Page 199 of Vicious Saint
Drawing them. Wearing them.
Maybe even wanting one to replace me.
Thoughts turn to images: specifically of Hendrix getting swept away by your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, turning me into the first homicidal maniac looking to murder a fictional character.
There’s something raw and excruciating taking over, slicing me open from the inside out. The pain is so foreign I can’t comprehend what to do with it…other than try to replace it.
Gripping Coby by the nape of his neck, I crush our foreheads together, screaming demands for him to hit me.
Push me.
Fucking kill me at this point.
Anything to take me out of the misery I never thought I’d be in from missing a handsy little brat.
Coby takes me up on the offer with a shove and knuckles to my jaw. I welcome the sting from that shit with open arms and a bloody smile.
More.
Fuckingmore.
My heart beats like a war drum in my chest with his uppercut to my chin, allowing him to continue with shots to my ribs, face, and head.
Then, when the physical pain finally outweighs the invisible, I unleash the fury that ends with Coby unconscious at my feet.
“A bit much, don’t you think?” Levi questions with a raised brow as I drop next to him in the pew.
“Fuck off.”
He lets out an amused huff, then returns his attention to some blonde as I watch Coby get dragged out of the ring.
Money’s passed around in both victory and annoyance, feeling no pity on the idiots who were stupid enough to wager against me. Gunner’s already collecting the next bets by the time I clean the blood off my hands and busted lip.
I’m flicking a lighter to the blunt I rolled earlier when Levi takes a break from sucking face.
“Wanna take these girls back to the room?”
Sex and anarchy have always gone hand in glove when I’m riled like this. One, two, three, even four girls at a time.
Violence for a meal, endless pussy for dessert.
But not tonight.
Or the days prior, when Levi would saddle up bitches eager to suck and fuck us dry. The traitorous steed in my pants wanted nothing to do with anyone lacking feisty green eyes and a permanent scowl.
So I settled for watching drunk college chicks getting each other off. Cursing my dick for only twitching to life when I was picturing Hendrix.
Speaking of watching: I’ve got eyes for nothing except my phone, not even blondie’s blonder friend parking next to me, whose hand is sliding behind the leg of my shorts.
And now her tongue in my ear.
“Whaddya say, bro? I think Matilda likes you.”
I shove Matildaoff me by her caked up Maybelline face.
“Not in the mood.”
“Abstaining again?” He whistles. “Damn. This girl must’ve done a number on you.”
