Erik

My fingers tightly gripped the steering wheel of my Mercedes-Benz G-Class. It was a present from my father for my 18th birthday, and I was only a few inches away from having this girl's entrails decorating the hood of my car like bloody Christmas garland.

Our chests simultaneously rose and fell as we stared each other down. To say I was intrigued by the girl was a gross understatement. Her doe eyes were captivating. I could read every single emotion as if we were on the same wavelength; shock, fear, distress, anxiousness, and a mutual feeling of aggressive curiosity.

My eyebrows rose once her tongue darted out and licked her full bottom lip, further cementing my attention. Such an innocent response evoked such a feral response from me. The longer she stayed rooted in fear, panting through her open mouth as if someone fucked her into oblivion, the more I tumbled down the rabbit hole.

I was good at reading people, and her aura told me everything I needed to know. She screamed, sheltered good girl, and I wanted to ruin her for some unknown reason. I wanted to build her up just to break her down, mold her into who I wanted her to be, and make her entirely dependent on me.

Calm down, Erik. You're coming in too hot.

My therapist, who mistakenly claimed I showed sociopathic and psychopathic tendencies, would say that I was underestimating the girl. He warned me that my superiority complex would be the end of me one day. Someone would come along and pull the rug from underneath me. But I could assure you that she wouldn't be the one to do it.

Or could she?

My paranoia activated, and a million scenarios played in my head.

What if she is playing me? What if she isn't innocent after all? What if every move she makes is calculated? What if she ruins me?

The girl almost jumped out of her skin when some asshole started blaring their horn behind me. I watched her scurry like a mouse to the sidewalk before glaring at the driver through the rear-view mirror.

"Move your fucking ass, bitch! I can't be late for first period!" he yelled. I calmly lit a cigarette while memorizing his truck's make, model, and license plate. He drove one of those gaudy fucking trucks that I'd seen many Texans drive around in–tall with big mud-covered tires and a fucking flag flying out of the back. The cherry on top was the non-politically correct bumper sticker that was most likely slapped on the back. I'd hate to get in a political debate with him about race, climate change, immigration, and abortion. Not because we most likely had opposing views, but because he would probably spew out everything that was regurgitated to him at the dinner table by his pappy. That was the problem these days. No one thought for themselves. Free-thinking had been taken out of the equation in favor of a hive-mentality to feed capitalism.

I digress!

The motherfucker finally got the message and drove around me with his tires squealing and his exhaust pumping. He gave me the finger, and I made a mental note to break it once I got ahold of him. I smirked at his bumper sticker and wasn't surprised when it read, "It's okay to be White."

I let out an exasperated sigh and turned into the school parking lot. I located a parking spot far away from the other students. I didn't want to have to kill anyone for scratching the paint job or putting a dent in the body. Charles would have a fucking field day and attempt to make a last-ditch effort to have me shipped off to military school.

I chuckled as I took a final hit of my cigarette. I'd bet my entire trust fund Charles would be sleeping on the couch tonight. I loved my mother to death, but she was a dingbat with an unhealthy attraction to toxic men. She was the type of woman who thought there was good in everyone, and she could fix a man with her affection and unwavering loyalty. She was too old not to grasp the concept that not everyone could be saved, nor did they want to be saved. I genuinely pitied Charles. Textbook, he was a good man. He was a plastic surgeon, sensible with his finances, respectful, and all those other Boy Scouts qualities. Unfortunately, none of that shit would matter to my mother once my father was released. She'd drop Charles like a fucking hot potato.

I scanned the crowds for the fourth member of the Powerpuff Girls, but she was nowhere in sight. I wanted to approach her, but I needed to do a little recon before we met.

***

As expected, I received stares as I entered the school. There were lust-fueled glances from the girls, admiring my good looks and tattoos. There were hate-fueled glares from the guys, hating me for those same reasons. They thought I planned on running through all the cheerleaders they simped over, who would never give them the time of day. They didn't have to worry because there was only one girl who piqued my interest, and I was more than positive she wasn't their type. My favorite stares were from the faculty members who knew I'd be a pain in the ass. The dread on their faces was plain as day.

"Young man? A moment of your time, please?" I heard from behind me. I stopped in my tracks and slowly turned around to be greeted by a balding middle-aged man.

"Why do you feel entitled to any of my time?" I challenged as I stared the man down.

"I'm the vice principal of this school," he stated matter of factly. I owlishly stared at him, wondering when he would make his point.

"Okay? What the hell is that supposed to mean to me?"

"It means that I need you to step inside my office."

"For what?"

"I need to go over our school policies with you."

"No need. I read the student handbook online," I refused.

"Did you miss the part where it stated that visible tattoos are not allowed?"

"No, but what do you want me to do about it? Do you want me to skin myself so that I can attend this sad excuse of a school with its barely above remedial curriculum?" I challenged. I bit back my laughter as the blood rose to the surface of his skin. Charles and him could be best friends; they were both bitches.

"Mr. King, we do not allow tattoos at our school."

"Well, then, you shouldn't have allowed me to enroll into this school if those were your policies. I have a student ID with me and all of my tattoos."

"Again, Mr. King, we don't allow tattoos at this school."

I sucked in a breath through my teeth.

"That's tough, Vice Principal. It really does because my tattoos are a part of my culture, and I would hate to think you were discriminating against me. I have millions of followers on social media. It only takes a single exaggerated post before reporters and news outlets come snooping around asking for statements. Who knows what they'd discover in the process of their discovery? There's a nasty rumor going around that the football coach likes to give extra credit after school, if you know what I mean." The bell rang, signaling the students should start making their way to first period. "Listen, I would love to stay and chat, but if you have any issues regarding my appearance, then please feel free to call my mother."

I left the slack-jawed man standing in the hallway and proceeded to my first class of the day. This school year would be exhilarating.

08/05/2022

Author's Corner

Erik will start getting creepy about Jezebel in the next chapter! And he's gonna be rude af to his classmates, too lol.