Page 101 of Satan's Spawn
The smile spreading his lips is all but sweet as he says, “How do you feel about being friends?”
19
CRAYTON
Running a hand over Rebecca’s desk, I do my best not to disturb any of her things as I look around.
The pens, the notebooks, even the staplers are perfectly arranged over a daily planner, which is covered in tiny Post-its with daily reminders written on them.
6 a.m. wakeup
6:15 a.m. make the bed
6:30 a.m. meditate
6:45 a.m. shower (don’t forget your caddy again)
She’s gother entire life mapped out in glitter, highlighters, and thumbtacks.
And I’m the psychotic one?
This girl’s panties are squeezing tighter than a virgin cunt, it makes me wonder what she’s compensating for.
The room is dark as I meander through it, only light coming from the moon and the lights over her bed. Thank fuck for small favors the ugly palm tree in the corner is turned off tonight.
What kind of nineties bullshit is that anyway?
Tiny snores disrupt the intrusive thought, and when I turn I find the sound expelling from Rebecca’s lips. Her head is tilted toward me, mouth parted and hair a disheveled mess surrounded by all my school work.
I take steps toward her, stopping at the side of her bed with my arm outstretching slowly to fondle some of the white strands.
Her hair’s got a silkiness to it that tells me she takes her time maintaining it.
Leaning over Rebecca, I examine the silhouette of her face, so lost in sleep she doesn’t even flinch when my fingers ghost over her lips.
Every part of her is soft, gentle, meek.
Peppered in innocence I want to rip out of her.
I bring my nose to her hair, inhaling the lavender wafting from it.
It’s like a soothing balm to a broken mind.
She stirs a bit so I pull away, going back to standing over her, making sure not to move abruptly.
When Rebecca stills I continue my usual routine: eyes perusing her body…which is fully exposed because she fell asleep on top of the blanket. My fingers graze the surface of her supple skin—just enough to get my fix.
Tiny boy shorts that kiss her hips, a tight pink tank top hiding the taut nipples pressing against it, all components that have my dick hardening in my jeans.
I know I shouldn’t, but I reach a thumb out anyway, brushing it over the small peak to see what it feels like on top of those C cups.
Absolute perfection, just like everything else.
Rebecca licks her lips, as if sensing the caress, and barely five seconds later she’s mumbling words so faint I can’t understand.
She lets out a small moan, which has my dick stirring even more, because now I know she’s dreaming, and I’m imagining it’s of me.
Am I haunting her the way she does me?
