Beguile

21 Anger and Guilt

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3rd Person POV

Kurt despised Lucas with every fiber of his being.

There was something about Lucas that set Kurt's teeth on edge from the moment they first met.

He knew, instinctively, that there was something deeply wrong with him, something hidden beneath that veneer of calm.

Lucas could simply stroll into a room, and the sight of him would send a wave of anger crashing over Kurt.

It was the way he carried himself—laid-back, as if nothing in the world could bother him. He had that easy charm, that effortless grace, that made everyone else swoon.

Lucas was like a prince, charming everyone who crossed his path, but Kurt saw through the façade.

To Kurt, Lucas was a devil masquerading as a saint.

It was worse when they were alone. Lucas would drop the act, leaning back with a heavy sigh, uttering something so vile, so disgustingly contemptuous, that Kurt could barely contain his rage. He hated the way Lucas spoke in those moments, the way he seemed to relish in making Kurt's skin crawl.

But what made Kurt's blood boil more than anything else was what Lucas had done with Ken. He had let her go, knowing full well that Kurt despised chasing.

It was as if Lucas had done it just to spite him, to remind him who was really in control.

The thought of it made Kurt's fists clench in anger.

He hated Lucas more than ever, and yet, there was nothing he could do but seethe in silence.

Right now, it was fortunate that they had fallen toward a part of the river where there were no rocks. A half-submerged log had stopped them from being swept away by the current. But it was the worst possible scenario because Ken couldn't swim.

He cursed under his breath, his anger rising as he stared at her unconscious form.

"You should know that," he spat, his voice thick with frustration. "Stupid bitch... you should at least know what's going on with your own body, amnesia or not."

Soaked to the bone, Kurt's clothes clung to him, cold and heavy, as he glared at her.

The river water dripped from his hair, tracing lines down his face as he mimicked wrapping his hands around Ken's neck, his fingers tightening in the air as if he were strangling her. The image of him squeezing the life out of her flitted through his mind, but then he stopped. He exhaled sharply, dropping his hands. It wasn't the time for that.

His anger simmered beneath the surface, but his attention shifted as he looked at Ken's unconscious, vulnerable form.

It was fortunate, really, that an abandoned building was nearby. Hidden deep within the forest, far from prying eyes, no one would stumble upon it—not with the river's swift current deterring any wanderers.

The watermarks on the walls inside told a story of how high the river would sometimes rise, flooding the building. But it didn't matter. It only made the place more desolate, more secluded, and that was exactly what Kurt needed.

The building was a forgotten shell, filled with debris and the remnants of furniture, mold creeping up the legs of old chairs and tables. But that was fine. Kurt wasn't about to let Ken's precious body touch any of it. He had enough coins to make do, to ensure she remained untouched by the filth. That's why she now lay on a table he'd wiped clean of mold, placed far enough from the walls so she wouldn't catch the musty odor that hung in the air.