And yet, the more he glides his tongue against mine, the more I want it to last, the harder I need it to.
When he pulls away, I briefly close my eyes to steady my breathing. Wow. Is it supposed to feel as if I’m floating out of my body right now?
“You’re not bad compared to the others,” he says.
The others.
Plural?
My eyes snap open and I shove him away with a force I didn’t know I possessed. “Don’t you ever touch me again.”
I storm out of the room with tears in my eyes.
I hate Cole Nash.
I despise him.
Cole
Age fifteen
Existence, or the lack thereof, is intriguing.
I remember the first time I picked up Nausea by Jean-Paul Sartre from one of Mum’s shelves. It was covered with dust, not having been touched in years.
I remember reading it in one day. I was twelve. I didn’t understand much of it back then, but every time I reread it, I get these bursts of nothingness.
Other people would steer clear from that, but I keep coming back for more. I read about the existentialism theory and followed all of Sartre’s counterparts, and while I’m not a believer in the theory — or in anything in general — I still find myself engrossed in Sartre’s main character in Nausea, Antoine Roquentin.
A lonely man suffering to come to terms with his existence while being horrified by it.
When Mum saw me reading the book, she said she pitied him because he didn’t have anyone to understand him. Antoine is, in her mind, the worst-case scenario for writers who delve too deep.
Mum might be a novelist herself, but she’s into what I call thought-provoking fiction. She writes books about the darkest parts of human nature, psychopaths, serial killers and cults. She writes books where villains are the main characters and she doesn’t try to romanticise them. That’s what makes her plots heart-pounding.
No matter how much I love Mum’s talent and her literary genius, I think she missed the point in Nausea. It’s not that Antoine didn’t understand himself; it’s that maybe he understood too much, which became a burden.
I didn’t tell her that, or she would’ve given me that look. The one where her brow creases and she watches me closely as if looking for signs from her serial killers’ articles cheat sheet.
Then she would’ve booked me an appointment with the therapist so I could talk it out.
It’s been the same endless cycle since my father died. Over the years, I’ve learnt to keep my most unconventional opinions to myself. Whenever Mum says I sound a lot older than I am, it’s usually my prompt to cut back and mimic those surrounding me.
Especially Xander and Ronan; they’re the most normal amongst the four of us — or as normal as they can get.
I’ve been having my suspicions about Ronan. His overall joyful personality sometimes seems to be the camouflage of something.
He’s now grinning like an idiot as we gather in the Meet Up — the cottage Aiden’s late mother left him. We usually come here after games with other team members. Today, however, it’s only the four of us because Ronan said it’s a special occasion.
“Lady and gents – and by the way, the lady is you, King.” He hops on the table, feigning to hold a microphone in hand. “We’re gathered here today to celebrate the holy deflowering of Aiden King. He finally lost his virginity. Let’s hear it for him!”
Xander howls as he jumps on the table and grabs Ronan by the shoulder. He’s one to talk, the hypocrite.
“Shut the fuck up, Astor, and get down,” Aiden says from beside me. He appears bored as usual. His grey eyes are bland and about ready to commit murder to interrupt the vicious, dull cycle.
I know that feeling.
Unless there’s chaos, it’s as if the world is permanently grey and there’s no way to inject colour into it.
For me, it started after the kidnapping. Maybe I had some issues before, but that darkness — that first taste of chaos — sealed the deal for me.
Aiden is the same, although his case is deeper. Xander and I were taken for two days and weren’t harmed. Aiden spent an entire week in chaos and came back with scars.
Is he special? Is that why Chaos kept him for longer?
Since then, he’s been making it his mission to instigate battles and wars. Or rather, it’s become our mission. Me, because I’ll take any chance to meet Chaos again, even if it’s brief. Him, because he loves the challenge. He isn’t labelled Conquest for no reason.
They came up with these names for us at school because of football. Xander is War, which is understandable, considering he’s like a bull striker. Ronan is Death because he kills any attempt at attack from the midfield. I’m Famine. According to them, silent but deadly.
I’d say I’m always hungry for more. More information, more books, more chaos.
“Admit it, Aiden.” Ronan directs his imaginary mic at him. “It’s because of my recommendations.”
“Fuck off.” Aiden doesn’t miss a beat.
“You don’t have to say it out loud. I get it in the small space in my heart.” Ronan grins, running his fingers through his messy brown hair in a smug way. “I was the first to lose my virginity. You’re the last. Guess who wins?”
A slight smirk crosses Aiden’s lips. “How about Knight and Nash?”
“Knight was right after me.” Ronan squeezes Knight’s shoulder. “Was that night with that twin fun or what?”
“Are you sure, though?” Aiden glances at Xander, who flips him off with a dimpled smile.
“Mais bien sûr,” Ronan dismisses Aiden. “Cole was… Hey, wait a second. When was it?”
“Miss Goldman,” I say and focus back on my book.
They don’t need to know the details. Besides, if they find out, Ronan will make a fucking show out of it. He makes it his job not only to start a rumour, but also to spread it until it reaches other schools.
He’s shit with secrets.
“Ooh, right.” Ronan grins, then pouts. “You’re the winner in quality, but I’m the winner in quantity. Aiden is last.”
The latter flips him off and he returns it as the door clicks open.
Only six people have access to the Meet Up. Four of them are here and the fifth is Levi, Aiden’s one-year-older cousin, but he disappeared with a girl, which leaves just one option.
My head lifts from the book as she comes inside, holding a grocery bag and juggling her backpack on one shoulder.
Chaos.
My entire body sharpens whenever she’s in my vicinity. It’s been getting more noticeable over the years. Every time she’s there, I have this urge to get up, grab her, and take her…somewhere.
Anywhere.
It doesn’t help that every day, she’s been growing from that kid Barbie doll to this girl with long, toned legs and an hourglass figure that keeps sharpening with time. Her tits are perky, high, and big, straining against her jacket whenever it’s closed — like now.
Her face has this symmetrical quality to it. Her eyes are huge and a clear blue, and when you’re close enough, you can see the grey flecks in them. Like a symphony of colours. The small freckles on her nose have been slowly disappearing over the years and she’s been hiding the traces with makeup. Her lips are full and have a perfect teardrop at the top that I haven’t been able to stop staring at since the day I sucked on it about a year ago.