Page 74 of Obsessed Kings

We each chug three beers in a row. Brock had a drinking problem sophomore year, so he’s really good at chugging. He conquered his drinking problem by only drinking after practice.

By the time we’re shitfaced, we’re ready to go after some more mob bosses in the game. This time, I’m in the lead in terms of kills. Brock and Rook try to catch up, but they can’t. They’re so pathetic. "You two are the Jackos of this game."

"How dare you." Brock isn’t asking a question, he’s making a statement.

Tough shit.

"You couldn’t kill as many hoes as me if you tried."

Rook kills five hoes in a row to prove me wrong. "There."

"Nice try." In the same amount of time, I’ve killed seven more hoes. They slice in two with each swish of my knife and burst into blood. I love watching their whore bodies release their spirits that go straight to Hell. When you’ve taken that much cock in your life, God doesn’t let you into the pearly gates. Satan needs to see what that pussy can do. He gets priority.

"You’re killing too many hoes." Brock pushes out a snarl.

"That’s because I have an abyss for a soul and a black hole for a heart."

My friends know how dark and deadly I am.

What they don’t know is that I’m also deep.

This is top secret, so if anyone blabs about this, I’ll legit kill them.

I write dark poetry in my spare time.

There’s a notebook I picked up on a trip to Paris sophomore year of college.

In this dumbass French lit class, we were instructed to write poetry to let out our emotions.

I did it.

I’ve actually submitted poems to literary journals.

One was accepted.

I’m a monster. A football star. A brutal man. And a poet on the side.

I keep this on the hush hush because the last thing I need is for bitches to go even crazier for my cock.

"You three keep playing." Throwing my controller down, I retreat to my bedroom and grab my notebook.

"What are you doing?"

"Let’s just say that I’m thinking about Olivia."

My friends assume I’m beating my cock.

Strangling it while violent fantasies consume my mind.

Not the case.

I pick up my pen and write Olivia the most depraved poem.

TWENTY

OLIVIA

Nate:I miss you, stepsis <3

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