Bordering on a dangerous obsession. Chapter 43-Secret Diary

Author's Note:

Not dead, just sick, and busy, and working my fingers to the bone, and playing a bucketload of games.

Go team GigaTurk!


The ringing of the wind-up old-school alarm clock woke me up. Groggily I sat up and switched it off.

I felt like crap, and really wanted to just sleep until I didn't, but it'd arouse suspicion, not only about where I was but what I was up to, and that I was lying to them about where I was.

They couldn't know why. Never ever.

The room stank, not like the blood and sweat and cordite that marked progress throughout most of my life, but the stink of a cunt.

I guess that's what progress smells like now.

I stank too, no doubt, though I couldn't separate it from the room. That meant a shower was vital, so I had to detour to the Safehouse, shower, change into whatever leftover clothes I had, and get to school. Then survive that, train Dave, and finally finally get some sleep.

Yay.

Oo0oO

I took stock of myself as I rose and stretched out the kinks.

Damage report:

- Face hurts, I think I was biting Little Dave a fair bit there. Skin feels odd, a little tight. I think I was crying a bunch and it dried. A strange feeling, not one I'd had since Daddy died.

- Tit's hurt. While hardly new this week, but more than the usual regular pain. I recall vaguely that I put on the Orange Jar like I was supposed to last night. In hindsight, or common sense (which I really need more of) slapping that shit on while doing what I was doing just meant I made a mess of one of the cots. The bra has so many red splotches that it looks like I got stabbed in the boobs. Certainly feels like it. Unhooking the bra, it was sticking to my little tits just like the cloth did back in the Blue Jar days. The only difference between this time and that, was when I peeled the cups off, they took a fair bit of skin with them. Wonderful.

If it weren't for the fact that I read this was coming in the folder the Doc gave me last week, I swear I'd've made a bee-line to his building with two grenades and a chainsaw. Putting these things in the fat suit would be capital Fuckin-fun and I'd put it off until right before I went to school.

Dave better god damn appreciate these things when they were done.

- Moving on, the Cunt. On the outside puffy, red, and sore, like Jessi's was when I saw her that time. Evidently I'd torn off my panties at some point.

I still had the egg shoved up in it as I hadn't managed to pull it out before I passed out for good last night.

I didn't yank, as yanking might break cords, and I had zero desire to go digging up in there for the egg. It popped out with an obscene splorch and a twinge. The batteries were dead, as were the originals on the floor. I'd have to get more before the weekend.

Then I felt something weird.

Looking down, I saw that the egg had been acting as an impromptu dam, and, with it gone, that I was making a mess of the cot. Leaning back, I grabbed the blanket and started wiping myself off. Thank fuck no one was around to see this, I'd murder just about anyone if they did. Maybe even Dave, and then where would I be?

- As I wiped, I felt the twinges in the last place to take stock of, my hands. I'm glad I left the gloves alone in my modifications, otherwise I'm sure the damage would be even worse. They were bruised, despite the callouses I'd built up. Looking at the most probable target, I saw why.

At some point I'd destroyed the Plexiglas and the mirror. I didn't remember doing it, but there it was, in bits.

Did I fail? No, I couldn't have, if I did, I'd be dead, I'd made sure of it with the bombs and the wires. I hadn't left the bolthole, nor had I tried leaving this room. I hadn't killed myself, and I was still me. Still sane.

Well, mostly sane. Can't call someone who makes a plan like this really all there.

Finally done leaking all over the cot, I got shakily to my feet. Taking a step, I winced, wobbled, and whimpered slightly.

Fuck, it looks like Jessi won't be the only one walking funny today.

Looking down one end of the room, the gun was gone, as was the hammer on the other end. Both were by the mirror. As I looked around, I spotted my phone tucked away where I wouldn't smash it. Powering it on, the messages started coming in.

A few from Marcus and Dave and a single message from Cato, the Maid-Man.

Theirs was the usual, 'where are you' bits they always send when I wander off the beaten path out of sight for more than five minutes. They got the same message, I copied and pasted to both.

Got lost in old memories. Stayed overnight in an old bolthole, near some of Daddy's old armor. Heading to safehouse then school after shower.

Cato's message needed something a bit more honest.

Do I need to kill you?

That needed a response before I walked outside.

I don't think so. If you think otherwise, please aim for a leg.

Can't be too careful.

Oo0oO

I threw my filthy mangled costume into the steel oil drum, along with the blanket, the rolled up cot's thin mattress, and whatever I could grab and chuck in under a minute. Time's a wasting!

Gasoline, some broken pallet wood, a match, presto! You wish all your problems were this easy to clean up.

I took the pants half of the shot costume, the vibes - get more batteries after school -, all my assorted pills and Jars, and tossed it in the duffel bag, I'd sort it later when I had time.

I didn't put on the fat-suit, I'd just reek it up. It went in the duffel bag sorta folded up. My now very loose clothes would need a bit of belt cinching, but it wasn't like it made me taller or anything, just thicker.

Then I disarmed the bomb.

It was nothing fancy, just something that'd blow if I treated it like I treated everything when I was raging. After a moment's thought, I re-wired it to the door.

Max was no doubt looking for this place and I didn't want people to see - or smell - what I had to do to correct myself. With luck one of the gormless fucks would yank on the door and erase all the evidence. I doubt it'd work on the Maid-Man or Max though, but we'd see if the place was still standing when I came back.

And I'd have to, I'd barely gotten anything in place.

But I was tough, I could take it, and it's all right if it's Dave.

Oo0oO

Back at the safehouse, I shucked everything off and tossed it into the duffel bag, dug out my spare fat-threads, and practically dove into the shower.

Dave had messaged as I was walking back that he'd stop by and make sure I got to school on time. Was he borrowing the car or something or did his Dad not work today?

I washed, and let the sweat and the stink and the filth go down the drain. I felt so much better this way, more like how I'm supposed to be me.

My hair took a quick wash, and then I slowly turned into the shower proper.

I hissed in pain as the hot water hit the cunt, my cunt, I reminded myself, it wasn't just the thing I pissed out of anymore. It was still red and sore, and I really didn't want to run a wash cloth over it, but it was after all just one more thing that would need maintenance now. I wasn't sure what to use, (were there cunt soaps?) so I ended up sitting on the floor and spreading things to let the water rinse off what it may.

What was that word again? Douche? It wasn't just a word for lame assholes, it was also some sort of feminine hygiene product. I'd have to look into it. Probably like gun oil but for the cunt. Cunt oil? I really needed to look up the correct words.

Stepping forward slightly, I let the hot water hit the little tits, my tits, mine. These are also a part of me and soon they too would see use.

Like the -my- cunt, it stung, but it was in a good way. I had no words to describe it, and I've washed the things for weeks but now, I had no words to describe then, and even less now.

In any event, I let the water linger there a fair bit. I even enjoyed toweling them off, winces aside.

Even the Brown Jar stung when it landed on the raw spots, but it helped with the ache and the raw skin exposed. I rubbed it in, the last day of goop for a while, at least according to the Doc. Looking down at my little bumps, I rubbed and thought about what would happen next.

Would there be more Jars, more pills? Needles in the tits? Would it hurt?

I blinked and found I was massaging the goop in like the Doc did that time. A bit too much.

I didn't have time for this.

I finished and started getting ready for the fat suit.

Dave would be here any moment, and some things still had to be kept a secret.

Cloth band wrapped around them, I scrambled into the suit, then my no longer loose clothes.

Oo0oO

How does Jessi do it?

She looks so normal so easily, you'd never guess that she was getting plowed on a regular basis. By two fuckers no less.

If Dave and I, y'know, got physical physical, then I'd have to learn how to hide it at least as good as she did. At least from Marcus, and the school. Stupid rumor mills.

At least better than I was right now, enough so she didn't ask me quietly about it during the lunch break. I'd taken to eating outside then hiding in the library to keep on the down low, but Jessi knew that. Angela was off trying to score a burger off school grounds, not allowed according to the guidelines, but miles ahead of the cafeteria in terms of quality.

"Are you okay?" She whispered quietly and urgently. "Did he- Did you get- " She paused to try to discreetly say the word 'fuck' without saying it. "- Like me?"

"Naw." I drawled, shaking my head tiredly. "Just getting prep work done." At her look, still so hard to understand, I hastened to clarify. "I have some... issues, with certain things going into certain places. I'm trying to get over it."

"Anything I can do to help?" That right there is a sign of a wonderful friend. Not like me.

"After my birthday, I think so. Maybe." Would she tell me how she hides it so well? Was I a bad person for asking her for it?

Time will tell.

Oo0oO

Dave did not like it when he got his throat slit.

No he didn't.

Even if it was a pencil eraser dragged across his neck instead of a knife.

He also really didn't like finding out all the spots in the area that are so dangerous to poke. A nerve cluster here, a tendon there, vertebra, trachea, muscles, and ever so many important places to bleed from.

Even with Wednesday off to cool down a bit, he really didn't like finding out just how vulnerable he was.

When it got to my turn to show him how to defend against most of it - not all, he still stubbornly refused to ask me about my the Brazilian Leaping Jugular cut and was boundly determined to figure it out himself- he was acting much rougher than usual, and any hesitancy in grabbing me was pretty much gone.

Good, he couldn't hesitate just because it was a girl he was grabbing, or me.

Plus, I liked it. The feeling of him around me, trying to jam a pencil in my eye, it was like Daddy back when I was learning.

The erection pressed against my ass was new, but not unwelcome, and his free hand was under my arm and pressing me against him tightly as he tried to shank me with an unsharpened number 2.

He didn't even notice he was effectively copping a feel, not like he could feel it over the hoodie and body armor I had on, but I could certainly feel it. He was squeezing my chest so harshly with his forearm I was certain it was going to leave a bruise.

It felt so good I almost let the pencil slip in and let him get his first taste of beating me.

Almost.

"Press forward, deflect his wrist with your own, use your mouth to catch it." Said number two pencil was caught in my teeth like a stick.

"Bite hard. Don't use your lips or tongue cause if it's at all sharp you are just itching to get a Joker-style smile when he yanks it back." A bit hard to say all this with said pencil in my teeth, but I managed.

"Grip wrist, step on instep, reverse headbutt." I did it gently, not enough to break anything, but enough to make his eyes water.

"Hook leg and trip, fall with him." We fell backwards. "Twist neck, retrieve weapon and stab them with it." Dave found me draped all over him his pencil poking his liver.

We got up and I handed it back to him.

"Now you try it against me."

Oo0oO

After Dave drove me home, instead of taking off he went in with me and I found myself eating with him and Marcus. Mac n' Cheese, salad, some baked potatoes, all stuff you could make in short order. That there were three portions was not lost on me. They had been talking.

After we ate, it was grilling time.

Where did I, a little girl not even twelve go last night since I wasn't in the safehouse? Apparently he'd asked Dave to swing by and found out I was AWOL.

"A bolthole?" Dave hadn't heard the term before.

"It's like a safehouse, only more disposable, and typically without running water or heat." I explained. "And I went there as it was one of the places Daddy used to hold some of our stuff. Including one of his old suits."

Dave and Marcus shared a quick glance at each other. I didn't know what to make of it.

"Look, I just wanted to be alone with my memories for a bit." I tried to brush it off. "I was armed, I ate an MRE, I snoozed on a cot."

It was all true. I did do all those things, eventually.

I didn't have to fake a yawn halfway through the Dave and Marcus tag-team grilling. "Look, I'm sorry I didn't warn you guys, the urge just hit me halfway to the convenience store." I yawned again. "And I didn't sleep too well. Too many memories."

Oo0oO

Finally in my room now, gonna crash early. I heard them muttering as I went up the stairs, but they didn't have anything, so I should be all right.

And I realized now, looking through the duffel bags that I forgot both Little Daves. No practice tonight then. I'll grab em tomorrow.

No goop either, not with all the peeling. Viva la Aloe Vera! Oh that stuff felt nice.

That left the pills, and a quick update in my Diary for Max to read. And I better jot something down on the paper one for Marcus as well. No sense having him skulk about.

Much to do tomorrow. My birthday is Saturday after all. One day to go.