Page 16 of The Bitterness of Venom

“You’re going to suck my cock like a good little slut.”

I ball my fists, ready to swing, but he captures them,flipping my body so I’m pressed up against the wall. My arms behind my back the only barriers between our bodies. I feel plastic around my wrist. The whooshing sound of a zip tie, I assume. It gets tightened, cutting into my skin. He spins me back around, pushing my head until I fall to my knees before his feet.

He unzips his pants and I close my eyes, ignoring the velvet of the head of his cock as he runs it over my lips. “Open, or we’ll have a repeat of earlier.”

Slowly, I open my lips and he thrusts his dick into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat. I choke, saliva coating his cock as tears sting my eyes. “Eyes on me,” he growls, and my eyes snap open.

I feel my tears drip down my cheeks as I stare up at him. Like a peasant at his feet. He smiles down at me. Actually smiles as he pulls back before thrusting back in. “You take my cock down your pretty little throat so perfectly.”

I’m going to bite him.

As if reading my thoughts, he tsks, punctuating each word with a hard thrust to the back of my throat. “Don’t fucking bite me, Freckles. I’ll fuck you up.”

And I know he means it.

My tears flow faster, drool falling down my lips and onto my thighs as he fucks my mouth. I choke and sob around his length, keeping my blurry gaze on his face. Pressing my thighs closer together to ease the ache I feel at the sound of his groan. I watch the lust cloud his eyes before he’s shooting his cum down my throat. I didn’t even think about it, I swallow.

And when he’s done, zipping his pants up and peering down at me like I’m trash, I feel ashamed. He plucks a knife from his pocket, motioning me to get up. I stand and he reaches around my back, nicking my wrist with the knife as he sets me free. I rub them together, glaring up at him as he pulls something from his wallet. He grins at me, crowding meinto the brick wall and patting my cheek not so gently as he tucks something between my breasts underneath my uniform shirt.

I watch him leave, my barely contained anger causing me to shake. I pluck the paper from my breast, my cheeks heating when I see it’s a five-dollar bill. And that’s what he thinks I’m worth.

Five fucking dollars.

I humas I walk home late that night, looking for a blacked-out SUV, but it seems I’m in the clear tonight. It’s a nice night, peaceful, but I’m feeling anything but. I pat inside my purse as I see Desmond’s Range Rover, and my hand curls around my dagger. I accidentally drag it across his precious car. Leaving a nasty, deep scratch into the paint.

But that scratch will never amount to the damage he’s done to my pride.

TEN

She needs practice.

That little scratch can be buffed out and painted before the weekend.

I should be mad.

Instead, I’m amused.

Amused she thinks scratching my car would bother me in the slightest. As if I’ve ever given a fuck about materialistic things. Sure, when I was a child I loved toys, presents. Until I realized they came instead of love and apologies. We can thank my parentsfor that.

I learned at a young age that things don’t mean shit. Actions speak, and that’s why I’m going to ruin my little doll.

Looks like she wants to play anyway.

I block the thoughts out as I set up in the net. Getting in the perfect position. Some say being a goalie is easy, but according to the internet, in hockey the goaltender has the second hardest position in all sports combined. You have to be fast; concentration is key. I know I’m on my game when I only have to move an inch or two in either direction to make a save. And we won’t even get into the mental capacity of how much of a pussy you can’t be when a puck flies eighty miles per hour plus in your direction.

My face hurts from the broken nose I have but I don’t allow that to distract me. Elisha slaps the puck to Ben, who fakes a pass to Jasper, only to send it into the net. It’s child’s play at best. We all know I don’t watch the hockey sticks. I focus on the puck the entire time, which is why I’m the best goalie in the NCAA Division One.

Practice becomes boring, I wish they’d give me a real challenge. I could block shit all day. Catch pucks with my eyes closed. I’m relieved when the whistle blows and we’re dismissed for the day.

Jasper shoulder checks me on the way to the locker room, but I pay him no mind. I have something much more exciting to worry about than crushing his model-like face.

ELEVEN

I expectretaliation or at least some form of acknowledgement that I keyed his car. But it never comes. Which leaves me feeling scared and vulnerable. Two emotions I don’t particularly care for.

I glide across the wooden roller rink, the disco ball lights bouncing off my skin. The slow song is a vibe, leaving goosebumps all over my skin. I saw a picture of my mom when I was younger. She was in a roller rink, skating with a huge smile on her face. Maybe that’s why I’ve taken a liking to it. She wasn’t the best mom, but I believe she tried, andshe loved me in her own way. People often don’t understand addiction. The way some use it as a mask to hide the demons they fight. A coping mechanism to deal with trauma. An alternate reality to the one they face every day. I don’t know what my mom was running from, but I… I get it to an extent. The need to paint a mask to keep the world at bay.

On another note… I could never. I could never choose substances over my child. Never. I’ll never understand how my love for her wasn’t enough, but it wasn’t.Iwasn’t. Maybe she thought it was the only way, but I wish she were here so I could tell her it wasn’t. That I am enough. That addiction is a sickness and can be treated.

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