.” He puts it back between his teeth, gripping it tight before yanking on it hard enough to break it in two. The filter between his teeth stays, but he throws the other half a few feet away. A mild frustration curls in his chest knowing that he’ll be the one to suffer the majority of Blue’s wrath over the mess of a yard.

“Why the fuck am I still alive?” It’s a hypothetical Slim states a lot, a touch of dramatic flare in the way he looks up to the sky.

Usually he ignores it, but this time he says, “Why aren’t you dead?”

Another pause. Slim glances at him sideways, and Fell knows he’s trying to diffuse the situation with humor but he’s had years of learning to work past that and so he doesn’t flinch when Slim gives him a mock salute, says “Touche, motherfucker.”

It’s quiet for a moment as Fell tries to decide if he really wants to start down this path. The answer, of course, is ‘no,’ but brashness is also a supposed universal constant and so he asks, “Do you plan to keep lying to them?”

Slim tenses, like he isn’t one of the easiest to read. “I have. No idea what you’re talking about.”

He raises a brow. “How long have you been back on them?”

Any more tension and he would break. Whatever humor was in his expression slides away until it’s just a blank anger, much easier to deal with. “It’s not your damn business.”

“Odd of you to say that, considering I’ve made it my business.”

Slim looks him dead in the eye as he pulls the filter out of his mouth, flicking it to land beside the other half. He knows, then, but it’s about the same level of annoying as when Frisk sticks their tongue out at him, so he continues to ignore it, walking forward until he can reach down, bunching the collar around his neck in his hand and pulling him up. The spikes on it dig into his palm but he ignores them, forcing Slim to his feet.

“How long,” he asks again. This time, Slim answers.

“A week? Week and a half?” He’s glaring at the ground when he says it, but his gaze quickly moves to meet his own, challenging.

It wasn’t hard to find out or recognize the signs. Slim’s not nearly as clever as he wishes he was. “You’re going to end up killing yourself.”

The glare flares for a moment, something stubborn. “Look, I don’t need your validation or approval or whatever it is you’re trying to give me. I’m quite happy with my life of dirty money and drugs.”

“Dirty money?” He says, raising a brow. Slim glares at him for a moment before he rolls his eyes.

“Fine. Just dirt. Dirt and drugs.” He reaches up and grabs his wrist, squeezing hard enough to hurt. He doesn’t let go, though, but pulls him closer, free hand reaching into his jacket and pulling out a small bag of white power that was tucked inside of his pocket. Fell looks down at it before looking back up at Slim. His expression was blank.

“There. Happy? Let me go.”

He waits for a moment before he does, throws the bag into his inventory and stares at Slim. He’s hunched over now, an angle that makes it easier to see the sunken spots under his eyes like bruises. A moment passes. Fell reaches out and takes the collar into his hand again.

Slim bristles, the same sort of movements he’s seen Fang do so many times before- it’s strangely easy to compare Slim to a feral cat- but this time he just loops two fingers under the worn leather, pulls it to the side enough that the other side touches his neck, and Slim relaxes.

“If you aren’t going to stop,” he says, glancing back towards the house, “you should learn to hide it better.”

Slim twitches at that because they both know he’s terrible at hiding things, so there’s really only one option. A heavy sigh leaves his mouth, one that shakes at the end, as he closes his sockets. “Right,” he mutters, skull tipping forwards ever so slightly.

It’s only then that he actually lets go, taking a step back and walking to the light of the house, pretending to miss the flash of something like disappointment cross Slim’s face.

When he walks through the door into the kitchen, Slim is right behind him.

[catthedrawer]

Smell the Flowers - Aconite (1/16)

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*This story will be very angsty*

**The following is a list of what will very likely be within the story, Smell the Flowers.**

***Please be sure to read through the warnings, you have been warned in advanced***

WARNINGS

Major Character Death(s)

Graphic depictions of violence

Mentions of suicide

Possible suicide(s)

Possible self-harm

Blood

Murder

Alcohol Use

Offensive “jokes” by Eric Cartman

Bunny (Butters x Kenny)

Fluff 

****NOTE: This story is NOT meant to offend or marginalize any individual or group. This story is just meant to break your heart in about 20+ ways (oof)****

*****Please tell me what you think, and what you think could be improved, regardless of whether you liked it or not. I want to make the entire story as best as I can*****

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You can also view this story on my Wattpad (CATtheDrawer) or Archive account (CATtheDrawer)

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[Table of Contents]   [Next]

Smell the Flowers

Title: Aconite

Words: 5455

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August 21, 201X

Change is impossible. It has taken me awhile, but I’ve come to realize this truth about the world.

People are like gardens, they have an assortment of beautiful flowers in the beginning. They’re nice, and pleasant to be around, but over time they reveal the truth beneath the illusion.  Over time, those flowers wilt, and over time, it is ugly thorns beneath the rotting petals that are the real garden they were growing.

While this might be mistaken as the person has changed over time, it is actually that the person reveals who they were from the start. They are no longer able to hide beneath the charade of petals and pleasant fragrances or the innocence of their childhoods.

But despite that, I used to try to see the good in others. Maybe I hoped if I did that, I could then see the good in myself, but with every shove, every punch, and every string cut loose, I realized how fragile and shallow bonds really were.

People hurt for the sake of hurting, friends become bullies, and insecurities surface. The flowers that once bloomed with beauty wither away and die. Time rots away the illusions and reveals those carefully hidden thorns.

Every punch is an invitation for retaliation, but hitting back means getting hit harder. The moment I swing the teachers are already on me. Reprimanding me. Punishing me. Blaming me.

I'm not allowed to fight back, I can only smile and take it.

“You're not the victim, you're the problem.”

“You're too sensitive.”

“You don't know how to take a joke.”

“A pussy.”

Butters looked up in confusion at his only friend Eric Cartman. He was the only guy in South Park that would help him out, minus against bullies. He told Butters many times, when he asked, that if he got injured then he wouldn’t be able to help Butter out when he really needed it. Butters used to be skeptic over the concept, but over time he thought it made sense, and he didn’t want his only friend getting hurt because of him.

“A what?” Butters responded.

Cartman dug his fingers into the bag of chips and spoke again, “You’re a pussy, that’s the problem,” he shoveled a handful of chips into his mouth and laid back against the brick wall of South Park High. The two of them were located at the back of the school, the place where drug users, smokers, goths, ditchers, and delinquents would hang out all throughout the day. Right now Eric and Butters were occupying a small portion of this “secret” area during their lunch break.

Butters was the only one standing, more like pacing in front of Eric, “I am? H-how do I fix that?” Butters stopped just a little to the right of Eric and fiddled with his fingers. Today was August 21st, 12 p.m. this was the first day of his life as a high schooler. He was a freshman, a teenager, practically a man his father called him. But Butters needed to shape up instead of being pushed around so much…another thing his father told him.

“Easy,” Eric smacked his lips and licked his fingers, “if you’re pushed around because you’re a pussy with no backbone, then grow a spine. Punch a few people, stand up for yourself, join the dickheads and then they won’t ignore you, they’ll applaud you, duh,” Eric rolled his eyes and crumpled up the empty bag of chips.

“Oh gee Eric,” Butters shrunk back, “If I do that, I’ll get grounded again—“

“Yeah, see, that’s what I’m talking about. That’s your vagina talking,” Eric pushed off from the wall and leaned forward, “That makes horny guys want to screw with you because you’re a tight-ass, little pussy,” Eric did a crude motion with his fingers to “demonstrate” the action he was talking about. Butters fidgeted uncomfortably.

“Be more assertive and guys are less likely to fuck with you—now, could you throw this bag away and buy me like three candy bars?”

“Oh, ok, sure thing Eric...Thanks for the advice,” Butters took Eric’s trash and left. If his problem were that simple Butters would have fixed it a long time ago. But he couldn’t just change in the ways Eric suggested, he didn’t have the guts to be that kind of person.

He wanted to be nice, he wanted to be helpful, though maybe that was the problem. Maybe people didn’t like nice guys like him or found nice guys like him weird. As everyone grew older, people appeared differently.

Take Stan Marsh, for example, Butters would count him as one of the many people he thought was a friend growing up. As a child, he was an avid advocate against his father’s drinking problem but is now currently an underage drinker that often snuck away to the back of the school for a quick cig and swig.

Butters knew what Stan was doing was wrong and tried to tell Stan it was many times in the past but in response, Butters nearly had a half bottle of beer thrown at his head.

It didn’t get better from there either, all throughout middle school his reality seemed to change. The once closeness held by all of his “friends” dissipated into nothing more than a memory. And he was the only one that seemed to want that memory back. No one else minded the change, the revelations of personalities, the loss of certain friendships. All of it just became a part of their new life as preteens, and would soon, now, become a part of their new lives as teenagers.

How that came to be never revealed itself, but I tried to change. Ever since we all hit middle school the world spun itself upside down, and I was at the very bottom of it.

I don’t think I deserved this isolation, I don’t think I ever did anything to make people avoid me.

Maybe I was just unlucky, the easiest punching bag, the guy nobody would care for and nobody would notice.  But even so, I don’t think I deserved the isolation and mistreatment sentenced upon me.

Nowadays, there is more power in the names you are called than the person you are and less power in forgiveness you serve than the hate you spread.

I was told I should join the same people that ridiculed me.  Essentially become what has tormented me since middle school if I wanted to avoid those negatives for the rest of my life, but I couldn’t see when and where the problem would be solved if I did that.

Yet, at one point, as I processed the idea, it almost seemed like the solution. If I did as Eric said, I could have more friends again, I wouldn’t be ignored, I could be happy. There was a fleeting joy in my heart, but there was also this disgusting rotting hate too. Hate at myself for considering and enjoying an idea so cruel.

Was this the real me? Was I actually someone cruel enough to entertain such an idea of hate?

Was I already like them?

On Butters way into the school, he passed by a trash can, just what he needed. Though he was surprised to see the trash can was already overflowing with trash despite it only being the first half of the first day of school The sight of all the half-eaten food with several flies buzzing around made Butters want to turn around and find a less empty trash can. Hell, the smell was more than enough to put him on the brink of tears, but Butters quickly tossed Eric’s chip bag into the pile and left rather quickly. He only looked back at the vile container to make sure his trash had successfully landed in the pile and had not fallen to the floor.

No, I wasn’t, I would say to myself. I did what I was told.

I’m not like them.

I am good

Tears splattered onto the notebook paper. His pen was poised just as he crushed the period onto the paper. The black splotch larger than it should be. A built-up rage stored in one tiny, black dot.

Butters took a moment to breathe, he lifted his head and stared at the dark blue ceiling. Though it appeared black given the lights in his room were off and he only had one small light illuminating his desk.

He let out a shaky sigh and tried to calm himself, he couldn’t do this now, not yet. He had to finish writing first, and then...and then could he let loose.

Butters pushed away from his bedroom desk, the headache building in his head did little to ease his grief and hate. He was supposed to be sleeping, but he had other plans for tonight.

Butters wiped the fresh tears with the sleeve of his pajamas. He glanced out his open window and shook his head, he needed to finish first. Butters’ fist tightened before he hesitantly sat back down in his chair and continued writing.

Of course even as I write that, I know the lie I attempt to spread about myself.

I hated the names. I hated the abuse, but more than anything, I hated the loneliness. To lose everyone I had ever talked with to this plague of isolation and distrust made me angry.

Why was I the one suffering? What had I done to deserve this?

When I am alone at home, I would often imagine terrible justice upon all those that left me. I’ve even written some of the things I hoped would happen in the many journals my therapist makes me write.

The world is rotting, and all the people in it have rotted.

Including myself.

Butters tore out the page of his journal and crumpled it in one hand. He gnawed on the cap of his pen to stop himself from screaming in frustration. Everything he wrote felt sour in his mouth and couldn’t convey the real anguish and feeling in his heart.

It was pissing him off.

August 21, 201X

I tore out the other page, I’m not supposed to do that. I’ll tape it back in later, but let me write this first.

Butters hummed a little tune he made up in his head. He still was unsure about Eric’s advice, only frowning when he considered the possibility of it being the solution to all his problems.

When he entered the school, there was a vending machine immediately to his left, he was glad it was so close by as he wasn’t used to the school building yet. It was different than the elementary school and middle school and he’d already gotten lost during the first ten minutes of the school day.

Butters stopped humming as he dug into his pocket for some loose change and dollar bills to buy the candy bars. He knew Eric liked Hershey Bars a lot and luckily he spotted one.

“Hey, get out of the way, dick,” Butters jumped.

“Oh gee,” he turned to look behind him, it was Craig, “I-I’m sorry, I’m just looking for my quarters, I’ll be quick,” Craig wasn’t terribly mean to him, but he didn’t talk to Butters either. As far as he knew, Craig was too busy with his boyfriend Tweek.

“Just get out of the way, I’m not in a good fucking mood,” Craig growled.

“Just give me a minute,” Butters pulled out four quarters, he just needed one more for the Hershey’s bar--

Butters was slammed against the vending machine, he gasped for breath and dropped all his quarters. From the corner of his vision he saw one of them roll underneath the machine, “I said fucking move, I don’t think I should have to repeat myself to a bitch like you…”

Butters shakily nodded, he was shocked. Sure Craig was short, but he was still intimidating and angry looking, but he had never once raised a fist against anyone unless they were threatening his boyfriend.

Craig released Butters and Butters ducked away from the machine. It terrified Butters, whatever pissed him off was now being released on him, and in these situations, Butters found it easiest to duck his head and follow orders.

Craig was at the machine for quite some time as he bought more than an armful of chips and candy bars, and for some reason, Butters didn’t think he planned on sharing any.

“I...I need to buy some candy bars, I’ll be qui--”

“Shut up and stand there, or go to the other machine at the other end of the school,” Craig interrupted him. Butters couldn’t do that, he still didn’t know his way around school, and it would take too long. Lunch would be over by then.

“B--”

“Do you know why I called you a bitch?” Craig turned to Butters, Butters shut his mouth and shook his head, “It’s because you’re Eric’s little bitch. Everyone knows it, and you know what else everyone knows,” Craig hissed.

“N-no?”

“Eric is only using you, so a word of advice, quit being his bitch for god’s sake. People might actually talk to you if you weren’t such a cock sucking bitch.”

Butter’s eyes widened as Craig collected his armful of food and turned to leave.  Butters shook off the stunned expression he had as Craig continued to walk, “Y-You’re wrong! E-Eric is my friend, he...he would never use me!”

“Ha! Go suck a dick,” Craig answered.

Butters hated how life had changed. He remembered the good times he had with Craig growing up, despite his cynical and monotone behavior, he’d always been someone Butters was glad to call a friend. Underneath it all, he was a good guy, but now…

Butters sighed, Craig was wrong.

This entry is my goodbye, but that seems sudden and unexpected.

I’m supposed to write more about my feelings on the events that occur in a single day, but there is nothing to really elaborate on. It is simple really.

I am angry. Betrayed.

Angry at myself for being so dumb and gullible, I really thought people could change. Even the worst person could grow to be better.

Even a guy like me still had a friend to rely on.

But even that was a lie.

“Dude, you’re a fucking dick,” Butters stopped walking. Lunch was nearly over and he was hurrying back to give Eric the candy bars he finally managed to buy. He was doing his best to put Craig’s words behind him, good friends would never doubt each other.

“No, you’re the fucking dick, don’t assume my intentions are anything but being a good friend to poor Butters.”

Butters pressed his back against the wall. He was pretty sure that was Stan talking to Eric.

“Quit the charity act you manipulative snake,” Stan scoffed.

“Hey! Butters is fine with it, he’s like my bitch dude, it’s cool. He’ll do whatever I say, no questions asked, like a dog wagging his tail for their owner, man,” Eric paused to cough, “Dude, can you..can you not smoke here in my face?”

There was a pause before Stan spoke up, “First, that’s just plain fucking slavery you fatass cunt, second, this is a free country and I’ll smoke wherever I please. Besides lunch is almost over and I don’t give a fuck about 5th period so I’m going to skip and smoke instead.”

“Hmph, hypocrite, smoking is illegal and you are wrong. I don’t own Butters, he just willingly does what I want. He wants to.” Eric commented smugly as if he caught Stan red-handed and beaten him at his own game.

Stan scoffed, “He wants to? Only because he thinks you’d do the same for him,” Stan’s words were followed by Eric coughing. Butters imagined Stan blew smoke into Eric’s face.

“Screw you man! I was here first, and I’m waiting for Butters to bring my candy bars!”

Butters stayed hidden, he couldn’t turn the corner just yet, Craig’s words made it impossible.

“I hope Butters finds out what a dick you really are, you deserve to rot alone.”

“Yeah?” Eric sneered, “And where is that loser supposed to go? If it wasn’t for me he’d probably be some depressed shit hanging from a noose in some dark alley--”

“Jesus fucking Christ! Do you even have a soul?” Butter couldn’t help but peek as Stan raised his voice. His eyes widened as he saw Stan toss his cigarette aside and grab Eric by his shirt, “Suicide is not a fucking joke, you’re stringing Butters along in a false friendship. You’re going to end up killing him you piece of shit.”

“It’s not murder if it’s suicide,” Eric calmly replied.

Stan tossed Eric to the ground and pulled out his pack of cigarettes from his pocket, “I wasted a cig because of you, so just get lost before your ugly face pisses me off more.”

“I’m still waiting for Butters,” Eric enunciated and emphasized every other word in a slow drawl.

Eric should die, he didn’t deserve all the good things that happened in his life.

People can’t change into better people.

People can’t change into worse people.

You are what you are from start to finish, a predetermined destiny of good or bad, and Eric was one of the bad.

I know that now. I hate it, but I can’t do anything about it, because it applies to me too. I am a fool for believing in Eric, but I’ve been a fool from the start and will be until the end. But more than that, I’m just as bad as Eric, and the two of us will continue to rot until we are the most despicable beings on the planet. It’s fate.

But I can fix that.

I can make things better, even if only for a moment.

Butters took a few steps back, the candy bars in his hands forgotten in an instant.

Had everything been a lie?

Butters head hurt, he stumbled backward and dropped the candy bars without realizing. He turned and ran away, where he was going, he didn’t know.

Everything he held onto was stripped away in an instant, his last hope, his last friend. Gone.

Butters was alone, truly alone. He had no one...or perhaps, he never had anyone to begin with.

Butters clumsily slammed into the trashcan he’d seen earlier, the tears in his eyes had made it damn near impossible for him to see. The rotting trash stained his clothes and dug its way under his nails but he pushed his way past the pungent smell and slimy banana peels.

Butters kept running. He kept pumping his legs and gasping for air.

He was falling.

A single moment seemed to last a lifetime.

The ground broke away and the world was stripped from his sense as everything faded.

He was isolated in a void of empty black.

“No,” Butters whispered. It was only because of Eric he hadn’t given up on the world. The guy who as a kid was less than kind, yet, seemed to change ever so slightly into someone Butters could call a friend. He was the only one that stuck by him. The only one that tolerated him.

It was like he was standing on a desolate field; a single withering flower was the only life that remained. And at that moment that Butters realized the emptiness of his life, the smallest breeze tore away the last few petals away.

Butters was alone, withered, and broken.

Butters cried.

Little kids are pure and dumb. They laugh and cry and laugh and play. Their joys seemingly infinite, their problems foolishly forgotten.

The things we do as children stay with us as memories.

I remember being welcomed into a small group of friends when I was younger, but I also remember being later rejected by them as they looked for someone better than me. As a kid these sorts of things are supposed to be harmless, yet, it still hurt to be rejected like that.

Maybe that was the start of all this crap.

I was just a kid at the time, but in my frustration, I made a silly costume and donned the name of Professor Chaos. I wanted revenge on the society that had wronged me, on the friends who had left me. But I never went farther than a garden hose made to flood the world.

However, after I started the 6th grade, I celebrated my birthday.

No one came.

I was angry, I know shouldn’t have gotten so worked up, there must’ve been a reason why everyone forgot. At the time I was irrational and needed an outlet, a little terrorism as Chaos.

Harassment.

But it didn’t stop there. More and more it seemed as though people began to avoid me.

Friends became strangers.

Harassment evolved into vandalism.

Strangers became bullies.

Vandalism escalated to thievery.

It was fun and there was no one around to stop me back then.

The sound of a blaring honk woke Butters from his fear. The desolate he thought he was trapped in melted to reveal the bumper of a bright red SUV.

“Dumb kid! Get out of the road!”

Butters faltered, his voice hitched in the back of the throat. The words he tried to speak felt strangled in his mouth. Instead, his fingers gripped the street as he pushed off and ran.

He ran until his breathing labored and his footsteps began to stagger. Going home was his only option, by now the school probably called his home because he ditched, so he'd be grounded regardless.

The extent of my bravado was theft, but now I don’t think it matters.

I’m already rotting.

“Butters! I just got a call from your school! You ditched your class!” As soon as Butters opened the door he was met with the menacing glare of his father. His mother was in the doorway of the kitchen glancing at him with concern.

Butters ducked his head and sucked in a large breath. He was still reeling from all the running.

“It's your first day of high school! What do you have to say for yourself.”

Butters hesitated, this was always an invitation for ridicule, but his heart hurt so much he couldn't help the sudden onslaught of fresh tears.

For a moment the tension seemed to lessen and Butters looked up at his dad. His dad’s eyes softened.

“Go to your room mister, you’re grounded. Spend this time reflecting on your poor actions and write in your journal.”

“Y-yes dad,” Butters answered.

I made a list when I was younger. A list of all the people I thought were jerks. I wanted to keep note of all the people who made me angry, even though, I could do nothing to them physically during the day my alter-ego could at night. Even if it was as small as stealing their PS controller or drawing weiners on their homes.

I was fine with that. It helped me level with the world.

But I’ve made a new list. A list where Eric Cartman was the sole name on the list.

A “list” now of a person who I wish would disappear. A person who will disappear.

Butters curled up into his bed. It was still mid-afternoon so he couldn’t sleep. He just curled up and let tears slip out into a messy wet spot on his covers. He didn’t make a sound, it was almost like he had died.

He was finally alone. He had no one he could turn to now.

He had nothing left.

A guy with no future, no hope, no love.

Butters squeezed his eyes shut and hugged his knees close to his chest and choked back the noisy sobs he wanted to make. He couldn’t make a sound, this was his problem and his alone.

“Why…” he whimpered to no one but himself, he was, after all, alone.

He was back to the desolate field of empty happiness and meaningless promises. He was back to the never-ending loneliness that plagued his nightmares, his sole fear in life a reality. He felt sick to his stomach as it felt like someone had taken a stick and decided to churn and mix up his insides.

Butters stopped crying. He stopped whimpering. He opened his eyes and there was a twisted fire in them. A maddening desire lit inside his soul.

He had nothing left, he had no reason to hold back the carefully hidden cruelty behind his own fists.

Butters crawled off his bed and kneeled on the floor.

There was no longer a need to lie to himself, no longer a need to pretend he was good. He was bad. He was rotten.

Butters extended his arm underneath his bed and winced as he felt the ground until his fingertips lightly brushed a box.

He was angry. He was full of an unexplained hate.

With both arms, he reached for the box and pulled it closer. He then pried the lid off the top of the box and tossed it aside.

He was Chaos.

People don’t change, they grow more into the roles they were meant to hold.

Just like Eric’s, his thorns were fully exposed for the world to see.

Eric is a backstabbing, shell of a human. That will never change, but even someone like me can make the world a little brighter. All he had to do was…

Chaos stalked the small town streets, his mind was practically empty. He was running on pure hate and an empty stomach alone. He had only one thought in his head.

Kill Eric Cartman.

Underneath his helmet, his eyes were red from crying. His hands were numb from writing and rewriting in his journal at home. This was his final stand as Chaos, and he hoped that the world would at least bless him with this one miracle, this one chance to rid the world of two evils.

Chaos pushed open the door to the store.

“What can I do for ya!” Chaos noticed the flicker of confusion that crossed the owner’s eyes as he saw the way he was dressed, but he was quick to shrug it off. Chaos felt a sudden shiver, a sudden urge to turn around and forget he ever had the idea, but his legs continued moving forward.

“I...I need a gun,” As much as he would like to strangle Eric himself or even stab him to death, he doubted he’d get very far before Eric overpowered him. The sooner he could kill Eric, the better, no chance for error.

“Sure thing, any specifics?” The man behind the counter was called Jimbo, he was the half-uncle to Stan Marsh.

Chaos felt his heart racing, he was doing it, he would do it, “A handgun?”

Kill Eric Cartman.

He needed to keep that mantra in his head, remember why he was doing this, remember everything he’d done to him. He could do it.

Chaos watched as Jimbo picked out a gun rather quickly and brought out a small and slim gun of black color. He placed it on the counter, “How about this lovely Glock G43…” Chaos drowned out the rest of Jimbo’s description.

He picked it up without thinking, for some reason, there was no more fear or hesitation in his heart when he held the sleek frame of the gun. The object itself seemed to urge him onwards towards his goal. The smallest smile crept onto his face.

Kill Eric Cartman.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Jimbo place several full magazines on the counter.

“This here is the ammo, the 9mm Luger designed by Georg Luger. You have a small little button on the side of your gun, the magazine release, that will allow you to reload. This weapon is an excellent choice for self-defense and easily concealed.”

Chaos reached for the magazine but a hand stopped him, “Whoa there buddy, you haven't even paid yet.”

Chaos glared at him, “I need it,” he said. He was so close. He gritted his teeth and paused, for a moment, he loosened up and was about to place the gun back on the counter. Jimbo eased up and in that second his fist flew to meet Jimbo’s chin.

Jimbo stumbled back in shock. Chaos fumbled with the magazines before grabbing a few and running.

Kill Eric Cartman. Kill Eric Cartman.

“Hey, you costume freak, get back here you piece of shit!” Chaos ignored him and shoved the magazines into his pocket. Now he just needed to make it to Eric's house before...before he ran into him.

No doubt the moment the police report came in he would be looking for him.

I've given up on this world and the people in it. I never really saw myself in a good light, but I always had someone that made me feel worth something…

Of course...all that has been stripped away. If I could take out every asshole in the world, I would. Then maybe I will have done some good for everyone here.

But I only have one chance for one person.

I’m sorry dad for being a terrible son.

I’m sorry mom for being a disappointment.

I’ve let everyone down to the point they’ve left me and instead of manning up I was a coward and did crime.

I’ve accepted my role in this world and will live it until the last.

Chaos was shaking as he walked. He stole a gun, never before had he done something so insane, but here he was. He could hardly focus and it felt like his chest was going to burst due to how hard his heart beat inside his body.

Kill Eric Cartman.

Kill Eric Cartman.

Kill--

Chaos looked up as he stumbled through the street. The moon looked so very nice with all the stars surrounding it. He shivered at the slight breeze, he wanted to take in this sight one last time. Even though he has walked these streets so many times, it never felt this fresh and new to him before.

Chaos stiffed as he heard a gasp in front of him. His eyes widened and he looked down towards the street, a woman was standing there with her hand’s over her mouth. Her eyes were fixated on him--no, on the gun.

The woman took a few steps back, “W-wait, stop.” He took a step forward but she spun around and rain dropping her bag in the process.

“Stop!” Chaos chased after her, but his feet caught on each other and he slammed down into the ground, “No!” Chaos raised his gun; he didn’t have a choice. It was all for the greater good, there was no reason to doubt himself now.

The gun clicked and Chaos realized he never loaded it. He cursed and pushed himself up and ran after her. He could still see her, he couldn’t let her report him. He couldn’t let himself be found yet, not yet. He was so close. So close.

Chaos fumbled to load his gun. He dropped one magazine in the process but kept running, “Dammit!”

“Stop running!” He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this. He just…

Butters bit back a sob and raised his gun again. He fired.

There was a scream and Chaos stopped, he trembled and stepped back. The woman was sobbing as she limped away. Chaos turned away and ran into the nearest alley.

“No!” he screamed underneath the casted shadows in the alley.  His body slammed against the brick wall and he dropped the gun. It thudded on the ground, what had he done? He...shot...someone. It wasn’t even Eric! It wasn’t even himself! How could he let himself do that?

Chaos screamed, turned, and punched the brick wall he slammed into. Once. Twice. Thre--he stopped before the third time. His knuckles were scraped and bleeding, his body shook uncontrollably. Tears splattered onto his other hand and Chaos looked down. Even though only one hand was bleeding he felt as though both hands were covered in it. His knuckles were almost glowing white because of how tightly he clenched his fists.

He was bad. He was truly bad and it was unforgivable.

There was a thud and Chaos stiffened; he spun to face the sound. He took one step towards the sound and stopped.

In a world of rot, there are no pretty flowers to smell. There is only the trash left behind.

-Butters Stotch

“A gun, huh? Didn’t peg you as a killer, Chaos.”

I really hope you all enjoyed this and keep an eye out for the future updates. These chapters do take a bit of time to write (this one went through 2 drafts before being completed in 1.5 weeks or so)

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