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“It’s like, I'm sort of doomed to nothingness.” Jason sat leaning back on his elbows, bedsheets bunched around his waist, staring forward: his eyes glazed, vapid, empty. Jaws was playing on the shitty TV screen.
No, in fact, the TV was pretty nice, because this was Veronica's house and not his own.
Therefore, everything was actually really fucking nice. The bed. The carpet (freshly cleaned). Her mom, downstairs.
He wondered, did her mom give good fucking blowjobs to her dad at night to keep him happy? He knew, for one, that his mother had given shitty fucking blowjobs when she was alive - because his dad had mentioned it to him on multiple occasions.
“Hmm, what did you say?” Veronica mumbled into his chest, where she had slid down while dozing off. On screen, the shark was now biting Quint in half. It was Jason's favourite moment in the movie, but she had fallen half asleep 20 minutes ago.
Really, that's when the story had started to actually get good. Yet when he had glanced over at her to see her reaction to the monologue Quint delivered, he had been doused with a wave of nausea and embarrassment upon noticing that her eyes were closed.
“I don't think I have long left.” He breathed, staring out the window now (the TV was beside her window. Bad choice, in a way. If it was sunny the blinds would need to be pulled closed to see anything. Otherwise the glare-) the front yard was immaculately well tended to, and when he crawled through her window today, he almost felt, as though, his feet would tarnish it.
“You're just talking lower now.” She spoke and shifted her head on his chest so that she was now resting her chin on it, looking up at him, and it made his skin crawl.
Inside him was an unwinding, unspooling dread, and within her eyes there was nothing but soft love for him. Yet the idea made him sickly.
“Oh, God, Veronica. There's something seriously wrong with me.” He whined pathetically in the back of his throat, hand reaching for her hand and now she was stirring more awake, reacting to the distress in his voice.
“What do you mean?” She straightened up, voice serious. He couldn't look at her face, right in front of him now so that their noses were almost touching, regretted saying anything at all. Watched over her shoulders instead - as Martin Brody aimed his rifle at the oxygen tank in the Great White's mouth.
“I'm kidding, I'm fucking with you. Trying to get you to wake up. Look, the movies almost over.” With his arm he motioned at the screen and she didn't even turn around to look towards it eyes zoned into his own and it was making him uncomfortable, sweat gathering on his back.
Smelling the air she leaned closer, up to his neck, as though he hadn't perfected the art of warping his scent years ago. As though it were any different than lying.
When she touched him gently his body wanted to seize up, and when she pulled away he was ice cold.
“Oh, c'mon Veronica - give it a break.”
She was sitting in between his legs now, and they had naturally fallen open for her, and there was a building heat in his stomach that he could not dissuade.
“I don't feel like a human right now either, Jason.” She whispered into the air and his heart froze.
Over his pyjama trousers, she rested her hand on his inner thigh, close to his crotch but not touching it.
“Dubiously vague idea anyway - the feeling of feeling human. Maybe the problem is that there is a vague idea of what a human is in the first place.” He spoke, a sort of static mind and static heart, he felt like he was vaporizing. In the dead of night every day he died and was reborn again, and now she was here to witness it in action. In this thing that they were doing, that could almost be classified as a sleepover, as they had not fucked yet, which would make it more of a date.
When Veronica spoke he forced himself to focus, and yet simultaneously he could imagine nothing else but listening to her words.
“That’s true. The Native Americans, for one, were not human for a while. Neither were the Jews. The homosexuals.” Her other hand, the one not on his thigh, was tracing gently up his neck, and he was breathing raggedly as it neared his scent glands.
“-homosexuals is a terribly formal word to use.” He tried to laugh but it came out warped through his throat.
“You're also attempting to change the subject, because you know what I meant when I said that.” At this point the credits were rolling behind her, so he could really do nothing but focus entirely on Veronica, and as she gently stroked her thumb along the gland on his neck and his body forcibly relaxed it couldn't kill his mind. She was his mother, she would be his mother, and she would fucking leave him too.
Eventually. It was really just a matter of time.
Or he would leave her.
“But it's late, and the room is dark, and it's the sort of hour of the day where everyone feels bad. So maybe we should just go to sleep and you'll tell me how you feel tomorrow?” Her lips moved almost in slow motion in his head.
“Sure, the movies done anyway, but like I said. There’s really nothing to talk about.”
The thing had always been that lies came to him as easily as sincerity did, so that he was always in a state of honesty and being a fucking putrid little liar.
She smiled, already lulling back into a state of sleepiness, in a way that told him she knew he was just trying to save face. Shifting both of their bodies so that she was hugging him from behind, right arm draped over his stomach, face resting on his shoulder, breathing in his scent. Her hair tickled his face. Regardless of the warmth on his back and her humanity, he stared ahead at her barely discernible room through the shadows and felt like he was wheezing for air, even though his breath came in slowly.
“Goodnight.” She mumbled into his ear and he decided it would be better to say nothing at all.
“I love you.” She added, almost inaudible. He wished she hadn't said it at all, and he squeezed his eyes shut violently. The implication of the words was too much weight to handle. He didn't want to wonder if she really meant it.
Her hand now slid down his stomach and to his crotch. He was so tired he barely felt it, between wakefulness and sleep now, as she pressed 2 fingers into his cunt, already wet, he was always wet when he was around her. His body initially tensed up and then slowly relaxed.
She hadn't touched him since that night, when she'd broken into his bedroom and fucked him until his body ached the next day. Heather's death had put her libido off.
She didn't move her fingers inside him, and he wondered if she'd make him lick them clean in the morning.
—--
Knock. Knock.
“Veronica! We're going to be late to the suicide note rehearsal!” Heather Duke screamed through the disabled toilet door.
Jason couldn't reply. The cock that was 5 inches in his mouth now was hitting the back of his throat and causing him to gag, eyes watery, saliva building up in his mouth and dripping down his chin.
The porn videos he had watched about this didn't prepare him well enough. Veronica leaned back against the wall, legs spreading further open on the toilet seat, skirt bunched up around her hips and underwear pulled aside, not removed, to reveal her cock.
He momentarily paused, startled by the noise, and looked up at her face only to find her watching him and smiling, gently.
Eyes lidded and one of her hands carding through his hair, nails scratching his scalp and his cunt clenched down on nothing in his boxers as he breathed heavily through his nose.
“Just go without me, I'll catch up!” Veronica shouted back through the door, giggling at the end of the sentence.
Jason swallowed the building nausea in his stomach as he tried to get more of her length down his throat, desperately attempting to relax, but he was coming to terms with, and starting to realise that he wasn't any fucking good at this at all.
Through the door now there was an overexaggerated, dramatic sigh and the sound of high heels walking away.
“Such a good Omega for me, aren't you?” Veronica whispered as her thumb rubbed the tears that had gathered in his eyes off and he watched her long, stuck on eyelashes blink down at him and the genuine pull of her lips into a grin and he just suffocated more.
—--
Later, when he was watching the rehearsal, Veronica's cum still coating the back of his throat, a feeling of thick aftertaste, and he didn't participate - Ms. Fleming had initially made everyone take part, however when she had walked past him, and they had met eyes, he saw her uneasy face as she changed her mind.
They were in the main drama room, and the stage light shimmered on Veronica where she stood, and he sat in the deep shadows separate from her.
She hadn't, ultimately, gotten him off after he blew her - and this was on purpose.
His slick drenched underwear stuck to his skin as he shifted his hips to get some sense of stimulation.
His natural omega scent, which he knew was a sort of putrid rot, could hardly be contained even when he focused all of his mental effort on it.
He needed - sitting here now - he needed to burn his hand with a cigarette lighter or a cigarette butt or let someone burn their hand for him.
When she finally fucked him today he could only pray that it would be with a level of intensity which could dislodge the thoughts inside his brain.
In his mind he imagined his body going through the stages of decomposition.
The bomb was already blowing up in the gym hall, the walls were crashing down, he didn't care.
He didn't feel anything at all, never would, not since his mom left. This was a temporary band-aid on the unforgivable -
When his mom left.
When she left.
As if she had walked out the door.
That's how he said it, in his head.
When she left.
Veronica would eventually leave him, too.
He was a sort of terrible, diseased vermin.
And it was predetermined destiny for him to be alone.
Inevitability.
—--
“Good boy,” Veronica grinned up at him as he shifted into position on her lap - his body naked except for the trench coat that she made him put on.
Although the words were laced with affection over them was a subtle irony as she directly quoted the porn magazines he had shown her he got off to.
Her body, lying on her back in the bed, was also bare.
Her hand traced up his thigh and flank with her nails and it made him shiver.
His hair had fallen out of place and into his eyes at some point, and he watched her through it as it partially obscured his vision.
“Have you been this wet since you sucked me off?” She asked, fingers tracing his face now as he leaned over her to get closer, eyes looking down at the dripping stain of his own bodily fluids that he was making on her soft stomach.
“...Yeah.” He admitted softly, for once having nothing more to say.
In front of him Veronica's eyes visibly softened, and he was momentarily repelled by the highly visual way in which she displayed empathy on her face. So outwardly shown as an emotion as common as anger or happiness, it frightened him because his mind tricked him into believing it was not real. That human connection was not meant for vermin like him, and that he could be pitied at best, but not related to.
“You're tired today, aren't you?” She asked him, and wasn't that the fucking understatement of the century, and he was glad for the hair in his eyes which could hide his momentary stun of surprise.
She leaned upwards and her lips brushed the corner of his mouth, barely even a kiss.
“I feel like I've been tired my whole fucking life.” He whispered back.
“We don't have to do this today,” Veronica spoke as her hands went back down to hold his hips.
Jason was going to lose his mind if she didn't fuck him soon.
“No. You've been messing with me all day.”
She pushed back on his body and he lifted himself so that he was not sitting on her anymore but kneeling above her.
“You're right, just wanted to make sure.” Veronica spoke as she positioned her dick under him.
As it pressed into him he trembled, visions of planned murders dissipating from his brain, and as she fully bottomed out he hummed in the back of his throat.
A primal part of his brain told him that he was doing good, that this was where he belonged.
Veronica was fast and rough when she started fucking up into him; she had a tendency of being that way. He attempted to move with her thrusts but eventually ended up being manhandled into position.
Eyelids spasming, head thrown back with his throat exposed and sweat dripping down the skin, his hands positioned on her ribcage, he wondered how he looked.
Hoped it was good, that was the only thing he had left of this putrid body: a working exterior.
As the arousal built up inside him and he whined at Veronica to knot him, like he always did, in this heated animal state, even though she was not wearing a condom and he should not be permitted to ever create something with the barren wasteland which was his soul he still begged her,
Breath hitching.
The cock slammed into something soft and malleable inside him,
And he was leaking, constantly getting wetter from it,
And his mom waved out the window before she died,
Why did she wave?
Why did she wave for him to look,
He wouldn't have looked otherwise,
She had black hair like Veronica’s,
Through the darkness of the room she was almost underneath him now and he was sickened with it,
Soft fingers moving as the air around them combusted and became engulfed by flames the death was instant, probably, fingers which had held him when he was born, suckling on her breasts he could sometimes hallucinate the memory of that sensation inside his head,
Had she never cared for him at all?
A harsh thrust and he spasmed as he came, muscles clenching on the cock inside him in waves and his eyelids opened and closed, mouth hanging like an animal. Now fully spent he collapsed forward onto Veronica's shoulder.
Inhaling her scent, her hand rubbed up and down on his back and,
“-Oh God.” She spoke into his ear but he was suddenly filled with tension, a spike of terror; her voice itself sounded thick with surprise, but deeper yet a terrible dread so that even her scent under his nose had changed.
It took him a moment or two to realise, as he was gasping for breath onto her shoulder still being penetrated, that within his release he had also relinquished the concentrated control of his scent, and now everything that he was in all its wretched, rotting smell was suffocating the room.
“Jesus Christ, Jason.” Veronica's hands now gripping desperately onto his back and crushing him against her chest.
“I'm tired, can we talk about this tomorrow.” He whispered into her ear and the words fell out of him in a single breath as though his soul was leaving his body.
“I know you want to fix whatever I am now, but it's impossible.” He added, near unintelligible.
The room, Veronica's loving parents and their beautiful house and their pictures of her on the wall and her mom making dinner every day and, the room was quiet as he waited for a response.
“Okay. Okay. And we're staying home tomorrow, you're staying here. And,”
Now she dropped her head into his hair and lowered her voice.
“And I love you.”
It made the pressure of everywhere that she held him suddenly overwhelming. He was falling asleep. He didn't even know if the words he spoke were in his dream or reality.
“I'm too scared to say it to you.”
Did she not realise that she made it worse, the disease inside of him, every time she said that?