We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand. 
— Randy Pausch 

Fescennine 
(adj.) lewd or obscene 

Monday — September 4, 2023 

A sharp blow from her heel slams into my shin, momentarily catching me off guard. 

"Fucking bitch." The words escape my lips through gritted teeth. My grip around her throat tightens just as hard as I press my eyes shut, cursing and waiting for the pain to subside. 

To what extent my grip tightens, I don't know, but a series of gasps and wheezes make me realize that I might just have almost snapped her windpipe in half. 

I release my hold on her and throw her forward. 

She hits the granite slab with rugged force and coughs, dry-heaving over the sink with her palms flat on the countertop. And then she turns to look at me with rage simmering in her eyes. 

"Do you have a legitimate personality disorder or is attempting to murder people just another one of your pastimes?" 

The lights overhead fall upon her moist eyes. Defiance burns in them without a question. The corners of my lips threaten to curl into a smirk. 

"Option B sounds more likely." 

She scoffs. "You know, most narcissists don't know they're narcissists. You should meet with a therapist." 

Two feet's distance separates the two of us. 

"I'll pass." I take a step forward and lift a hand to wrap a strand of her hair around my index. Her grip on the edge of the countertop tightens. "But psychological advice isn't what I came here for." 

"Shocker." 

The corners of my lips twitch again. I half-expect her to swat my hand away. 

Her emerald orbs reflect the white lights; two lost gems glimmering in the depths of a forest. 

They are gorgeous. 

As soon as my brain registers the thought, I curl my other hand into a fist to keep myself from landing a slap on my face. 

She is throwing me off track.  

"What I came here for," All playfulness from my expression dies. "Was this." I untangle my finger from her hair and let my thumb run over her lips, smearing parts of her lip gloss over my thumb. I can see the pulse in her jaw throbbing. 

"A kiss?" She raises an eyebrow. My lips twitch again and this time I let them. "Your ego must really be on the brink of existence if you decided to approach me of all people." 

"Funny." I state, "But no. Not quite." 

For a second she says nothing and just stares at me with those criminally green eyes. 

I take advantage of that second and shove her to the ground on her knees, grinning when a cry escapes her lips. So very fragile. So very weak. 

Her lips curled into a snarl. 

"Get your fucking hands off me, Chance." Shit, my girl's got fire. 

I ignore her comment.  

"I'm going to fuck your mouth," I start, "And you," I hold her in place as her knees dig into the floor, slapping away her hands when she tries to push me off her, "Are going to suck me off like an obedient little whore, got it?" 

I push her back so that she's pinned to the wall, my knee pressing into her sternum, harsh enough to leave a bruise on them. The thumps of her hammering heart vibrate through my kneecap and up my femur, sending shockwaves straight to my rock-hard length. I can feel the fly straining against the pressure. 

Fuck this woman for being a sex devil. Sex deviless. Sex she-devil. 

She looks up at me with blazing eyes. 

"Shh," I say just as she opens her mouth to say something. "You'll like it." I mumble, running a hand over her head. Her eyes widen at the words. And I don't give her time to fight me as I unzip my trousers and push them down to just above my knees along with my boxers. 

She looks so small. On her fucking knees before me. 

My lips twist with sadism. Her full and plump lips glisten under the lights. They would look so much better wrapped around my cock. 

Fucking lip gloss. 

I watch with satisfaction as her lips part with a gasp as she takes in the sight of my pulsing, veiny shaft. Something wavers in her eyes. 

So much for taking my time at breaking her. 

"Chance." My name leaves her lips in breathless disbelief. "Chance, n—" She doesn't get to finish the sentence, the word. I place a finger over her lips, effectively silencing her, and brush a couple of fallen strands out of her face. 

"Let me put that mouth to good use." 

And then I grab her face and force her mouth open, thrusting myself into her. A muffled scream erupts from her larynx and the vibrations attack my dick. I curl my palms around the edge of the countertop to keep myself from exploding. My knuckles turn white. 

Screw that damn puck bunny for making me give her an orgasm in the equipment closet and not returning the fucking favor. Bitch. And my first thought the second she skipped away: Callista. 

I feel a fist hit my thigh. 

I open my eyes and Callista's tear-filled ones clash with mine, her hands balled into fists and hitting my thighs. 

Never mind the puck bunny. Thank fuck she didn't blow me off because then this wouldn't have ever happened. 

I hook a finger under her chin and tilt her head. "What's the matter, Willow?" She hasn't even taken four inches yet and her eyes are already watering. She pushes at my legs in a futile effort to push me away, but her protests do nothing to turn me off. Quite the opposite, in fact. 

More tears pool in her eyes at my words. 

I smile. 

Her body might resist me, but her eyes speak a completely different language despite the tears. She wants this just as bad as she knows she isn't supposed to. 

"You're relishing this, Willow. Drop the act." I say, pushing myself deeper into her throat. "If I'd known your mouth was so good at this, I wouldn't have waited an entire night." 

Somewhere in the back of my head, I know I'm going too far. 

Maybe. 

But, lord, when the sound of her choking on my dick, gagging as I push myself into her, reaches my ears, I say fuck it. 

Her hands unfist and stopped hitting my thighs, now clutching the material tightly in her palms. 

"That's it." I mumble unconsciously, stroking her cheek as silent tears trickle down. 

A harsh moan slips past my vocal cords when her throat clenches around me, spilling through my lips before I can stop it. "Fuck." 

I'm waiting for her throat to loosen up a little so she could take me easily but if her mouth doesn't stop clenching around me like that, I'll blow up right now. 

My patience dies the second she moans into my cock. 

I swipe away one last tear before snaking my hand around the back of her head. I grab a fistful of her hair and shove her head forward just as I thrust my hips forward, burying myself into the depths of her throaty moans. 

She screams a whimper against my dick, one that is audible even after being muffled, and for a second my heart twists. 

But, fuck, if her hands fisting around the material of my trousers and pulling me closer toward her is any indication against the river trickling down her face— 

I laugh a small, silent laugh that my brain doesn't catalog. 

Her incisors scrape against my dick with every thrust, sending jolts of pleasure through my blood. 

"So eager," I murmur as I stare at her lips which no longer hold any trace of her perfectly touched-up lip gloss. Gone is the shy, quiet fourteen-year-old I once knew, the girl who would punch me in the jaw if I ever mentioned giving her a blowjob (yes, she'd done that). In her place is an eighteen-year-old on her knees before me, whimpering and moaning in pleasure as I pound into her throat with her hair wrapped around my fist. "So desperate." 

Her muffled moans and gags filled the empty restroom, the sound bouncing off the tiles and walls and echoing. 

I hiss through my teeth when I feel my release building up. I bob her head up and down faster, thrusting my hips at her in perfect sync as my balls tighten. 

"Fuck, why are you doing this to me?" I squeeze my eyes shut and throw my head back, clenching my teeth; I'm right there, at the edge. "Harder, Callista, suck me harder." 

She does exactly as she's told. 

I pound into her with more furious thrusts, ramming into her without any limits. 

And then I come undone. 

Hot, fiery warmth explodes through me and coats the back of her throat. My eyes flutter open and black orbs gaze down at her. 

She tears her gaze away from my dick and stares up at me with glassy eyes, her mouth still wrapped around my cock, white sticky liquid dribbling from the corners of her mouth. 

I blink and let a half-smirk play on my lips. 

"You did so well." I whisper breathlessly and pull myself out of her. She gasps and inhales sharply, coughing up and gasping and blinking away the tears before slumping against the wall. 

I swipe the drops sliding down her chin with my thumb and parted her lips open, smearing the liquid across her tongue. She doesn't protest and quietly swirls her tongue around my thumb.  

"Good girl." 

I zip myself up and turn to the sink to wash my hands, watching a devilish smirk play out in the reflection before me. I should make her do this more often. 

My gaze catches a movement out of the corner of my eye. 

I turn my head and see at the far end of the row of stalls none other than Sabrina, casually leaning against one of the doors with a phone in her hand. Pointed directly at me and Willow. Her smile is a mirror image of mine.  

What the fuck. 

Of course. I grit my teeth. What else can you possibly expect from her? 

Her gaze locks with mine. I raise an eyebrow. 

She shrugs nonchalantly, not lowering the phone. 

I glance down at Willow, who is still on the floor, leaning against the wall with her head hanging low, eyes closed and breath unsteady. If she makes sucking off guys her profession, there's no doubt the numbers in her bank account will rival my father's. 

Because I'm feeling a little more sadistic on finding out that every second of the past ten minutes has been caught on camera, I run a moist hand through her hair and unfold my wallet from my back pocket using the other, taking out a crisp twenty and tossing it in her lap. 

A reward for being an obedient whore. 

Her tired eyelids widen as she stares at the note with wavering eyes before her head snaps up to meet my gaze. A diabolical smile unfurls across my lips. 

"These," I trace my fingers over her lips before forcing open the seam and wetting them, making them glisten under the lights, "Deserve to be monetized." 

Unmistakable fury ignites her face. 

She shoves my hand away and stands up, stumbling slightly when lightheadedness hits her. 

I should have walked out the second I pulled myself out of her, but curiosity keeps my feet rooted to the ground, refusing to let me leave. I really shouldn't be enjoying this so much. 

She crushes the twenty in her fist and slaps it against my chest, glaring at me with a burning hatred. "I. Am. Not. A prostitute." 

"You could be." 

I make no move as the bill flutters to the ground in a crumpled mess. 

My eyes twinkle as I gaze down at her 5'5 self from my height. 

"Besides, it didn't seem that way when you swallowed my cum without a word of protest. Without needing to be told." I wrap a hand around her wrist and pull her closer. "Or when you moaned into my cock at every thrust that hit the back of your throat." 

She clenches her jaw and tries pulling back her hand, failing miserably. Her other hand balls into fists and loosens. Clenching and unclenching. 

She lifts it. 

And slaps me. 

Hard. 

My face jerks to the side from the impact, blurring my vision for a second. I taste metallic bitterness as her talons whip across my face. 

A seed of silence blossoms in the atmosphere, the only sound being her labored breaths and my regulated ones. 

I turn back and look at her, all trace of amusement gone. A muscle twitches under my eye. I tighten my hold around her wrist and let my fingernails dig into her skin in an effort to keep myself from backhanding her. 

That isn't something I'd like to have evidence of. 

"You're a sick, neurological, psychopathic piece of a narcissistic bastard!" She spits at me, enunciating every word as if they'll ingrain into my blood. Against the wish of my every cell, I hold my tongue. "What is wrong with you? How could you— Why would you force yourself on someone knowing you've got a million girls who are willing to have your dick in their mouth?" 

Tears shine in her eyes. 

I can't bring myself to feel a shred of remorse for her. 

"Force." My voice remains calm despite the wrath that claws at my vocal cords. "You're saying I forced myself on you." 

I let go of her wrist and take a step back, securing a considerable distance between the pair of us. 

She pulls back her hand and rubs the spot I'd been gripping. A harsh redness covers her wrist and I almost smile. 

"Good to know you're not completely incapable of making use of the rational part of your brain." 

Rationality, in fact, seems like a luxury I can't afford. Not if she has anything to do with it. And my father had made it to the top seven in the previous quarter's millionaire chart. 

"Willow," I start, shaking my head at her words. "Look me in the eye and tell me I forced myself on you." I drill my gaze into her skull and vice versa, yet she remains silent. "Tell me I cornered you and fucked your mouth against your will." 

Her gaze wavers. 

"Walk out of here and go straight to campus security and file a report against me and tell them that I'm an unhinged rapist who deserves to rot behind bars." I could have sworn she flinched at the last statement. "I will do nothing to stop you." 

I grit my teeth. "Just know that it's my DNA that's splattered across your hand right now and not the other way around. Evidence rivals words, Willow. You know we live in a world where the greater part of everything and everyone is fake." 

I don't bother checking her reaction to see if the blow lands where I wanted it to. 

Her gaze drops to her hands. She stares at the crimson and then at me, a hundred emotions flickering through her features all at once, not giving me time to decipher them. 

She says nothing in response and turns around and washes away the blood, wiping her hand with a paper towel. 

She doesn't turn around once she's done. 

She stand there silently, her reflected gaze locked with mine; a silent battle plays out in our eyes. I can feel the blood sliding down my face, slow and steady, painfully unbearable. Invisible molecules of air swipe against them, sealing the scratch with a line of clotted blood. 

She shuts her eyes and lets the gravity of the words sink in. They sink into me as well and just the thought of my doing something as horribly inhuman as that appalls me. I'm not a saint, but I have morals.

The slightest flame of morality that flickers beneath years and years of charred cinder turns ashen just as quickly as it sparks. 

She deserves this, I tell myself for what seems like the twentieth time today. 

I zone back into reality just in time to see her let out a breath before spinning around and facing me with those eyes. 

Feigning concern, feigning understanding, feigning the fact that she isn't feigning shit. That's all it ever is. 

A pretense. 

Beats of silence pass one after the other, neither of us making a move to break it. 

Until she does.  

Yet I don't make a move to stop her when she speaks. I don't slam her against the wall and voice the thought that her words mean nothing to me. 

What I should do is label her as a certified outcast and leave the shells of her remains to be trampled upon by those who craved blood, who thrived on making others' lives miserable. 

And here I am, face-fucking her like a brain-dead animal. 

I resist the urge to shift on my feet when she looks at me and force myself to not be thrown back into the past once again. 

"I could never—" She starts, "You're far from someone as inhuman as that, Chance," She winces when the word leaves her mouth, "You were one of the most kind-hearted people I'd ever met." 

I don't miss the were. 

Good to know we agree on something.  

She dares herself to take a step forward. And another. Until the inches that separate us reduce to the same as they'd been before I stepped back. 

And the words that follow leave her lips in broken syllables, her voice so low, she's almost mouthing them, "You were my best friend, Chance, my best fucking friend." 

Emotions that I'd banished from ever showing face to the daylight claw their way through the gravel and resurface. I swallow and wipe my face of any lingering traces of emotion, shoving them back into my soul. 

There she goes, saying my name like that over and over until she drags me down to the pits of Hell along with her. She has no right to be heartbroken, no right to use my name like that, gaslighting me like that. 

I see her lift her hand, millimeters away from resting on my chest. "What changed?" 

I back away — sucking in a short breath — before she can touch me. 

Is she actually oblivious to what she'd done all those years ago or does she have no regard for my sanity? 

I opt for the latter, the more obvious choice. 

"You." I force myself to speak, "You changed. And because you weren't content with changing just yourself, you changed me along with you. And you made the change a permanent one. Damage irreversible." 

She stares into my eyes. 

I stare into hers. A storm thunders in the vales of her trembling orbs. 

She had ripped my heart out and stamped on it, watching with satisfaction as years of friendship and trust and laughs and smiles trickled down the drain. 

And in an unexpected turn of events, I feel a stinging sensation attack the back of my eyes at the mere memory of her betrayal. 

Maybe it's because I'd never trusted anyone enough to open up to them until her. 

Maybe it's because she was the first person who saw me as a person and not as a dollar bill they could wave around. 

Or maybe it's because she makes my skin tingle in ways no one else could or can.  

I swallow the lump in my throat. 

The sound of something clattering to the ground shatters the moment to pieces, pulling my head out of the past and into the present. I neutralize my expression. 

I'd forgotten we have an audience. How convenient. 

Willow's gaze snaps to the corner where Sabrina has been camping from the moment I've entered, her eyes widening with shock and apprehension when she realizes we aren't alone. As it should. 

I was so going to have to fuck the memory of the past twenty or so minutes out of Sabrina's head tonight. Or after school. Anything would do. 

I swivel my head to find Sabrina still standing there, only now with her phone hanging loose in one hand, looking as though she hadn't recorded a second of the ungodly, utter foolishness I'd just committed. 

Why didn't I just keep my dick out of her mouth like a goddamned rational person? 

Fuck me. 

I'm beginning to hate that word.