death is the only ending for the trash queen

Part 21

Cale's kiss was rough. Biting and vicious as though it were an actual attack and tasting so thickly of alcohol that it was undeniable that she was drunk.

Alver's shock momentarily allowed him to accept the kiss, his arms nearly wrapping around her waist in response as desire and love intermingled for dominance inside of him.

Respect won out and he tried to pull back from the kiss.

His head hit the wall and Cale bit his bottom lip viciously in reprisal, her glazed over eyes burning with emotion.

She doesn't want this.

Alver pushed her away. Hands clenched on her shoulders and panting heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

"What? The slut's good enough but not–"

Alver cut her off.

"Cale."

Merciless and cruel eyes glared into his own hatefully and he knew all over again that she wasn't kissing him out of love or passion. Whatever her goals were, she was drunk and hated him. He needed to remember that.

Cale's lip quivered but her eyes narrowed spitefully. She looked about ready to bite him and so he kept a careful grip on her to keep her at literal arms length.

He didn't dare let her closer.

He couldn't bear to let her go.

"So your promise this afternoon meant nothing?" She sneered, still slurring in an unfamiliar way that really told him just how out of her mind she actually was. "Promising your body was mine alone, pathetic–"

"Cale. You're drunk." He swallowed thickly and closed his eyes, the taste of her lips burned in his heart and he would like nothing more than to prove her assertions wrong by closing the gap once more. "You don't want to sleep with me."

Cale scoffed and tried to shrug off his grip, failing only due to her inebriation. "Who are you to decide what I want to do? I can fuck whoever I like!"

Alver breathed out heavily.

"You hate me."

"So? Wouldn't be the first person I fucked with hatred."

Alver was broadly aware of the rumors and reality surrounding Cale's sordid past. Including her colorful history of drunkenly taking all sorts of people to bed with her. Yet, it still stung to be considered among their numbers.

Their first and only night had meant something to Alver. Still meant something to him. The night they conceived their beloved daughter. The night he thought there was something more between them. The night that he couldn't forget, even when he wanted to.

It was a sharp punch to the gut to realize that to Cale, that special night had probably always been one among many. It wasn't that he valued her virginity, if he were that sort of bastard he never would have proposed to the 'Henituse Whore' as people once called her, but he still thought that perhaps that night meant something to her.

Even if it was only love for Penelope's conception, he thought there was at least one special memory between them.

"I already fucked you once, I could do it again."

Stop.

"Oh, I forgot that you're pretending to be a precious virgin who never shoved your dick into a whore before."

Please stop.

"Wasn't that why you fucked me?" She barked a cruel laugh. "Wasn't that why you proposed? Hoping to get your dick wet with a dirty slut?"