Page 44 of Wrath

It takes me a second to realize what he’s saying. After that, a moment to find words. "That's fucked up, you know. That’s…just wrong."

He snorts as he throws his car door open. "Yeah? Not everybody gives a shit."

When I get inside, he’s nowhere in sight. I assume he successfully dodged my mom, because she comes into the foyer as I hang my backpack on the hook, and she’s clearly in greeting mode.

“Hi, honey. How was your day?”

I frown at the tiny plastic bag of screws and small parts she’s holding.

“I’m assembling a new bookshelf for Ezra,” she says.

“Really?”

“Well, he needs a good one. I talked with him the other day about reading, and he likes all the classics. He said he left most of his books at his mother’s, but every student needs a bookshelf.” She smiles. “How was your first day of school, honey?”

I tell my mom it was great. I don’t tell her a damn thing about dickface.

“Have you seen Ezra?” she asks.

“Pretty sure he went straight upstairs.”

“Surely he must need some sort of after school snack…”

“He might be showering from football. I think they had a hard practice.”

“Well that’s not very first-day like, is it?”

Yada yada—she asks a few more questions, and I quickly answer—and then I’m heading upstairs, eager to see if dickface keeled over before he got to his room. I find his door locked, along with the bathroom door on my side.

Motherfucker.

I go back to his bedroom door and knock a few times. “If you shut yourself up in there, I’m telling them. I don’t care what you do.”

That’s when I hear the distant sound of someone puking.

Ohhh.

I go to my bathroom door.

“Hey, angel face.” I press my mouth into the crack between the door and door jam. “You okay in there?”

I think I can hear him breathing. Then the sink is running. A minute or so later, he turns on the shower.

“Tell me you’re okay, and I’ll fuck off.”

Annnd ofcoursehe doesn’t. This prick never makes it easy.

I pick the lock with a clothes hanger and stand there at the door, trying to decide what to do. I have to either tell my mom or check on him. He might be fine and just a stubborn ass, but what if he passed out or something?

I knock one more time, and then I open the door.

I find him standing on the bathmat wearing nothing but a tan line. For a long second, I can’t even get my eyes to blink. He’s long and lean and built and…long. Jesus, he’s hung like a bull. I realize he’s scowling like one, too.

“Take a picture, DG.” His voice sounds hoarse. He wraps a hand around his cock, which only makes my dick get stiffer. “Or maybe you’d rather draw one.”

He’s sneering at me again, but he looks like shit. His hair andface are wet, as if he just splashed them in the sink, his eyelids heavy like he’s half asleep.

Still, I’m not letting him pick at me again. I make sure my voice is firm as I say, “I came in to check on you, you chickenshit.”

---