Fook (49 page)

Arriving at his floor, Justin quickly hopped
from the elevator. He'd considered foregoing the finicky
contraption altogether after spending two hours trapped in it the
week before, however given his current intoxicated state, getting
stuck for a couple of hours sounded far better than taking a tumble
down the dimly lit stairwell. Hardly anyone used the stairs. He
could lay there for days before the elevator broke again, giving
someone a reason to stumble upon his broken body.

Safely on his floor, his thoughts returned
to the bathroom inside his "suite" as he turned and proceeded down
the hall, running his hand along the wall to keep the wobbly
building from knocking him to the floor. With Kristy gone, the
unfriendly combination of Jack Daniel's and Keystone Light had
quickly taken the opportunity to make their presence felt as the
two unlikely companions pushed at the lining of his bladder,
searching for any means of escape. Though he would have preferred
the more erotic sensation of evacuating his loins, given the
urgency with which his two alcoholic companions were pleading for
freedom, something told him that this was going to be the best piss
he'd ever taken.

Not even noticing the lacy black underwear
hanging from the doorknob, Justin twisted the handle and was denied
access by a soft click as the knob shifted only slightly in his
hand before coming to a sudden stop.

"What the hell?" Justin glanced up at the
chipped numbers on the door, confirming that he was at the right
room.

309

Confident that he was at the right place and
recalling his roommate telling him earlier that he'd be home
studying all night, Justin tried the door again, not entirely sure
why he expected a different outcome or why he was surprised when he
was again denied entry.

"God damn it," he fumbled in his pocket for
his keys, pulling them out and holding them only inches from his
face as he attempted to pick the right one from the ring of blurry
metal.

Somewhat confident that he'd picked the
right one, he began lining the key up with the center of the knob,
since the keyhole was all but invisible at that point. As the key
searched every surface of the round brass handle, he finally
noticed the feminine object hanging right in front of him.

Lowering the key, he grabbed the underwear,
lifting them into the air to examine them before giving them a
quick sniff and returning them to the doorknob. He knew what they
represented. Even though he was a freshman, the random object
hanging from the doorknob was a universally understood symbol in
college. Most people used socks, or even a hair tie. He liked to
slip an unused rubber around the knob, but not before spitting in
it to get the full effect. He couldn't think of a better way to
ensure privacy. "His roommate, obviously didn't care as much about
privacy," he thought as he placed his ear to the door, while once
again trying to silently slip the key into the lock.

Annoyed by their continued imprisonment,
Jack and Keystone suddenly banded together to issue one final
assault, sending a wave of pain across his lower abdomen and
causing him to forego the excitement of busting in on his roommate
nailing some random slut. Instead, fighting through the pain, he
traded the keys for his fist and began banging on the door.

"Dude, I gotta piss! Open the door!"

"Fuck off! I'm busy!"

"I gotta go and I'm drunk as shit! I can't
get my key in!"

"Well I've got mine in just fine, so go
away!"

"Just open the door!" Justin continued to
plea as another assault caused him to start dancing.

"Use the one down the hall!" his roommate
shouted, obviously not willing to be interrupted during his
conquest.

"Asshole," Justin mumbled as he turned and
quickly began staggering toward the common bathroom at the other
end of the hall. He would have continued to argue with the selfish
prick, but given the urgency of the situation, the fight seemed
futile and the eventual outcome devastatingly embarrassing.

Again running his hand along the wall as he
quickly shuffled toward the disgusting room at the end of the hall,
he imagined what he was about to walk into. As more and more
private bathrooms went down on the floor, more and more people were
using the tiny public lavatory, and not just any people, college
guys. The place was disgusting. Unless you were a trained deep sea
diver and capable of holding your breath for extended periods of
time, you were almost guaranteed to ingest at least some of the
fecal cloud always lingering in the poorly up-kept room. However,
with comfort the priority, Justin didn't even bother to take a deep
breath before bursting through the door and making a b-line for the
first of three urinals to his left.

Fighting with his zipper as it momentarily
caught on a stray thread, he contemplated just dropping his pants
all together but thankfully didn't have to as the thread snapped
and the satisfaction of freedom was quickly replaced by the ecstasy
of relief. With every muscle in his body relaxed, Justin leaned
forward, placing both hands against the cool tile wall as Jack and
Keystone once again parted ways.

"Where is he?” a faint whisper attempted to
compete with the sound of urine against porcelain.

Unaware of the voice, Justin instead opened
his eyes to the realization of what he was touching. Quickly
yanking his hands away from the wall, he was surprised to see that
the white tile surface was amazingly clean. Even head high it
wasn't uncommon to see the glossy wall mottled with tiny yellow
blotches. Pushing the final few ounces of fluid from his bladder,
he looked down at his urinal, as well as the two to his right. They
too were remarkably clean.

"About fucking time," he mumbled as the
stalls to his back came to mind. Urinals were one thing. The
disgusting shit closets were a whole different story. Pivoting to
his right, shaking the last few drops free as he peered over his
shoulder at the open stalls, he was again amazed at the level of
cleanliness around him. That coupled with the faint scent of
vanilla from what appeared to be a newly installed automatic mister
overhead actually made the heavily used room somewhat
tolerable.

"I don't see him."

"What the fuck?" Justin finally noticed the
voice as his attention snapped from the electronic machine overhead
to the showers on the opposite side of the room. Quickly zipping
his pants, he stepped away from the urinal, staring at the two
showers. Both curtains were pulled tightly shut, even though no
water was running, and given the fabric's opaque nature it would
have been nearly impossible to figure out which one housed the
mystery guest if it hadn't been for the fact that the bottom of the
curtains hovered nearly two feet above the ground.

It was clear that the shower on the left was
empty, but the other one... Where Justin expected to find a pair of
bare feet topped by naked, hairy calves was instead a pair of dirty
feet nearly hidden beneath what looked to be a dirty and disheveled
antique white dress.

"Where is he? I don't see him," the female
voice repeated.

"Hello?" Justin called out to the woman.

"Show me. Show me where he is."

"Hello. Miss," Justin inched forward,
tilting his head to the side in an attempt to get a better view
through the crack between the curtain and the tile wall.

"Where is he?” panic changed to grief as the
confused woman began to weep.

"Miss, you're in the men's room," Justin
again tried to get the woman's attention as he stopped only a foot
from the separating curtain.

"I know," the woman responded.

"Then what are you doing in here?"

"I will. I swear."

"What?" Justin asked confused, sensing now
that he wasn't the intended recipient of her words.

"I promise. Just give me back my son."

Clearly the woman needed help and from what
he could see she was dressed, so taking a deep breath, Justin
grabbed hold of the curtain and pulled it aside. Standing in the
far corner with her back turned to him, the woman continued to weep
with her face in her hands.

"Holy shit are you alright?" Justin looked
the woman up and down. The tattered qualities of the dirty dress
that he'd seen beneath the curtain continued all the way up her
body, culminating at her back where the fabric around one shoulder
had been completely torn away revealing large bruises and bloody
cuts that disappeared beneath the remainder of the intact, old
looking fabric. Rushing into the shower, though reluctant to touch
her, Justin stopped right behind her. "Do you need help? Who did
this to you?"

"He has my son," the woman finally addressed
her new company, the grief in her voice slowly fading as a monotone
quality took over.

"Who? Who has your son?"

"The witch."

"Witch? What witch?" Justin asked. It was
clear that someone had beaten the crap out of this woman, but now
he was thinking that she was on something as well. Given what he
knew so far, which wasn't much, he began fabricating a scenario
that included the twenty-something year old woman as an actress in
the school's theatre department. Given her odd attire, he assumed
that she was part of some play set in the late 1700's. All he could
guess was that she'd gone to some party after a show, had had a few
too many, or was slipped something, before someone beat and or
raped her, but that didn't explain the kid.

"Where is he?"

"I don't know where your son is. I think I
should call the police and get you some help."

"I know you know where he is," the woman's
voice grew angry.

"No, I really don't know where he is,"
Justin was surprised by the sudden accusation. He didn't even know
who this woman was. How could he know her son, let alone where he
was? "The police will find your son. Right now we need to get you
to a hospital."

"Where is he?" the woman repeated, even more
upset.

Feeling uncomfortable, Justin began to take
a step back but not before the woman spun around, grabbing hold of
his head with both hands and with remarkable strength, pulled his
face to within an inch of hers.

"I know he's here. So where is he?" the
woman spoke through her clenched teeth, rage burning in the back of
her eyes.

Terrified, Justin attempted to pull away but
couldn't fight the woman's incredible strength. This wasn't just a
battered woman. There was something else behind those eyes;
something far more sinister. Preparing to punch, kick, bite;
anything to get away, he clenched his fist, but never got the
chance as the diminutive woman’s lips parted, filling the room with
a blood curdling scream.

*****

“Holy shit. This girl’s amazing,” was the only
thought repeatedly running through Corey’s mind as he watched the
white sheets bob up and down with each pleasurable sensation.

High school had been fun and he’d nailed his
share of loose girls, but nothing compared to the quality of ass
he’d landed since the beginning of the semester…and he was only a
freshman. “How much better could it get?” he thought, his mind
taking a break from the hidden vacuum at his waist to contemplate
the remaining three and half years of his college career.

The suction ceasing, the sheets began to
rise as young Miss Hoover silently indicated that she was through.
Disagreeing, Corey gently placed his hand on the sheet outlined
shape of her head as he encouraged his conquest back to work.
Obediently, the sheets resumed their dance.

He hadn’t gone out that night looking for a
meaningless one night stand…at least not consciously. Truthfully,
he never went out looking for it. He didn’t have to. Genetically
blessed with the best of his parents’ genes, his mother’s model
looks and his father’s superior intelligence, girls naturally
flocked to him, and those that didn’t, he easily convince them that
they should. What’s her name beneath the sheets hadn’t required
very much convincing. She’d been in front of him in line while he
waited to pick up a pizza that would hopefully fuel him through the
remainder of his cram session for tomorrow’s Biology exam. He’d
first noticed her ass, accentuated by the tight black yoga pants
and branded by the word
Tasty
in bold yellow lettering. “It
might as well say ‘stick it here’,” he’d thought at the time, not
noticing that he’d been busted until the girl had cleared her
throat, drawing his stare upward to a pleasantly unexpected,
flirtatious smile. A five minute walk and a hot and heavy elevator
ride later and they’d both been naked in his bed with the pizza
remaining uneaten on the nightstand.

“Oh my god,” Corey’s mind was returned to
the action beneath the covers as the urge to finish suddenly
presented itself. Not sure how she’d feel about that, though he
could guess, he fought back the sensation as he turned his mind to
something less erotic. His roommate. Instantly Justin’s face came
to mind and his soldiers retreated. That was about the only thing
Justin was good for. He hadn’t chosen to be bunked with the
immature and filthy asshole. In fact, he was supposed to have a
private room, but with the ongoing building renovations leaving the
private dorms uninhabitable, he was forced to pair up with the
prick for what he’d been told would only be a semester, though he
suspected that it would be much longer.

It wasn’t just the fact that Justin’s side
of the room looked like a cluttered, food soiled mess, even by a
hoarder’s standards. The guy just wasn’t likable. He always bragged
about how he’d fucked every girl in his high school and how he’d
even landed a couple of teachers, but he wasn’t fooling anyone.
Since the beginning of the school year he’d been nailing the same
girl and for someone supposedly so experienced, he thought fucking
your “girlfriend” in someone else's parked RV was wild and
exciting. “Amateur,” Corey thought.