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Fuck.
No wonder she was bleeding. And she’s going to bleed even more because she ran away from here barefoot.
Gritting my teeth, I crush her sandals in my hands and stride over to the closet. Opening the door, I throw them in and shut it back with a bang.
My cock is hard as fuck. Harder than it’s ever been.
I jump into the shower and try to clean off the feel of her. I try to clean off her scent, her softness.
And when the memory of her becomes too much, I pull at my cock.
I hear her words in my head: I don’t want to… Not by someone who makes me hate.
Tears have never been my thing. But still, I jerk off to her.
I beat it, pull it, tug it, until I’m spraying cum all over the tiled wall, thinking about her blue hair and her sugar smell.
Fuck.
Fucking fuck.
Fuck.
Bracing my hands on the wall that wears my cum and breathing deep, I clench my eyes closed. Probably in regret. But then, I shut it down.
She hates me anyway.
One more crime against her wouldn’t matter.
