Roofers.

19. The taste of destruction.

Scarlett POV.

The weekend had ended much faster than it had begun. Jules had to go, although I was nervous something would happen to him again. So last night I lay in an empty bed. Void of all the warmth only Jules could fill it with. It was strange — I had gotten so attached to him even in the short while we'd been together for. Now the sun pretended not to know me, decided it would not rise until Jules returned. She behaved like a pompous brat throwing a tantrum to get what she wanted, and so I was now stuck in perpetual night.

My eyes were barely capable of staying open as I walked through the halls, trudging from class to class like the rest of the hungover zombies who walked beside me. Groaning and grumpy like all zombies were. See, the rest of the people at school had spent their weekend high as a kite and indulgent in booze. I spent mine with Ronan, and he was just as addictive. I would like to think I was better than they were. Remaining sober was a virtue, but I knew that I was just as bad as they were. They were just people who happened to be addicted and now, so was I. Though tired, I found myself spending my day grinning like a fool. A drunk, high fool, stumbling around and tripping over air and myself and my words. So I guess I wasn't any different after all.

Now I was making my way to English class, the last one I had before lunch. As I trudged through the swarming hallways, looping through the mass of students, I caught sight of something unpleasant.

My eyes were drawn to the sight of the girlfriend, or Jenna Richards by popular demand, pressed up against the blue metallic lockers, she was stuck between them and a towering body. She was in a nauseating lip-lock with Ronan, wrapping her legs around the boy to hold him closer. His hands dragged over her small frame, and she wrapped her slimy tentacles around his neck. Pulling him even closer and closer. If only she knew where those lips had been. If only she knew that it was all an act. Or perhaps it was real. Jules had mastered the art of mimicry, I knew that, but he made it look so real. He made it seem like he was her dominant and that he loved her. And maybe he did. Maybe I was the fool of this whole equation.

My dominance fought to surface, to rip him from his little plaything. Humiliate him in front of all his friends. Show them the bitch he really was. Show them the mess he could become at my mercy. I wanted my rage to build a home in my voice and in my hands and in my eyes. I wanted to cause complete and utter destruction. But I stayed still, unable to stop watching, unable to move. I swallowed the lumps in my throat; I tried to ignore the sharp pains in my chest. I bit my tongue and kept the jealousy imprisoned in my mouth along with everything else I wanted to say.

Some of the people surrounding the couple took pictures as if it were some type of historic moment. As if in 50 years they'd study this in history. They gossiped and giggled, telling each other about how perfect they were for each other and perhaps they were right. Maybe it was my mistake. Perhaps he was meant to be with a popular, insanely gorgeous cheerleader.

He pulled away from her, raising her face and forcing her to look at him as he spoke. I looked away. Refusing to let any sort of tears fall from my eyes. Refusing to show any sort of weakness. I was a dominant. His dominant. And still here I was, incapable of establishing adequate control. Maybe I was too gentle with him. Maybe I had to show him my fangs, so he knew not to cross me. If I were a guy, I'd be ridiculed for watching my sub do that. But I'm not a guy. Still though, I'm not weak. And I'm not incapable of punishing him. I had to remember that. I kept walking. Leaving him with his girlfriend. Leaving the rage I felt in my stomach. I made my way to English class and waited for it to end. Plans of his punishment brewed thick in my head.

I sat sunken into my seat for what felt like seconds. Before I knew it, it was lunch. I followed cordially amongst the masses of speeding teenagers. As they sprinted like savage beasts towards the cafeteria. I was lost in my mind, preferring to be there instead of here. Perhaps I was waiting for the world to crumble, for everything else to vanish and for this to be forgotten. Perhaps I was waiting for the sight to stop replaying in my head. Perhaps I was waiting for my hands to stop itching, for the urge to punish him to subside. I don't know what I was waiting for. Maybe it was nothing.