“That’s it, Chelsea. You hear me?” Her dad rattled the handle a few more times before the pounding started. She could hear her mother out there whimpering, trying to calm her father down. A weak fucking cunt, always was.
Chelsea figured he was going to try and break it down, but knew he wouldn’t be able to do it. Not strong enough, too skinny, not like her Chuck, her sweet and beautiful Chuck who had come to her rescue at last. And there was no key to unlock her door either because he had swiped it and had it sitting on her dresser.
But none of that mattered anymore.
“Chuck? Is that you?” She flew to her window, threw it open, peered out. It was still day time, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. The air was cool, felt good on her wounds, and when she saw Chuck’s face smiling up at her, she nearly dove right out of the window to greet him.
He just stared up at her and giggled. His eyes looked bright against the dark red of his face.
Is that blood?
Chelsea quickly wondered if he’d been hurt, but didn’t worry about it long. She needed to know if he had brought anything for her. Needed to know if he kept his promise to her. Because if he didn’t… she would fucking kill him. She would tear his fucking nuts off.
And he just kept laughing.
“Will you hurry the fuck up? I’m dying in here. Please, Chuck!”
“His blood,” Chuck said as he climbed the wooden lattice wrapped in ivy toward her window. “His blood too. It works too. And it feeeeeeeels awesome!”
When he gripped the windowsill, Chelsea grabbed hold of his forearms, ran her blood-caked nails across his flesh, trying to pull him in. He stumbled into the room, landed on top of her. He stank, the smell reminding Chelsea of roadkill and spoiled beef and… and Toad. That’s what it reminded her of. The Toad.
“His blood too.”
Chelsea didn’t waste any time, ran her tongue across Chuck’s face, his chest, his stomach, his cock and balls. Kip’s blood was all over him. It burned, but it burned good. Tasted like fire and orgasm and relief.
“What about the zits? The pus? Did you b… b…”
She wanted to ask about the pus because it’s all she’d been able to think about for what felt like forever and she wanted Chuck to stop fucking around and give it to her already but she couldn’t get the words out as the blood took effect. Chuck’s smiling face looked like it split in half, and a rainbow of colorful light spilled out like liquid crayons.
“The Toad is mine,” Chuck said.
She’s trying to take it from me. But… but it’s mine.
After Chuck had left Toad’s house, he was compelled to head to Chelsea’s. Now that he was there, in her room, Chelsea underneath him and licking him clean, he couldn’t remember why he came. He remembered why he left Toad’s room, or rather ran from it. When Toad had shouted, blood squirting from his body in countless different places, Chuck had felt it in his guts, in his chest and head. It wasn’t pain, but pure fear. When he heard Toad’s voice, he just knew to run away, just knew to disobey him was to die. Or worse… be denied any more of him.
And now that he was in Chelsea’s room, someone pounding on her bedroom door and shouting, he realized she was licking Toad’s blood off him. Cleaning him. She cackled now, but wouldn’t stop scraping her tongue over his skin, and when he saw his flesh tone instead of the red and maroon of Toad’s blood, he slapped his palm into her face and tried to push her away but she fought back and outstretched her tongue, wiggled it in circles between his fingers to try and get another taste.
Toad’s blood still swirled through his system, but it didn’t feel the same. He needed more. And it wasn’t until Chelsea started tongue-bathing him that he realized he was covered in it.
“No,” he said and shoved her face harder, but she only pushed back harder in response. “The Toad is mine, you stupid fucking bitch!”
The pounding at the door got louder, so did the shouting. A man. Chuck didn’t have time to worry about who it was or why they wanted in. He thought he heard a woman’s voice too, but couldn’t be sure.
It’s more people trying to take the Toad away from me. But they can’t have him because he’s mine. He’s all fucking mine!
Chelsea squirmed and snickered. Blood oozed out of deep scratches across her cheeks. She licked her lips, eyes wide and dilated. “Where is he, Chuck?” she said through her chortles. “Where is Toad? I need him.”
Chuck still had his hand in her face when she started trying to lick him again, and he pulled the hand away only to replace it with his fist. Knuckles slammed against the bridge of her nose, cracking it, spraying blood over her lips and teeth and she just licked it up, seemed oblivious to her own pain, never stopped laughing.
So he hit her again. This one rocked her head back, and she stopped struggling for a few seconds, just writhed beneath him, her ruined face rocking from side to side. But she still giggled, still asked for another taste.
“You can’t fucking have him!”
More pounding and pounding and screaming from the other side of the door.
Chuck reached out, grabbed something hard and flat just a few feet above Chelsea’s head. He lifted it with both hands, brought it down as hard as he could to make this stupid fucking cunt stop laughing already. So sick of hearing her laugh!
The sound was wet and crunchy when the metal hit her face, and he brought it over his head again, jammed it back down. Then again and again until she finally stopped moving, finally stopped fucking laughing.
Chuck stared at the object in his hand. A picture frame. His face smiling out. His school picture, his football picture. Now splattered with Chelsea’s blood, the glass shattered. He remembered giving her that photo, and for a quick second, he remembered loving this girl, somewhere in the past he loved her.
The frame had split her mouth at the corners, busted out a lot of her teeth which floated and swam in the gurgling blood filling her mouth and spilling over the sides. Her lips looked like cooked ham and her tongue swirled in slow circles. Her eyes kept trying to roll to the back of her head, but then they locked on Chuck, quivered for a moment.
Gurgle… choke, choke… gurgle…
“Stop fucking laughing!”
He slammed the frame down one more time, lodging it into her mouth, pressing down with all his weight until he felt something break and crunch under him. Her body jumped once, legs rattled, then she stopped moving. The frame stayed upright when Chuck let go of it, then he stood, slammed his fists into his forehead as the yelling got louder and louder and the door rattled in its frame.
“Chelsea answer me! What’s going on! Who’s in there!”
Chuck roared, stomped toward the door, unlocked it.
When it flew open and Chuck saw the man standing there, a short, scared-looking woman clinging to his side, Chuck growled, launched himself forward.
The man yelped when they collided, and Chuck pushed, took the man off his feet. And then the man was gone, falling and falling, the back of his head slamming against a rail on his way down to the first floor.
Crack!
Blood pooled around his head and spread across the floor quickly. The woman screamed, tried to run but Chuck caught her by the hair at the back of her head, dragged her across the floor only to pick her up and send her down to the first floor with the man. The woman landed on her feet, but her body folded in on itself on impact, and she lay on her side, just beside the man, screaming and screaming. The screams were sloppy and gruff, and Chuck almost ran down to make her shut up, but he went back into Chelsea’s room instead, was just about to climb back out her window and go running back to Toad. He would beg Toad for more, get on his knees and just beg.