Page 15 of Revenge At Raleigh High
ALEX
Me: I miss you.
Me: I need you.
Me: I fucking want you.
It’s seven in the morning, still dark outside, and I’ve typed the same message to Silver at least fifteen times, asking her to come over. She’ll still be asleep, curled up in her nice warm bed, but if I could have my way, I’d disturb her slumber and ask her to come all the way across town just to see me. Pretty fucking selfish, I know. Which is why I deleted the messages I typed out, grumbling under my breath each time, groaning at the fact that I can’t get the thought of her out of my head and I keep picturing her in the little shorts she wears to bed. I’m basically about to explode.
It’s fucking freezing in the trailer, like sub-zero arctic fucking temperatures, which would usually be enough to make my dick forget how to function and have my balls retract up inside my goddamn stomach, but not this morning. Nope, this morning my raging boner is impervious to the cold. It’s demanding some hard-core attention and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
I’m done jerking off. I haven’t touched myself since before I went and found Silver up at the cabin. All right, well…I may have been feeling a little sorry for myself in the hospital after having major surgery to remove the bullet that was lodged in my chest. I might have jerked off then, just the once, but I figure that didn’t count since I’d nearly just fucking died and all. Fucking sue me. Apart fromthat, I haven’t made myself come.
I’ve been saving all of my pent-up sexual energy for Silver, and holy fuck has it been worth it. At this point, I’m a professional at delaying my own orgasm; I can hold off forever if needs be, and I take great pleasure in doing just that. I’ve waited for her. Cultivated the patience of a fucking saint. I’ve kept my hands to myself and I’ve played it cool. It hasn’t been fucking easy holding back, but there’s something truly bitter sweet about denying myself and making sure it’s Silver who comes to me for attention.
That way, the release is so much fucking greater when it comes, but I’m also never second guessing myself. If we have sex, it’s because she’s wanted it. There’s never been any doubt. She’s made the first move. She’s crawled for it on her hands and her knees because she’s wanted it so fucking bad, and I know without a shadow of a doubt I haven’t coerced her into anything simply becauseI’mfucking horny.
Fog plumes on my breath, clouding above my head as I lie in bed, staring up at the bedroom ceiling. I contemplate getting up so I can turn on the heatingandget a fire going in the wood burner, but the prospect of throwing back the covers is just too much to fucking handle right now, so I remain bundled up, trying to convince myself that I’m a good guy and I shouldnottext Silver.
My phone buzzes against my chest underneath the blankets less than a second later, and the salacious, hungry part of me crows with delight: it’s from Silver. Who else would be messaging me at this time in the morning? And if she’s awake…then would it really be so bad if I suggested she drive her fine ass over here immediately?
I bite my bottom lip, riddled with anticipation as I check the screen of my cell phone…and then I see the name at the top of the text and curse like a fucking sailor. It isn’t from her after all.
Monty: You still got the bag?
I’d barely made it home the other night. The roads were hazardous, and the driving snow ended up blowing directly into the Camaro’s windshield, making it almost impossible to see where the fuck I was going. It came down so thick and fast, I couldn’t even see the road after a while. It’s a miracle I didn’t wind up wrapped around a street lamp, but the St. Christopher around my neck must have been working overtime or something because I made it back to meet Silver in one piece. Monty called just as I’d arrived home later, wanting me to wait to hand off the bag, so I’d been spared the need to go out into the cold for a second time in the early hours of the morning and I’d gone straight to bed. I didn’t see him at the Rock during my shift last night, so I’ve been sitting on the thing ever since.
Me: Yeah, it’s in the trunk of my car.
Monty: I’ll send someone over for it this afternoon.
Me: Copy that.
He was sweating the night he’d told me I had to go out to Bellingham. The bag had seemed vitally important. Now he’s not planning on retrieving it until this afternoon? Doesn’t make much sense, but whatever. Not my business. I’m just glad he didn’t say he needs me to drive it over there right now.
It's almost time to throw my ass in the shower and get ready for school. I’m going to have to get up in a minute anyway, but for now the warm cocoon of my bed is demanding that I sta—
My thoughts grind to a halt at the sound—a clicking, scraping sound, off to the right, in the living room. A metallic grating noise that doesn’t belong in the silence of the early winter morning inside of my trailer. It’s a quiet sound at first but grows increasingly louder as I slowly get up out of bed and pick up the handle of the woodcutter’s axe I keep beside the bed.
My chest and my feet are bare, but there’s no time to find socks and a shirt. Someone’s trying to bust the lock on the trailer door, and I’m about to give them an epic fucking headache. Poor, stupid son of a bitch. Should have done a little research before deciding to pickmytrailer to break into. The blinds at the windows in the living room are drawn; outside, dawn is breaking over Raleigh, but the weak morning light is barely enough to lighten the gloom, and I almost crack my shin on the corner of the coffee table as I tiptoe around it.
Pausing, I wait by the door, axe held high over my head, waiting…
The brass handle slowly turns…
I rip the door open, already swinging, teeth bared, anger firing in my veins. But when I see who’s standing there on my front doorstep, eyes wide in horror, it takes every ounce of strength I possess to angle the axe’s blade to the side, driving the honed metal into the door frame.
Silver’s father opens his mouth, eyes locked on the axe now buried in the door jamb next to his head. He inhales a long, seemingly endless breath. When he’s let it out, he turns to look at me and arches an eyebrow. “And a good morning to you, too, Moretti.”
Oh…fuckingshit.
I wrench at the axe handle, ripping it from the doorframe, not knowing if my weak ass smile should be nervous, awkward, sheepish, or all three. “Mr. Parisi. Morning.”
He folds his arms across his chest, huffing down his nose. “Is this how you greet everyone who pays you a visit, or just the fathers of the girls you’re sleeping with?”
Okaaay. Not too sure how to respond tothatone. “It’s how I greet people who appear to be breaking into my place?” I offer, my voice trailing up at the end into a question. Much safer to just avoid the comment about me fucking his daughter. Acknowledgingthatcomment can only lead to disaster.
Now it’s Daddy Parisi’s turn to look a little awkward. “Yeah, well, I knocked but there was no answer, so…”
