Chapter Five: Static

Bang!

I slam the dorm door open so hard it rebounds off the stopper.

My clothes—drenched and sticky. It did not rain today; it was a perfectly sunny day.

My shirt—torn. Some girl yanked it off my frame while I was weaving through a crowd to make it down the hall for my next class; her apology, a rusted pin and ‘advice’: ‘Maybe a different store will have better stitching.’

My body—bruised. The hallway suddenly became an obstacle course. I was tripped sixteen times in the span of three minutes; the last three ‘trips’ got me. My elbow hurts, my knee is scraped, and my forehead has a bump.

But the worst! The straw that broke my freaking back!! I fell asleep in class, and some bitch, yes bitch, cut my hair with what appears to be safety scissors. The chunks are so uneven that it's impossible to pass it off as ‘on purpose’. Do they know how long I had to wait for my curls to form a decent hair style?

“Jesus Christ. You look like you just crawled out of a sewer.”

I glare at Beaumont, the cause of my misfortune, as he lowers his tablet to look at me.

His eyes crinkle as if he is amused that his little prank turned out better than he thought it would.

Hah… this crazy shit!

“Thanks.”

I raise my lips to meet his smile.

 “And you look like someone who pays for OnlyFans exclusively for feet stuff, then confesses to his priest every Sunday.”

“I bet I look decent doing it.”

He retorts, leaving me only with a bitter scoff.

Turning away from him to enter our shared room is easy; he hasn’t won. Correction—he can’t win.

There is one thing I realised when I was scrambling down the fire escape: the jackass parks his car right out the window.

Knowing this, I close the room door, head to the window and drop my wet bag on the floor. The bag is wet from being pushed into the school fountain. Sliding the zipper open, I expose two stone-coloured bricks.

I might get expelled today. I might. Despite knowing that the rage in my system doesn't let me weigh the pros and cons of that realisation.

Without much thought, I toss the first stone through the window, aiming specifically at his car.

Crash!

The sound of glass shattering fills the air as the brick lands dead centre on Beaumont’s windshield.

His car alarm howls just as a hole appears, and the first brick settles on the handbrake.

I don’t need the second brick. I don’t- but for good measure, I toss the second stone, and it lands on his engine, denting a deep hole before resting on the damage.

The sound of loud footsteps rushing out the front door follows the chaos.

My shoulders flinch at the loudness of the bang on the front door.

One second passes, and then another before I can pull my frame from the window, essentially fleeing the crime scene.

The first thought in my head: let's gloat.

Yeah...

As if struck by a sugar high, I rush out of our room, and before I can get too far, I see it—his room keys left on the table next to his tablet that appears to have been tossed aside

“…you moron.”

 I whisper as a villainous smile forms on my lips.

**

“My backshots sound like bongos~!”

I scream-sing the song as the hot shower water cleanses me of this day.

My microphone—my dove orchid shower gel and the bass from my music, Beaumont’s incessant banging on the front door.

Bangbangbangbangbang—

“Open this fucking door, you absolute lunatic!”

His yell finds me when the song pauses to change to the next in my playlist.

To be fair, I have been in the shower for thirty minutes; the door is locked and deadbolted, so even the dorm master can’t help.

I will get out of this shower...eventually... when I am ready to face reality—which isn’t now, considering I remembered I’m half black, picking a fight with a white male blessed with generational wealth.

Hah... I am so fucking screwed.

“My anaconda don’t- My anaconda don’t want none unless you’ve got buns, Hun!”

Bangbangbangbangbang—

“Noel!”

“Open this door! I swear to God, I will end you!”

I turn the volume up to the max and pour conditioner directly on my scalp.

“You broke my windshield, you little freak!”

BANG, BANG BANG!

Yeah, I know, I’ve screwed up. I don’t even have enough time to write my will.

Fine, I’ll let him hit me as much as he wants, and then we call it even. I’ll move in with Reign and-

Will he even let me stay in the school? It’s my last year.

Yeah, I should let him hit me hard enough that even he feels sorry.

Which stage of grief am I in, bargaining?

Wait-

The bangs…they have stopped.

Somewhere between anxiously rinsing my hair and twerking in the fog-stained mirror, it turned silent.

Too silent.

The sound of creaking floorboards causes me to turn off the running water.

I’m black enough to want to stay still and not go toward the danger, but white enough to know that fighting on slippery tiles is a no.

A sharp chill caresses my body as soon as I leave the warm steam and enter the main bathroom area to wrap myself in a towel.

“Fuck….”

I hiss, realising the bathroom door that I had closed is now open—I forgot to shut the window!

“Boo, mother*cker!”

Beaumont’s cold voice cuts through the fear rising in my gut before a hard hand wraps around the back of my neck and slams me against the sink.

My towel barely stays on, knotted loose around my waist.

His grip is unforgiving.

“Ow! If you wanted me bent over-”

“Shut up!”

At his curt tone, I seal my mouth.

“My car? My car! Are you fucking demented?”

“I aimed for your ego; glad I didn’t miss.”

At my response, the pain in my neck increases, causing me to groan before my body is thrown to the wall.

“You think everything is a fucking joke, don’t you?”

Beaumont snarls, his voice low and guttural. At this point, it feels as if he will choke on his rage.

A crackling pain echoes across my face.

I can taste blood, and my ears are ringing. It wasn’t his palm, but his freaking fist that slammed hard against my cheek whipping my head sideways.

I said I’d let him hit me until he was satisfied, but holy fuck, why did I forget this jackass works out?

Before I can even process the pain fully, another blow lands on my stomach, stealing the air from my lungs.

My weak body slumps on the door, but this does nothing to weaken his resolve as his hand flies again to my neck.

No- nuh uh, I can't take any more of this. I’ll die! I'm like half his size!

Panic overrides my thoughts, and my fingers dig into his wrist. My nails scrape against his skin, desperate to peel him off, but the bear-like beast just squeezes harder, so I reach for his face, just anywhere I can hurt him.

 My palm slaps clumsily against his cheek, trying to claw at anything in my vicinity, only for him to twist his neck backwards and have my fingers fall on his pecs.

He is warm. Firm. Almost no fat—because, of course, he’s built like a fascist wet dream.

Even with my vision blurring and lungs screaming, my stupid brain fixates on his heat—on his solid feel.

I want to hate it. I should hate it.

“You... ack... act like a victi-m,”

My voice comes off shredded, but I continue anyway.

“But you had t-those girls c-cut my h-air.”

“You wrecked my car because of fucking hair?”

He yells back as he steps into me.

His chest grazes mine, lighting the nerves on my skin.

Fuck! Noel, focus! This bastard is trying to kill you.

“It’s not p-pubes, you a-ss!”

I croak. It’s barely audible.

“I lov-e t-the h…air on my hea..d!”

Suffocation makes my limbs slow, but perhaps, realising that he might just kill me, I muster all possible strength to cause my knee to fly up in a desperate attempt to hit his groin—but I freeze halfway there.

What I hit is hard, hot and unmistakably aroused flesh.

Holy fuck, he’s huge down there too.

My eyes widen as his hold on my neck loosens, causing fits of coughs to escape me as air suddenly rushes in.

Beaumont says nothing as he watches my red face, so I do him the honours.

“Hah… the student body president has—ack!”

He yanks me forward, his hand once again closing my windpipe before he then slams me back into the door. I didn’t even finish my taunt; it’s almost as if he knows the nature of the next words out of my mouth.

“Fu—ptoo!”

I spit. Right in his face.

The glob hits somewhere near his cheek.

For a moment, time seems to freeze as his eyes slowly drop as if trying to ascertain that I have really spit on him.

For a good while, he doesn't speak—neither of us speaks; we merely breathe into each other. Some of us with rougher breaths than others, but our eyes remain locked.

I can feel my own member rise against my will.

Fuck.

My heart thunders in my ribs; this time, it's not fear—and that’s the problem.

The towel around my waist loosens as if my erection was the last force it could handle.

Shit.

It slips open and slides down.

His eyes flicker downward, but before he can see anything, the hum of electricity ceases, and the sounds of devices powering down echo as the blackout consumes us.

All our senses but touch and hearing are cut, and yet... even then, I feel him staring at me.

For some reason, our mangled breaths, radiating heat and raw static seem to permeate the dark.