Pus Junkies

—12—

“Chelsea, open this door!” Pound pound pound. “What’s the matter with you?”

“Just leave me alone, Dad! P-please…”

Chelsea stared in the mirror, the flesh on both cheeks torn open by her own fingernails. Similar scratches and gouges decorated her arms and thighs, and even though the pain was awful, she dug her nails in and scratched, scraping away thin strips of meat from her face.

The scratches hurt, but it was nothing compared to the pain within. The pain that begged her for more of the Toad, for more of his pus.

Where the fuck is Chuck!

She didn’t know how long ago he had left for school to find Kip and bring back more for them to share. He said he would be right back… but that son of a bitch never showed. He lied, he lied!

Chelsea screamed, smashed her fist into the mirror and cracked it, ignored the blood now dripping from her knuckles.

“Chelsea! That’s enough, goddamnit. If you don’t open this door in the next five seconds, I’ll bust it down myself! Chelsea!”

“Fuck you, Dad. Fuck you! You don’t understand! You’ll never understand!”

“Chelsea!” Her mother’s voice. “What has gotten into you?”

Tears flowed from her eyes and thinned out the blood oozing from her wounds. She paced back and forth, her footsteps heavy and pounding. Her arms flailed as she knocked over her lamp, her books, her toys, her picture frames.

Chuck’s smiling face stared up at her from the cracked frame just at her feet. A violent burst of sobbing took her then as she fell onto her ass, cradled the photo.

“Where are you, Chuck? You said you’d come back but you lied to me and I hate you but I love you so bad. Oh God… please, Chuck. Please.”

Tap.

It came from the window.

Tap.

Chelsea gasped, jumped to her feet. Her sweatshorts were soaked with blood, and the carpet was spotted with it here and there.

“That’s it, Chelsea. You hear me?” Her dad rattled the handle a few more times before the pounding started. She could hear her mother out there whimpering, trying to calm her father down. A weak fucking cunt, always was.

Chelsea figured he was going to try and break it down, but knew he wouldn’t be able to do it. Not strong enough, too skinny, not like her Chuck, her sweet and beautiful Chuck who had come to her rescue at last. And there was no key to unlock her door either because he had swiped it and had it sitting on her dresser.

But none of that mattered anymore.

“Chuck? Is that you?” She flew to her window, threw it open, peered out. It was still day time, but it wouldn’t be for much longer. The air was cool, felt good on her wounds, and when she saw Chuck’s face smiling up at her, she nearly dove right out of the window to greet him.

He just stared up at her and giggled. His eyes looked bright against the dark red of his face.

Is that blood?

Chelsea quickly wondered if he’d been hurt, but didn’t worry about it long. She needed to know if he had brought anything for her. Needed to know if he kept his promise to her. Because if he didn’t… she would fucking kill him. She would tear his fucking nuts off.

And he just kept laughing.

“Will you hurry the fuck up? I’m dying in here. Please, Chuck!”

“His blood,” Chuck said as he climbed the wooden lattice wrapped in ivy toward her window. “His blood too. It works too. And it feeeeeeeels awesome!”

When he gripped the windowsill, Chelsea grabbed hold of his forearms, ran her blood-caked nails across his flesh, trying to pull him in. He stumbled into the room, landed on top of her. He stank, the smell reminding Chelsea of roadkill and spoiled beef and… and Toad. That’s what it reminded her of. The Toad.

“His blood too.”

Chelsea didn’t waste any time, ran her tongue across Chuck’s face, his chest, his stomach, his cock and balls. Kip’s blood was all over him. It burned, but it burned good. Tasted like fire and orgasm and relief.

“What about the zits? The pus? Did you b… b…”

She wanted to ask about the pus because it’s all she’d been able to think about for what felt like forever and she wanted Chuck to stop fucking around and give it to her already but she couldn’t get the words out as the blood took effect. Chuck’s smiling face looked like it split in half, and a rainbow of colorful light spilled out like liquid crayons.

“The Toad is mine,” Chuck said.

She’s trying to take it from me. But… but it’s mine.

After Chuck had left Toad’s house, he was compelled to head to Chelsea’s. Now that he was there, in her room, Chelsea underneath him and licking him clean, he couldn’t remember why he came. He remembered why he left Toad’s room, or rather ran from it. When Toad had shouted, blood squirting from his body in countless different places, Chuck had felt it in his guts, in his chest and head. It wasn’t pain, but pure fear. When he heard Toad’s voice, he just knew to run away, just knew to disobey him was to die. Or worse… be denied any more of him.

And now that he was in Chelsea’s room, someone pounding on her bedroom door and shouting, he realized she was licking Toad’s blood off him. Cleaning him. She cackled now, but wouldn’t stop scraping her tongue over his skin, and when he saw his flesh tone instead of the red and maroon of Toad’s blood, he slapped his palm into her face and tried to push her away but she fought back and outstretched her tongue, wiggled it in circles between his fingers to try and get another taste.

Toad’s blood still swirled through his system, but it didn’t feel the same. He needed more. And it wasn’t until Chelsea started tongue-bathing him that he realized he was covered in it.

“No,” he said and shoved her face harder, but she only pushed back harder in response. “The Toad is mine, you stupid fucking bitch!”

The pounding at the door got louder, so did the shouting. A man. Chuck didn’t have time to worry about who it was or why they wanted in. He thought he heard a woman’s voice too, but couldn’t be sure.

It’s more people trying to take the Toad away from me. But they can’t have him because he’s mine. He’s all fucking mine!

Chelsea squirmed and snickered. Blood oozed out of deep scratches across her cheeks. She licked her lips, eyes wide and dilated. “Where is he, Chuck?” she said through her chortles. “Where is Toad? I need him.”

Chuck still had his hand in her face when she started trying to lick him again, and he pulled the hand away only to replace it with his fist. Knuckles slammed against the bridge of her nose, cracking it, spraying blood over her lips and teeth and she just licked it up, seemed oblivious to her own pain, never stopped laughing.

So he hit her again. This one rocked her head back, and she stopped struggling for a few seconds, just writhed beneath him, her ruined face rocking from side to side. But she still giggled, still asked for another taste.

“You can’t fucking have him!”

More pounding and pounding and screaming from the other side of the door.

Chuck reached out, grabbed something hard and flat just a few feet above Chelsea’s head. He lifted it with both hands, brought it down as hard as he could to make this stupid fucking cunt stop laughing already. So sick of hearing her laugh!

The sound was wet and crunchy when the metal hit her face, and he brought it over his head again, jammed it back down. Then again and again until she finally stopped moving, finally stopped fucking laughing.

Chuck stared at the object in his hand. A picture frame. His face smiling out. His school picture, his football picture. Now splattered with Chelsea’s blood, the glass shattered. He remembered giving her that photo, and for a quick second, he remembered loving this girl, somewhere in the past he loved her.

The frame had split her mouth at the corners, busted out a lot of her teeth which floated and swam in the gurgling blood filling her mouth and spilling over the sides. Her lips looked like cooked ham and her tongue swirled in slow circles. Her eyes kept trying to roll to the back of her head, but then they locked on Chuck, quivered for a moment.

Gurgle… choke, choke… gurgle…

“Stop fucking laughing!”

He slammed the frame down one more time, lodging it into her mouth, pressing down with all his weight until he felt something break and crunch under him. Her body jumped once, legs rattled, then she stopped moving. The frame stayed upright when Chuck let go of it, then he stood, slammed his fists into his forehead as the yelling got louder and louder and the door rattled in its frame.

“Chelsea answer me! What’s going on! Who’s in there!”

Chuck roared, stomped toward the door, unlocked it.

When it flew open and Chuck saw the man standing there, a short, scared-looking woman clinging to his side, Chuck growled, launched himself forward.

The man yelped when they collided, and Chuck pushed, took the man off his feet. And then the man was gone, falling and falling, the back of his head slamming against a rail on his way down to the first floor.

Crack!

Blood pooled around his head and spread across the floor quickly. The woman screamed, tried to run but Chuck caught her by the hair at the back of her head, dragged her across the floor only to pick her up and send her down to the first floor with the man. The woman landed on her feet, but her body folded in on itself on impact, and she lay on her side, just beside the man, screaming and screaming. The screams were sloppy and gruff, and Chuck almost ran down to make her shut up, but he went back into Chelsea’s room instead, was just about to climb back out her window and go running back to Toad. He would beg Toad for more, get on his knees and just beg.

“Mommy?”

The voice came from the hallway, and then there was crying. Crying and screaming.

“Mommy! Daddy!”

“The Toad is mine!” Chuck ran his fingernails across his eyes as he sprinted back out of the bedroom.

Jade wept on the bedroom floor. She didn’t understand why her Toad had been so mad at her. All she wanted to do was love him, love him forever and ever. She wanted to be with him, to go back to him, to feel him inside of her.

Not his cock… not like other boys. His soul, his essence. His fluids.

She got back to her feet and stared at the red mess on the bed. Daddy had tried to yell at her, tried to tell her that she was a whore, a good for nothing slut who was only good at one thing and that he would show her what she was good at just like he always did.

But Daddy can’t have her anymore. She doesn’t belong to him now. She belongs to Toad.

She tried to find her father’s face in the pile of meat lying on the mattress, wanted to look him in the eye one last time, but she couldn’t find it.

It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is getting back to my love.

Blood painted her entire body, but she couldn’t tell what was Toad’s and what was her father’s anymore. She licked her arm, swallowed, but it wasn’t working, couldn’t feel the usual burst of pixie dust in her chest and stomach like she usually did.

I need more. I have to have more.

She knew he would understand. He wouldn’t be mad at her for needing him, for wanting him so bad. She would do anything for him, anything he wanted.

I can’t take it. I’m coming back to you, my sweet Toad. I’m coming back to you and I don’t ever want to leave you again.

She grabbed two handfuls of meat from the bed, felt hard bone poking her palm.

“You can’t have me anymore. I’m all his now.”

The balls of gore hit the wall and slapped to the floor, leaving splattered meaty patterns at the point of impact.

Jade laughed and touched herself as she imagined being back in Toad’s presence, wrapping her body around his body, taking him in a mouthful at a time.

Kip could feel them coming back. And he wanted them back. But it would be different this time, he’d be more careful.

He couldn’t let them feast on him anymore. He knew that now. As good as it felt, as much as he wanted to be a buffet for them, he didn’t know if his body could take that again.

One person at a time, just a taste.

He could feel the pheromones twirling off his body like ghost fingers, beckoning his people back to him. And they were coming to him, he could feel them. Could taste them on the air.

Kip sat on the bottom stair, facing the door, and he smiled, stood, walked to the door and opened it before she had to knock.

“Hi, Jade. I’m glad you’re back.”

“You’re not mad at me, right? I couldn’t take it if you were mad at me.” She was covered in blood, and though it was drying in places, it still glistened in the dying sunlight.

“I’m not mad.” He pulled her in, embraced her, kissed her. Kip could tell from the smell that the blood coating her was not his or hers. He wrinkled his nose and backed away. “You need to wash that off. I don’t like it.”

Her face screwed up and she began to cry, crumbled into a ball of flesh at his feet. Nails scraped across the arches of his feet, across his toes.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll do anything you say. Just please… please let me taste you again.”

Kip lifted back to her feet by her wrists, kissed her again. “Here.” He popped a freshly filled pimple on his left cheekbone, left the exposed ball of pus on his face and leaned forward.

Jade cupped the back of his head, smashed her face against him, and snorted in her fix. She started to frenzy again, searching his skin for more, but Kip pulled away, shoved her back a few steps.

“That’s enough. Now go wash up.”

It looked like she wanted to protest, but just nodded, eyes going soft and dreamy as the pus took effect. A small smile pulled at her mouth, and she began exploring her sticky, red body with trembling fingers, shuddering with every breath.

“Go upstairs to the bathroom. Take a hot shower.”

Jade nodded, tried to press her body to his, but he backed away, his heels hitting the bottom step. Jade looked hurt, but her hands still roamed her flesh, squeezed and massaged and fondled.

Kip stepped aside, pointed up the stairs, and she followed orders, was a good girl. Dried bloody footprints still stained the stairs from earlier in the day, when his entire flock had scattered. But as she ascended, she left fresh ones, wet and sparkling.

Kip took a long look at her ass, the way it bulged with each step. For a moment, the old Kip was back, and he couldn’t believe he was staring at Jade Brewster’s naked body in his home. And she was there for him, because she wanted him so bad. He could control her now. Had her in the palm of his hand. And though he was tempted to join her in the shower, finally get rid of the virginity that had accompanied him through life like some kind of imaginary friend, he decided to hold on to it. It didn’t matter anymore. To fuck her would be so pointless now. He would be inside of her, was already inside of her, and no penetration could ever compare to that.

Another knock at the door. Kip had to force his eyes away from Jade’s red breasts as she spun to face the noise. Jealousy twisted her mouth and pinched her eyes, but Kip scowled at her.

“Jade. Get in the shower. You don’t want to make me mad, do you?”

She shook her head. “Never. But—”

“Jaaaade.”

“Okay.” She started to walk, then stopped momentarily. “I love you. I love you so bad.”

“I know. Now go.”

Kip strolled to the door, could hear them all out there, already starting to fight. He couldn’t have that anymore either. Was sick of them fighting. They would behave themselves or get nothing.

He opened the door. They all hushed immediately and stared up at him, at their savior.

They started to rush toward him like some crazed stampede, but he held up a hand and stopped them in their tracks.

“Please, Kip. I’m begging you.” Jezebel scratched at her wrists and forearms, the skin there already red from irritation. Her eyes bounced in all directions, puffy and pink from crying.

“I can’t take it anymore. I’ll… I’ll fucking kill myself,” Cash said as his knees hit the concrete of Kip’s patio. The boy leaned forward, resting his forehead against Kip’s feet.

There were at least six of them there now, and more were wandering toward the house from all directions. Each of them still wearing the dried blood from earlier in the day.

Kip lifted Cash to his feet, hugged him, patted him on the back.

“Please,” Cash said, shaking his head. “I’m so sorry for how I treated you.” His fist flew from his side and slammed into his own left eye.

Kip ruptured a zit on his forehead, motioned for Cash to take the custard. Cash squealed at the offering, eagerly sucked it up. The crowd grew restless, almost started shoving each other again, fighting, but Kip nudged Cash aside and glared at them. They didn’t move.

“One at a time,” Kip said. He felt powerful. He felt like a god.

But they didn’t look ready to cooperate. Not like before. They looked desperate, and though Kip started to yell, started to let the anger take over like before, there was no stopping them.

Cash pounced on him from behind, pressed his mouth to the back of Kip’s neck. Then the others were on him, no longer worried about Kip, only cared about feeding their need, their addiction. Like rabid, hungry dogs on a side of beef.

“No! I said no!”

But they weren’t listening, were deaf to his shouting, his demands. He was on his back now, thrashing his arms and legs, twisting his face away from the mouths and teeth and tongues, but couldn’t escape them.

And they sucked and drank and snorted him dry.