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Back in Highschool: Rhue

But I’m happy. I’m excited. There’s so much energy still popping and crackling inside me that I have no idea what to do with it.

I’m in desperate need of a hot bath to soak in, but I practice my lacrosse throws out in the backyard.

I’m not as good at it as I am at hockey—ice is my mistress, after all.

But hey, in the absence of a rink, it’ll do.

October is already as cold as winter in the evenings up here in Rochester. I wonder what Harvard’s seasons will be like. Mom’s thrilled about me getting in. Dad’s pleased. But aside from the prospect of being my own person, how do I really feel?

It’s been years of putting my own needs on the backburner that the impossibility of analyzing that question isn’t lost on me. It doesn’t matter. At least this isn’t one of those things that I’m just doing for my father. I never noticed it before, but seeing mom happy makes me brim with joy, too.

My mind flickers from my mother to Madison, my tutor.

Another woman in my life whose happiness is like adrenalin.

But Madison is the forbidden fruit. She should remain unthought about, untouched, untoyed with.

Sometimes I’m sure it would do me good to remember that.

More times than not, she feels like just the kind of game I want to play.

I reach the main gates leading to our family mansion, allowing the scenery to steal away the rest of my thoughts. This place is way too big, in my opinion, but it’s the only home I’ve ever known.

Tall, naked trees creak in the wind beyond the gates. I briefly imagine myself taking Madison under one of them. Pushing her slender body against the thin bark of the tree and opening her up, petal by petal, forcing the wind to give way to her moans.

Ah, fuck, I can’t wait until March or April.

I want her. I need her. Now. Right now. Yesterday, preferably, or tomorrow at the latest. Tonight is Halloween.

I could be any damn thing she wants. The thought of texting her crosses my mind.

I’m not supposed to date my tutor, but hey…

this ethics stuff isn’t really my jam and mom’s more forgiving than she pretends she is.

I step into the house and close the door behind me, taking note of just how quiet it is. The massive entry way, the open halls, the stagnant, picture perfect decorations. This truly is the kind of house that will never be a home. Even when the silence breaks, that feeling remains.

There’s clattering in the kitchen, followed by the clinks of crystal glasses. Marie must be cleaning up or something. If we were an ordinary family and this house was half its size, we wouldn’t need Marie.

I play with the idea of my mother in the kitchen, the scent of cherry-pie filling the air as she rushes to the door. Just the vision alone makes me want to laugh out loud. I love my mom, but her cooking, well, that’s up for debate.

Shaking my head, I remind myself that there are hordes of people who would commit literal murder to live in a place like this.

That I am fortunate. More fortunate than I can even begin to imagine.

And even though my mother isn’t housewife material, even though she doesn’t bake or iron or hang out the laundry, she’s still one of the best fucking people I know.

Briefly checking my phone, I notice two messages from my sister, Laura.

One of the messages lets me know that she’s out with mom for a last-minute Halloween shopping spree.

The other is a picture of all the costumes and decorations that will fight for space in the attic.

Mom always does that. She forgets about Halloween, then goes postal if any of us don’t treat Christmas, her favorite holiday, like it’s the single most important time of the year.

She makes up for it, though, hence why she’s out with Laura buying all the spookiness the local Target has in stock.

My earlier buzz begins to fade. The more I think about a hot bath, the more relaxed I become. My muscles are turning into jelly. I’m itching for a nap, too. If I wake up before I have to take Laura to the school’s Halloween dance, I’m the fucking king.

I trudge up the stairs and head straight for my room.

Madison pops into my head again. Gah, she looked gorgeous earlier, during our tutoring class.

Those curves were tightly wrapped in crimson wool—a simple dress cut just above the knees and matched with a pair of black leather biker boots.

She’s got a set of legs that will work with just about anything.

Even Crocs. And her feet…God, not that I have a fetish or anything, but that girl makes me want to lick her from her head all the way to her little toe.

I close my eyes, remembering the glint of her silver locket hanging from her neck and the texture of her black pantyhose under the study lights. It gets harder to concentrate whenever I’m around her, but the real hardon comes when she starts talking.

She’s the brightest woman I have ever met. Her mind is a fucking whip, lashing and licking at everything, crazy fast. She recites entire passages from books from memory, and she’s a living, walking calendar.

I’m pretty sure she’d slide right into Mensa if she tried, but Madison is more interested in archaeology and anthropology.

Thoughts of her still swarm my mind when I reach the top floor. After the day I’ve had, I’m understandably exhausted. So much so that even the shower feels like too much hard work.

“How did I even make it back home from practice without collapsing?” I grunt.

The ice rink was a fucking battleground today.

Dustin might have a bone to pick with me, but he chose the wrong place to do it.

I’m the Frost King in that school. Nobody takes me down on ice.

Dustin learned that the hard way, but not without ramming into me a couple of times.

He’s a big fucker, too, so every tackle felt like the equivalent of an elephant stampede.

Only a fool would think that his tackles didn’t come with a vengeance.

He’s got the hots for Madison and seeing the way she reacted to my presence during the last group study on Native American history…

well, if I was in his shoes, I’d be pissed too.

The only question is, why the hell did she recoil after I kissed her earlier?

A muffled grunt comes out of my parents’ bedroom just as I walk past it. The sound stops me in my tracks, mainly because it’s accompanied by a familiar fragrance. A faint hint of lilac that doesn’t belong up here.

There’s rhythmic thumping, too and I don’t quite know what to make of it. Hell, I try not to make a damn thing of it. But, the fact of the matter is, I already know what it is. Slowly, I get closer to the door. Closer to the sound of my father’s grunts. My stomach twists.

Mom’s not home. I am aware of his escapades and debauchery, in general. His late nights, his second cell phone. Hell, I’ve sat only a few feet away from the bastard when he caught the eye of a pretty little thing at the bar.

My father is the kind of man who leaves his teenage son to dine by himself on his birthday, while he chases a piece of ass that he later refers to as ‘business’.

His business, yes. And I try not to make it any of mine.

But right now, I’m fucking appalled. It’s one thing to fuck around in a suite at the Hilton, it’s a whole other thing bringing this filthy shit home.

I crack the bedroom door open and move into the frame.

My heart stops.

And I almost swallow my fucking tongue.

My dad is at the foot of the bed, pounding into a girl with long, smooth legs, covered from foot to knee in…biker boots. Biker boots that are firmly planted into the soft grey carpet. Biker books I know like the back of my hand.

I swallow hard, stuck in time as I take in the pantyhose and panties stretched around this girl’s knees.

I don’t breathe as I work my way up, praying that it’s not Madison.

Praying that by some fucked up coincidence whoever this whore is just happened to buy the same damn boots Madison was wearing earlier.

But the more I see, the more it’s hard to convince myself that it’s not her.

My father steadies his grip, fucking into her hard, one hand pinning the back of her neck down while the other clamps her ass cheek hard. He thrusts into her with all his strength, forcing moan after moan out of her and into the satin bedsheets my mother brought back from her trip to Paris.

Madison’s dress is rolled up around her waist and her pale flesh jiggles with every thrust. My father roams his hand over her ass before slipping it under her belly and down under, stroking her pussy while he fucks her even harder.

I’m left staring, bile gathering in my throat as my whole world begins to fall apart, chunk by chunk. Madison’s eyes find mine, and we’re locked on one another for what feels like an eternity. I see nothing in them, nothing but vacant green while her cheeks burn red and her moans intensify.

“That’s right, baby, come for daddy,” my father growls as he’s about to reach his peak, too. His pants are down, but he’s still wearing his shirt and tie, ever the fucking professional.

The sight of them makes me sick, yet it takes me forever to peel my eyes off them, even as I back away from the door.

Finally, I’m a few feet removed from that room.

Rage is quick to come, and I’m a volcano that is about to explode.

How could she do this?

When did my father get to her?

Right in the beginning? Just recently? How fucking long has this been going on for?

Madison has been coming here for a few months, already… but I don’t remember them ever meeting for more than a minute or two. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe there were signs, and I didn’t see anything because I didn’t want to see anything.

Because I deluded myself into thinking that as naughty as I wanted her to be with me, she was a decent fucking girl.

What a fuckwit I’ve been.

But what exactly does that make Madison? She knows who he is. She knows my mother. My mother fucking likes her. A part of me wonders how she must have felt seeing me just now, looking into my eyes while my father’s cock filled her up nice and good. Shit, I think I’m gonna puke.

I’m running now. Past the hallway. Across my room.

Everything flashes by me like loose blotches of watercolor.

Everything is hazy. By the time I reach the bathroom, it’s all coming up.

Lunch. The tackles from hockey practice.

Every rock hard boner I’ve had because of Madison Willis.

I vomit it out and into the toilet, sweat bursting and covering my face as I struggle to breathe evenly…