Chapter 7: You hypocrite

Ciel's POV

I'll never understand this kid. He's so lame. He does nothing and then tells me he loves me. So what? Loads of people do that. He never does anything to win me, so why is he bothered when someone else does. I go to the gym, ignoring strange looks of people in the hall. I immediately head to my locker, and change my jeans to shorts, and shirtless I step to some dumbbells as I start working out.

After a while some guy from senior class joins me. As he stands in front of me, trying to eyefuck me with those greenish eyes of his, I roll my eyes and set my tools on the ground.

"You have precisely" I glance at my wrist watch. "10 minutes to suck my cock until I leave." I say with a challenging voice while looking deeply into his eyes. He is shocked by my behaviour and with surprise in his eyes he puts his own dumbbells on ground. Then he steps closer and gets on his knees. I smile.

I'm standing next to a mirror so I look at my perfect figure, perfect self. I'm so fuckable. I understand the urge to fuck me that everyone has when passing me on a hallway. This guy pulls out my dick and starts doing his job.

I place my hands upon his head, helping him with the right movement. He's doing it wrong, but I still get hard. He's too slow and too amateur for this, I can't help myself. But I'm trying to ignore that. I look in the mirror again. My perfect, gleaming skin, my worked-out muscles, my shorts that holds on my hips, my shaved, smooth body. I tilt my head back, and I see my ink locks getting messy as I do. I look at myself in the mirror and the only thing I can think of is how fucking amazing I look, when I come in this losers mouth, I think of myself.

Few hours later I'm already jogging to the centre of the field. I'm on team with 6 other losers, while the rest is fighting against us. It's really adorable how they try. The coach eyes me from the benches with his little whistle between his sweaty lips, thinking he's important and all. I pity him.

Our team wins the round. Of course, I was the only one carrying it. It's the last practice match before the real thing next week. To celebrate, the triplets offer to buy first two rounds in a pub. One of them even grabs me by my shoulders and congratulates me. Like I need this shit. I smile charmingly even though I'm dying to push him away. He stinks, he's sweaty as a pig, his hair is total mess, and not the good kind.

When we finally get back to the locker rooms, I take my towel and head to showers where I let the freezing water pour over my body until I'm breathing steadily again. Then I dress in jeans and shirt, grab my stuff, say I have work to do and head to the dorm.

I fall on my bed immediately as I enter our room. It's empty. I look across the blank walls, the vain beds and meaningless computer table and I think of my Bassy. I think of my roommate, my friend. I shake my head in the next moment. Twat.

I pull my phone from the back pocket and check my Facebook, Twitter, Skype and all that since I really have nothing better to do. It's after practice, I have no tests nor homework coming up any time soon, and I feel so exhausted that I don't even feel like going out to party. There must be something wrong with me. At times like these I usually tease Bassy about his obsessive playing games or anti-social life, but now? He's out, probably with that Alan or whatever, and I'm here in a darken room, all alone. I tilt my head backwards as I put my earphones on and play some smooth jazz while I fall asleep.

Few hours later I wordlessly open my eyes, seeing Bassy. His silhouette, wearing nothing but towel in our darkened room, with no light on. With the music still playing in my ears I lift up on one elbow. He stares into my eyes, not saying a word.

After few seconds I lie down on the bed again and close my eyes. I'm so tired of all this. Why does he always look at me like I'm the worst? Why does he always blame me? He never does anything except whine about how unfair his life is, and then looks at me like I was the one who ruined it. I didn't. He did. Because he is not properly living. Not really. He's always just… there. Standing, sitting, watching me all the fucking time. Never doing anything; never doing the next step, never trying. So why does he blame me for everything when it is his fault?

In the next while a lightning enlightens the room for half of a second. I can see the rain pour outside our window when I look over there. It's a thunder.

I wait another 30 minutes before pulling my earphones out and speaking up.

"How was your day?" Not that I'm particularly interested in what classes he's been to or what did he have for lunch, but it's the first thing that pops up in my mind.

I sit up on the bed, leaning back against the plain wall as I eye his face.

"Try to guess. Afternoon was quite fun." He says quietly. "What about yours?" He asks in return and looks up at me from under his bangs.

"Boring as hell. Nobody can do a proper blowjob these days." I sigh as I get up and walk up to him, closing his notebook and leaning above him with my eyes still clenched onto his.

"Maybe you're just too picky." He whispers with that lingering look on his face as he reaches out and pulls me closer by my neck with that vain hope in his eyes.

I still have him. In that moment I know he's still mine. I smirk and lean back. I look at his pathetic face before I stretch my arms and sigh with a smile. "I got a girlfriend, you know?" I play cute and shrug my shoulders. "And I really don't want to hurt her since I love her so much." I say, full of fake emotions and a pitiful face.

In that moment he gets into his rage zone and fucking punches me in my face. I fall on the ground, with my eyes still fixed on him and I watch him getting his nerves back as he falls on his knees in the next moment saying "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to, Ciel." He's just so full of crap. And what pisses me the most? It's not even that he punched me, it's this fucking apologies every fucking time he stands up for himself.

Before I can control it my heartbeats gets crazy and my pupils widen. I punch him back right after that. I don't even mean to. It's just a reflex. If somebody punches me, I don't give a shit who, I just punch them back. And again, and again, until he's lying on the floor with his hands covering his face.

I get up, head to bathroom and soak a smaller towel in a cold water to press onto his burning face.

"I hate you so much, you hypocrite." He says through his teeth. "I pity her, you know? On one hand I am really jealous but on other? She couldn't pick a bigger damn asshole." He says, spiting those words out like poison.

I simply give him a smile because I pity him. I pity him because I know he wants those words to hurt me. To haunt me in my sleep. He wants me to change because of those words. He want me to finally be a hero, so regret my decisions but the really sad thing is, I never will. Because those decisions led me where I am today. This is exactly where I'm supposed to be right now.

He takes the cloth away from me and presses it against his face himself, while pushing me away. "Leave me alone…" He whispers as he gets up and lies on his bed, staring out of the window. He's such a drama queen sometimes. It's me who'll have a bruised face tomorrow and it will matter.

But after couple of minutes, I still slide next to him and hug him from behind. I know he feels my breath on his neck, and I know he feels my beating heart. "I'm sorry but I won't ever be the person you want me to be. That's just not me and you know it." I say, closing my eyes.

I feel his bravery shattering away under my arms. I feel him getting weak, his walls crumbling. "It's okay Ciel, maybe one day I will be gone and spare both of us from problems."

I wake up completely sweaty. It's disgusting. I get up from the bed, quickly and go open the window immediately. Then I head to bathroom. My head is spinning and my hair is stuck to my face. I stretch my arms and nothing feels better than exactly that. I get in the shower and it takes like two minutes before I get the temperature right. Stupid fucking showers. I wash my hair and look my body over before deciding to go to the depilation studio later this week.

I dry myself and go find some clothing. Dressed in black jeans, white shirt and grey jackets I leave the dorm. My hair is still moist so I brush them back and get to some cafe immediately.

I sit down and order up a BLT with Cappuccino and OJ. For the first time I glance at my phone for time, finding out it's just half past 8. I text Elizabeth, go to Social Studies class and then rush to get to my swimming club on the. Unfortunately people must have gotten even more stupid over night and it took the secretary in the pool like 20 minutes and 4 phone calls with her supervisor to find my name in the A-4 swimming group.

I arrive 30 minutes late, when everyone is already in water, and I groan in disgust over the overweighed bodies of my classmates.

"You are late." I hear behind me so obviously I put on my nice attitude and a fake smile as I turn around. "I'm so sorry, but the campus has been slightly confusing for me. It took me a while to find this place." I say to the tall, black-haired, glasses-wearing, shorts-and-shirt-wearing, papers-holding guy with the strictest look on his face. "Get in the water." He says uninterested in my apologies and made up excuses.

"Sit, yes, sir." I salute and jump in.