Taint(54)

“What do you want, Allison?”

She hesitates, looking around the room to stall. I turn back around and begin to make my way to the bedroom. “Let yourself out.”

“Wait,” she calls out. “I just…please, Justice. I can’t leave things like this.”

I face her with a huff, my annoyance as palpable as the friction hanging between us. “Like what?”

“I know I hurt you and-”

“I’m not hurt.”

“Oh.” She looks surprised, like she expected to have wounded me. Like she just knew that she was that fucking important to my happiness. She nods as if she’s just realizing that she isn’t. Not even close. “Well, I know I shouldn’t have led you on to believe we…that there could be more than friendship between us.”

I take a step toward her, a mocking smirk on my lips. “Is that what you thought it was?”

“What do you mean?” she frowns.

“What—you thought I was your friend? You thought I actually liked you? That I wanted us to grow into something more?” I laugh sardonically, the sound harsh and too loud even to my own ears. “Allison, you are a client. An obligation. Not my friend. I don’t have friends, and if I did, I surely wouldn’t seek one in you.”

“What?”

I move in fast, anger and aggravation guiding each step, until I’m a meager inch from her face. Fear sparks those turquoise eyes and she gasps in surprise, those soft, sweet lips trembling. I imagine biting them, sucking them into my mouth and tasting that trepidation.

“Did I fucking stutter? You’re not my friend, and you never will be. Are you friends with your maids? Your driver? The person that walks your rat of a fucking dog and picks up its shit? You paid me for a service, and I provided it. End of story.”

She finally finds the good sense to take a step back, disgust etched in that beautifully blemished face. “Why are you acting like this? How can you say that we were never friends, Justice? I told you things. Personal things. And you acted like you genuinely cared. You were so attentive and nice-”

“Nice? Nice?” I shout, the sound piercing my cranium. The pain is nothing compared to the ache spreading in that cold, hollow space in my chest. The space the sun no longer touches. “I’m not fucking nice, Ally. Ain’t shit nice about me.”

She squints like she’s just now seeing me for the very first time. “So it seems.”

“Good.” I turn back around, expecting to feel triumphant. Yet, that empty ache just keeps spreading until it’s in my throat, choking me. I can barely breathe, but I can’t let her see that. I can’t show her what she’s done to me… what she’s doing to me now. “You can leave,” I croak, through the pressure on my vocal cords.

I stand stock-still until I hear the click of the door behind me. I exhale, releasing a sound that’s too broken and ragged to have possibly come from me. I don’t feel like myself. I feel like an imposter has crawled its way into my body, sheathed my skin, and controlled my bones like shifting gears. He said those things to Ally, not me. Yet I’m the one left with the fallout.

The pressure in my chest and throat rage on like rising bile, and I work to strip off my clothing, desperate to wash away the remains of her on my body. The water in the shower is hot, but I don’t feel it. I don’t feel anything, yet everything all at once, emotion and sensation overwhelming me to the point of numbing pain. It’s all too much to digest, all too much to keep perfectly contained under my cloak of detachment. I’m failing at the one thing I’ve always done so well—not giving a fuck.

I taste salt in the water that sprays over my face, as another broken sound heaves from my throat. I lean up against the shower wall to prepare to be sick, although the discord isn’t in my stomach. I slam my fist against the slickened tile and choke out a frustrated curse. I need relief. I’m breaking from the inside out, and if I don’t purge this sickness from my body, it’ll consume me like a cancer.

I run my fingers over my length and watch through blurry eyes as it awakens at my command. It hardens almost instantly, and I exhale with relief at the first stroke of my hand. It feels good, almost good enough to eclipse the pressure in other regions of my body. Eager to chase that feeling, I cup my heavy balls with my other hand and a deep, throaty moan escapes me. I close my eyes and give myself over to pleasure and nothing else.

My strokes grow urgent and desperate, and I pant loudly with painful exertion. I feel relief closing in, shooting from the base of my spine and infecting my muscles with white heat. Sensation prickles my thighs and crawls its way to my groin. It sinks into my balls and tightens into a hot, throbbing knot, stealing every ounce of strength from my body in preparation for release.