Page 6 of Love is Angry

I close my eyes, remembering the glint of her silver locket hanging from her neck and the texture of her black pantyhose under the study lights. It gets harder to concentrate whenever I’m around her, but the real hardon comes when she starts talking.

She’s the brightest woman I have ever met. Her mind is a fucking whip, lashing and licking at everything, crazy fast. She recites entire passages from books from memory, and she’s a living, walking calendar.

I’m pretty sure she’d slide right into Mensa if she tried, but Madison is more interested in archaeology and anthropology.

Thoughts of her still swarm my mind when I reach the top floor. After the day I’ve had, I’m understandably exhausted. So much so that even the shower feels like too much hard work.

“How did I even make it back home from practice without collapsing?” I grunt.

The ice rink was a fucking battleground today. Dustin might have a bone to pick with me, but he chose the wrong place to do it. I’m the Frost King in that school. Nobody takes me down on ice. Dustin learned that the hard way, but not without ramming into me a couple of times. He’s a big fucker, too, so every tackle felt like the equivalent of an elephant stampede. Only a fool would think that his tackles didn’t come with a vengeance. He’s got the hots for Madison and seeing the way she reacted to my presence during the last group study on Native American history…well, if I was in his shoes, I’d be pissed too.

The only question is, why the hell did she recoil after I kissed her earlier?

A muffled grunt comes out of my parents’ bedroom just as I walk past it. The sound stops me in my tracks, mainly becauseit’s accompanied by a familiar fragrance. A faint hint of lilac that doesn’t belong up here.

There’s rhythmic thumping, too and I don’t quite know what to make of it. Hell, I try not to make a damn thing of it. But, the fact of the matter is, I already know what it is. Slowly, I get closer to the door. Closer to the sound of my father’s grunts. My stomach twists.

Mom’s not home. I am aware of his escapades and debauchery, in general. His late nights, his second cell phone. Hell, I’ve sat only a few feet away from the bastard when he caught the eye of a pretty little thing at the bar.

My father is the kind of man who leaves his teenage son to dine by himself on his birthday, while he chases a piece of ass that he later refers to as ‘business’. His business, yes. And I try not to make it any of mine. But right now, I’m fucking appalled. It’s one thing to fuck around in a suite at the Hilton, it’s a whole other thing bringing this filthy shit home.

I crack the bedroom door open and move into the frame.

My heart stops.

And I almost swallow my fucking tongue.

My dad is at the foot of the bed, pounding into a girl with long, smooth legs, covered from foot to knee in…biker boots. Biker boots that are firmly planted into the soft grey carpet. Biker books I know like the back of my hand.

I swallow hard, stuck in time as I take in the pantyhose and panties stretched around this girl’s knees. I don’t breathe as I work my way up, praying that it’s not Madison. Praying that by some fucked up coincidence whoever this whore is just happened to buy the same damn boots Madison was wearing earlier. But the more I see, the more it’s hard to convince myself that it’s not her.

My father steadies his grip, fucking into her hard, one hand pinning the back of her neck down while the other clamps herass cheek hard. He thrusts into her with all his strength, forcing moan after moan out of her and into the satin bedsheets my mother brought back from her trip to Paris.

Madison’s dress is rolled up around her waist and her pale flesh jiggles with every thrust. My father roams his hand over her ass before slipping it under her belly and down under, stroking her pussy while he fucks her even harder.

I’m left staring, bile gathering in my throat as my whole world begins to fall apart, chunk by chunk. Madison’s eyes find mine, and we’re locked on one another for what feels like an eternity. I see nothing in them, nothing but vacant green while her cheeks burn red and her moans intensify.

“That’s right, baby, come for daddy,” my father growls as he’s about to reach his peak, too. His pants are down, but he’s still wearing his shirt and tie, ever the fucking professional.

The sight of them makes me sick, yet it takes me forever to peel my eyes off them, even as I back away from the door.

Finally, I’m a few feet removed from that room.

Rage is quick to come, and I’m a volcano that is about to explode.

How could she do this?

When did my father get to her?

Right in the beginning? Just recently? How fucking long has this been going on for?

Madison has been coming here for a few months, already… but I don’t remember them ever meeting for more than a minute or two. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there were signs, and I didn’t see anything because I didn’t want to see anything.

Because I deluded myself into thinking that as naughty as I wanted her to be with me, she was a decent fucking girl.

What a fuckwit I’ve been.

But what exactly does that make Madison? She knows who he is. She knows my mother. My mother fucking likes her. Apart of me wonders how she must have felt seeing me just now, looking into my eyes while my father’s cock filled her up nice and good. Shit, I think I’m gonna puke.

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