Destroy Me Gently:Ex-Enemy Becomes My Lover!
Chapter 14: Raisins and Lungs

Chapter 14: Raisins and Lungs

Chapter FOURTEEN

**Kieran Morrison**

I sat alone in the classroom with my cousin Vince, who was typing furiously on his cellphone. As usual, he was quiet, probably planning his next business deal. We behaved so similarly—maybe that was the reason we got along pretty well.

Only a few people knew we were actually blood related.

I took a long drag of my cigarette. This would be my third one in just an hour. I didn’t give a shit. I had a good reason to, and this was one of the few ways I knew to let it out.

Bad news was my parents finally returned back from their business trip. They seemed to finally remember that they had a son, because I had almost forgotten that I even had parents.

My mood got even more depressed with each passing second the more I thought about it. I crushed out the finished cigarette with a stomp of my boot and began to reach for another when it was snatched out of my hands.

"What the fuck, man." I looked up in irritation to find Heath and Claude. When did they arrive? I didn’t even notice.

Claude held my packet of cigarettes in his hands like he’d just confiscated contraband from a five-year-old.

"Hand it over!" I snapped, annoyance completely filling my tone.

"That’s enough. I don’t want you to die from cancer before you even turn nineteen," Claude replied with the seriousness of a concerned parent. "Do you know what smoking does to your lungs? They turn black and shrivel up like raisins!"

"Did you just compare my lungs to raisins?" I stared at him in disbelief.

"Well, technically they’d be more like burnt raisins," Heath chimed in helpfully. "You know, the ones that get stuck at the bottom of the box that nobody wants to eat."

"Who even eats raisins anyway, " I say irritably, the bastards had the nerve to look genuinely concerned about my supposed burnt lungs before Claude threw my cigarettes out the window.

I was on him the next second. Heath stopped me just in time from delivering a hard punch to Claude’s face.

"Whoa there, raisin lungs!" Heath said, shoving against my shoulders. "Violence isn’t the answer. Maybe try some deep breathing exercises instead. You know, while you still can."

"I’m going to murder both of you," I growled.

"See? That’s the nicotine withdrawal talking," Claude said mockingly. "You should try gum. Or maybe those little nicotine patches. I hear they come in fun colors now."

"Fun colors?" Heath’s eyes lit up just like his "Ooh, Kieran could get the sparkly ones! Match his personality!" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

I gave both of them a heated look, they compliment each other so well, if I didn’t know their preferences, I would almost believe that they were both in a relationship.

I shuddered out a sigh, reluctantly admitting that beating them up wouldn’t solve my actual problems.

Claude wasn’t my problem.

They were.

My parents.

Vince was still typing on his phone, completely ignoring the circus happening around him. It was one of the things I admired about him. The whole world could be burning, but he still wouldn’t care less.

The bell rang in that instant. I shoved away from Heath.

"Are you going to class?" He sounded and looked surprised when I began to make my way out.

Without bothering with a response, I left, slamming the door closed behind me.

Of course I wasn’t about to miss it. Hell, I didn’t take this course just to skip it.

Not when he would be there.

Oliver.

This was the name of the boy I hated even more than anything in the world. I despised him even more than I did my parents.

The hate for him runs deep in my veins. Sometimes I fear it would choke me from the inside. It was only because of his stupid mistake that I lost the one person special to me, and in the most tragic way possible. But this was a story for another day.

I made my way to the almost empty classroom and took my favorite spot by the window.

Students filled in slowly. They knew very well to stay away from me or they would just have to learn the hard way.

The teacher came and started the lecture, but still he fucking wasn’t here.

I was beginning to get angry and agitated. It appeared I attended this class all for nothing.

I would surely make him pay for this.

It was a fact I had grown to accept that I hated him as much as I needed to see him.

Hurting him with my sharp words and making him cry made me feel more alive than I could ever be. It filled me with a deep satisfaction nothing else could give me.

For some reason I still couldn’t bring myself to physically hurt him badly.

I just couldn’t.

But I surely despised him enough to do that. And he would surely deserve even more than that.

The door of the classroom pushed open in that instant.

Then he walked in. My whole body went tense with awareness at his sudden presence.

His brown hair was messy as if he had run all the way here.

His gaze searched the whole class and finally met mine. I saw the nervousness there as he gulped, like always he was an open book. It was very easy to see through everything he felt. It made hurting him very easy, because I knew everything I did really affected him.

The teacher spoke to him, snapping his attention away from mine, breaking our little stare.

I took that moment to study him. Not that I needed to. All his features, I knew almost every habit he had.

Although I completely loathed his very existence, he was always a reminder of what I had lost. I couldn’t deny the fact that he was... cute, especially with those huge glasses that covered almost half of his face and those messy bangs that fell into his deep green eyes. Eyes that reminded me of a beautiful rainy forest.

The thought made me angry at myself.

I watched as he quickly made the decision on where to sit, away from me.

He chose a seat beside Heath. He was wise enough.

Much to my initial surprise, shortly followed by annoyance and irritation, they greeted each other with smiles.

What the hell was that about? Since when did they become friends?

I’ll surely question that traitor about it later. And as for him...

I spaced out through the rest of the class. My thoughts kept drifting towards my parents’ sudden return.

To everyone we were the perfect rich family. Little did they know that life inside our huge mansion was hell.

They surely cared only about three things: business, money... and more money.

My thoughts disappeared when I heard the teacher speaking about classwork.

Had he given one?

Not that I ever gave a damn about school stuff. My parents practically owned about ninety percent of the school. Their donations were the only thing that kept it running.

They never dared to fail me in any subject, for fear that my parents’ support would be withdrawn.

Aside from that, I just never cared about getting good grades. That wasn’t my priority. I had far bigger problems... nightmares that haunted my very existence.

I heard Heath asking him if he was alright, once again bringing my attention towards the both of them.

The teacher called out to him then.

He stood in front of the whole class. His face was indeed quite pale. It made me wonder if he had really gotten sick.

"C-can I show it to you privately? I-it’s quite special to me," he stuttered in his usually soft voice.

The voice I despised so much. It always made me want to hurt him more, only so I could see him cry.

There were a few snickers and insulting comments around.

He always had a way of putting himself in the spotlight without knowing it. But his words sort of caught my interest.

What had he painted that was so special that he thought the rest of us didn’t deserve to see it?

The teacher allowed him to pass, much to my disappointment.

The bell rang in that moment. He didn’t waste any time bolting out of the class, probably to hide from me.

When would he ever learn that he could never escape me? I would never allow that, not even in death.

Yes. My hate ran that deep... and even more.

I followed after him. From where I stood, I watched as he tore the paper he had painted in two neat halves and threw it into the trash can.

He ran quickly in the opposite direction as though a ghost was after him.

Out of plain curiosity and nothing more than that, I walked towards the trash can. My fingers slowly picked out his abandoned painting.

Nothing prepared me for the sight.

I could only stare. This was one of the very few times I’d ever been at a loss for words. I didn’t know how to react.

He had made a portrait of me?

But it wasn’t just any portrait. It was perfect. Every line, every shadow, every detail of my face drawn with careful precision. The kind of precision that only came from someone who had been looking at me for a very long time.

Someone who had been studying me.

My hands shook slightly as I held the two pieces together. In the drawing, I looked... different. Softer somehow. The way he had drawn my eyes, there was something gentle there. Something I hadn’t seen in myself for years.

This was how he saw me.

Not the monster I had become. Not the cruel person who made his life hell every single day.

But the boy I used to be.

The boy who used to be his best friend.

I stared at the drawing for a long moment. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t breathe properly.

Why would he draw me like this? After everything I’d done to him? After all the pain I’d caused?

What made him think he had the right to?