ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(29)

I throbbed for this girl. Painfully aroused couldn’t begin to explain how much I wanted to burry myself deep inside her. “Why do you lie to your parents?” I asked.

“It’s complicated,” she answered, inhaling sharply, watching my hand with a strange kind of curiosity. Following it as I slid it higher and higher up her leg. Her reluctance to answer my question only led to more questions. I found myself wondering if her asking about Talia earlier was a product of her naiveté, or maybe just from having been hurt before. Which led me to think about some * that could have hurt her. Which made me want to break this imaginary ex-boyfriend’s f*cking neck with my bare hands. I let her get away with not telling me more about her parents, although I planned on asking her again.

After all, I lied to her about my own parents.

I was about to reach under her towel and feel to see if I was having the same effect on her she was having on me. I wondered how wet she was. How hot she was going to feel against my fingers. I thought about plunging my fingers inside of her when an echoing BOOM crashed through the living room, followed by a flash of blinding white light.


Fireworks. Cock blocked by f*cking fireworks. Although cock-blocked might not be the right term to use, because Rage wasn’t a girl I could just flash the dimple at and have my way with. No, Rage was complex and it was going to take more than feeling up her thigh to get her to give herself over to me completely.

“I’ll take the couch,” I said to Rage who, much to my disappointment, had changed out of her towel and into actual clothes. What I wanted to do was rip it off of her and carry her to my bed. There was a look in her eyes. That was what stopped me. Confusion mixed with innocence. “You can have the bed. There are clean sheets in the closet,” I called out, preparing to spend the night on the couch.

Rage came back out of the bathroom, dressed in another pair of shorts. These were white and even shorter than the denim ones from earlier. Her tiny, tight pink T-shirt read, FUCK OFF. THANK YOU. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun that had strands sticking out of it at all angles, some so long they passed her chin. “I don’t need it. I’m good.”

“You’re here to help me. It’s the least I can do as a man to offer—”

Rage cut me off, shaking her head. “When I said I didn’t need it, I meant it. I don’t sleep. It’s one of my…quirks.” She made air quotes around the word quirks, obviously quoting some idiot who’d made her feel bad about her eccentricities. Probably the ex-boyfriend who I was now not only going to strangle, but chop off his balls as well.

“What do you mean you don’t sleep? Like you mean you only sleep a few hours a night?” I asked.

Rage bit the side of her thumb and looked away. “More like zero.”

“How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I zone out for a while sometimes, for maybe an hour or two at most. I’m fully conscious, though, just a little out of it.”

“Come again?”

Rage pressed her open palms together and pointed her fingers toward the ceiling like she was praying. She seemed to always be talking with her hands, acting out what she was trying to say as she spoke the words. “Think of it like meditating instead of sleeping, except I’m not actually meditating.”

“Wow, I’ve never heard of such a thing. Are you ever tired?” I asked, curious as to how she could function without sleep.

Rage shook her head. “Nope. Not really. Besides, you ever hear people complain about not having enough hours in the day?” she asked, a sly smile on her pink lips. “Well, that’s a complaint I don’t ever make.” It was then I realized that while I’d nodded off, she’d done more than just clean the fan. The floors were sparkling and so was every other surface in the house.

“So you just stay up all night and clean?” I asked. She sat down next to me and curled her legs up underneath her as she’d done earlier. Her shorts rode up her legs, exposing the small patch of skin between her * and her inner thigh.

Fuck.

“I keep busy” was her response.

Despite my once again throbbing cock, I felt my eyes becoming heavier and heavier. I yawned. Rage watched me, her eyes on my mouth, the same wonderment written across her face she’d had when she was watching my hand move up her leg. “Well, mi casa es su casa,” I said, lifting myself off the couch. This time I grabbed the crutches off the floor instead of the wheelchair. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Night,” she said, not looking the least bit tired. I teetered my way into the hall, but before I turned the knob on the bedroom door, I leaned back and stole one last glance at the girl sitting on my living room couch. I pressed my lips together, not wanting her to hear me laughing, but when I saw what she was doing, I couldn’t not laugh.

Rage was staring into the sliding glass doors, observing her reflection…as she practiced yawning. She opened her mouth wide and then closed it, inhaling deeply and stretching. The next time, she covered her mouth. The time after that is when she closed her eyes and did her fake yawn, ending with a long groan at the end of her stretch with her mouth.

It was the same look I wanted to see on her face when I made her come.

Soon.

I forced myself to stop watching her and closed the bedroom door behind me, collapsing onto the bed with Rage’s potential orgasm face burned into my brain.