Chapter 18

Diesel

Icouldn't fucking believe that this bitch had the nerve to barf all over me. Thinking about it again made me want to throw up myself, and disgusted, I dipped the brush in the paint can before continuing to cover the graffiti on the wall.

Of course, I punched the fucker because what else was I supposed to do after he puked on me? Only that my excuse didn't sit well with the coach, and the two of us were sent to see Mrs. Morrison. The old cunt decided that simple detention wouldn't do the trick and, instead, gave us one month of doing shitty chores after school. If she thinks I'll ever fuck her again, she's fucking wrong.

So here I was, an hour after school ended, in the back lot of this shitty place, covering graffiti with white paint. And if this wasn't bad enough, I also had to do it with Shay-Lee, who was a few feet away from me, going over the same spot for what seemed like an hour. Jesus Christ, the slacker pissed me the hell off.

Pulling the last cigarette out of my packet, I shoved it between my lips and lit it. "Hey," I shot at him after taking a drag and blowing the smoke out. "That wall is already white enough. Move on to the next one."

Rather than listening to me, Shay-Lee bent down, dipped his brush in the paint, and splashed it over the same spot again. Clenching my hands into tight fists, I gritted my teeth, trying hard not to go over there and shove the fucker's head into the paint can.

Taking another drag from my cig, I moved on to the next penis art that needed to be covered. My lips curved into a dirty smile, looking at the huge cock and balls graffiti.

"Bet you're such a pussy 'cause you have a microscopic dick. I'm right, aren't I?" If we were stuck together, the least I could do was to provoke him, right? If there was one good thing about the asshole, it was to see him get angry. Maybe that was why I often tried to get under his skin. There was just something about the fury that burned behind his eyes that set me on fire.

Even though I'd expected a reaction to the tiny dick comment, I got nothing. The son of a bitch continued to stare at the wall, almost as if he was refusing to look at me. Was doing this task with me so beneath him that even glancing my way was a nuisance? I mean, why else wouldn't he look at me? What the fuck was it about me that he hated so much? Sure, I hated him, too, but I had plenty of reasons, starting with him being a pretentious rich fucker who thought he owned the world just because his daddy was some billionaire. Oh yeah, I knew he was the sole heir of the Christian Rogers dynasty. I wasn't ashamed to admit I'd searched him online once or twice before, but only because I was curious where the fuck he got the audacity.

Realizing he managed to piss me off without even spitting one single word, I dipped the brush into the bucket and nearly sliced the air with how hard I splashed the paint all over the fucking wall, cursing under my breath while doing so.

"The least you can do is apologize, you know," I hissed. I wasn't about to stay quiet about this. If Shay-Lee got me into this mess, the least he could do was to amuse me with his tantrums.

"And why should I do that?"

"Because not only did you puke on me, which was fucking gross, but you also got me to do this shit for the next month."

"It's not my fault I got sick from seeing your face," he muttered. "Besides, you're the one who punched me."

A smirk pulled on my lips, and I took the last drag out of the cig before tossing it into the empty paint can. "You and I both know you deserved to be punched."

"Why's that?" he asked, finally turning to face me. His face was still pale, and he looked off. Maybe he really was sick, not that I gave a damn.

"'Cause you're a piece of shit who thinks he owns the fucking world and can do whatever without facing the consequences."

His jaw tensed before he bit his bottom lip and nodded. "Then what is this?" He raised the paintbrush in his hand, then threw it on the ground. "What the fuck is this if not facing the fucking consequences?" he snapped and kicked the paint bucket until it hit the wall and spilled all over.

Taking a step back so I wouldn't get dirty, I watched him as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets.

"All my life, I've been facing the fucking consequences," he muttered in a nearly choked voice before he turned around and walked away.

I wanted to shout after him and tell him to get his ass back here so we could finish the goddamn job. But I didn't. Looking back at the wall, we still had about halfway to go.

"Screw this," I said and tossed away the paintbrush. There was no way in hell I was about to stay here and finish this shit by myself. Besides, it was getting late, and I wanted to wash off the smell of paint before meeting my Llorón.