Page 253
Discover the story in "Tempting Venom" Chapter 253: I hit and hit and hit until I could see Claudeās face, until my senses... Continue exploring!
I hit and hit and hit until I could see Claudeās face, until my senses were saturated with blood instead of peppery musk and cigarettes.
And for the first time since Mom died, I smiled.
Unfortunately, however, my first kill came with a psychological diagnosis and the glorious streak of Dad being disappointed in me.
He wanted a proper heir whoād inherit his estate, but he had me, a cocktail of bad decisions and mental issues. I think heās always hated that Iām so much like my mom.
He divorced her because he didnāt get along with her, but itās not like he can get rid of his own son the same way.
I feel sorry for him sometimes. When Iām not a dick who keeps causing trouble, I wish I were more like himāunfeeling, detached, and methodicalāso that heād be proud of me.
I wish I werenāt suchā¦a clusterfuck of emotions with a defective brain.
I wish I were a proper son.
I know Dad cares about me in his own way. He really tried to get closer to me after Momās death. He even took me on this mountain trip, just the two of us for the whole summer, and tried to talk to me, but I was scared.
I still am.
At the back of my mind, I keep thinking that one day, heāll realize heās had enough, just like with my mom, and abandon me, too.
Thatās why Iāve done everything under the sun to get his attention. Fights, murder, sabotage, and burning his property. At least if he punishes me, it means he cares.
Fucked up, true, but as you now know, I am fucked up. Extremely so.
Iām fucked up enough that I crush peopleās egos on the ice (or outside of it) because I picture them as Claude. It gives me immense satisfaction to see arrogant people like him humbled.
Iām so fucked up that I get myself hurt just to feel alive. Without pain, itās hard for me to exist in the moment.
Itās why I donāt understand what the fuck you see in me, Marcus.
Howā¦can you look at me with those soft eyes all the time? How can you automatically have this warm smile just because Iām there?
How can you be happy to see me when Iām barely holding myself together?
I donāt get it. I just donāt.
You should be with someone whole, not whatever Frankensteined pieces of me I put together every morning to play pretend.
And I do pretend. A lot.
I pretend Iām the prettiest, most handsome man on earth with the biggest dick, when, in reality, that beauty disgusts me.
I was called pretty a lot by Claude and that teacher.
And I HATED it. I loathed being pretty because only creepy touches and suffocation came with it.
I thought if I werenāt so pretty, none of that wouldāve happened to me.
I pretend that I like being praised for my beauty, but really, it makes my skin crawl. Iāll look in the mirror and force a smile when all I want to do is smash the monstrous image reflected back at me.
Because thatās all I seeāan ugly monster with a fractured skull and bulging eyes. A demon who took the place of my image from childhood.
Thing is, I let Claude kill my real self.
I let him take it all away when I stopped fighting like a coward, and now, Iām stuck with this shadow of me. Someone with a pretty exterior but rotten insides.
And I donātā¦want you to see that part of me, Marcus. Ever.