Chapter 67: Chapter 65: What Makes a Man Smile (Part 2)

I finally made a few friends. After so long, I finally met people I could spend time with. Their names were Henry, James, and Hannah. I would casually check in what they did at the back of the school, and all they mostly did was hang out and smoke if they had cigarettes on them. Anytime someone crossed their path, they would mock them or even hit them to get what they wanted. One time when I peeked on them, I witnessed James stealing a younger kid’s money. Bruises littered his face, and the next day, news went around that he was suspended for two weeks. 

They seemed like the perfect people to hang out with in my dumb mind. So, on a certain day, I helped them kick around another kid. I made some jokes about the kid’s mother not loving him, knowing that his real mom was dead. They laughed, he cried, and I smiled. Such a perfect day.

Then, some more time passed. Around sophomore year of highschool, I met this girl. Her name was Freya Sox, a redhead beauty that I didn’t really appreciate at the time. The first time I met her, I thought she was a weird girl. She would constantly sit in the library and read books that were as thick as a dictionary. Because I didn’t share in that hobby, I just wrote her off as a book nerd in need of some friends.

Then, she actually talked to me. It turned out she was the older sister of a girl my friends and I have been mocking for some time. She yelled at us, asking what our problem was. My friends laughed, and I smiled for a time, but then I looked at her face. She was the first face I looked at ever since I started this whole ordeal. Her cheeks stained wet with tears, and face was as scarlet as her hair. I don’t know why she was special, but for the first time since I met my friends, I felt bad for making another person cry. It was the first time I thought, was making these people smile really worth it.

So, in secret from everyone else, I talked with Freya. I expected our little talk to last maybe five minutes at least, but that wasn’t how it turned out in the slightest. Five minutes turned to ten minutes, and then after that, thirty minutes passed. A few minutes turned into an hour, and by the end of our long conversation, it turned out we talked for five hours straight. It went from us yelling and blaming each other for our own hiccups in life to us talking about stupid teenage things like our favorite TV show, and even porn was brought up. 

That was when I learned she was as much a freak as me when it came to that stuff. It’s just she doesn’t hide it as well as I did. I was a teenage boy with parental issues, so it was natural for me to have that type of leaning with my tastes. What surprised me was there was a girl with similar taste to my own. 

After around a week of us just talking as friends, she was the one to ask me out first. I remember that moment so fondly to the point where I could recount line by line how the event went down.

She walked up to me and asked, “Hey, do you want to go to the movies with me?” 

Then I said, “What? Are you asking me on a date?” 

To which she replied, “Yeah, so you want to go or not?”

I stammered and gasped so loud that people looked at us from the other side of the street. She was so straightforward about it, I didn’t know how to respond. It was also strange to have someone think of me like she did. For the first time in my life, someone actually liked me enough to have me as a genuine boyfriend. I took the offer, but I kept one eye and ear open, thinking it’s too good to be true. 

We went to the movies, and we actually had a good time. Movies would depict a date to the movies as something to be natural and heavily romantic. The couple will head into the theater and they’ll watch some hopeless romantic comedy, where that couple from that movie will inevitably do the same thing, creating an endless loop that eventually ends with them making out in their car on an inclined cliff side overlooking their city or town. At the end of the day, it was all just one glorified advertisement for theaters.

As for us, we went to watch a B-horror movie. The movie started out with two teenagers making out in a car instead of ending there. In fact, the more I think about it, the horror movie could be seen as some sort of unofficial continuation of the romance movie. Thinking like that, it’s more like a tragedy than anything, and I ate it up.

Not to mention in the first scene, the theaters straight up showed the woman’s tits on screen. A few teenage guys in the audience cheered, while the more mature men just sat and ate their popcorn quietly. A few of the woman sighed talking about how media portrays women as nothing but sex objects while another woman sitting above them said it’s just a stupid horror movie that has no effect on how society sees women. 

As for Freya and I, we had our own little thing going on where she grabbed my hand and laid it directly on her chest. Freaking out, I drew it back, but she curled her mouth into a sneer, daring me to go on. I couldn’t just let her think of me as some sort of wimp, of course, so I grabbed her breast again, and awkwardly groped it while the teenagers in the movie were beheaded by the ski mask wearing killer. 

To call that night anything other than a success would be preposterous. I got to touch a girl’s breast, and not only that, but when we got back to her house, before she went inside, she let me get a peek at them. When she pulled up her shirt, I stood as pale as a ghost, shocked that she just did something so outrageous. She laughed and pulled down her shirt again, before kissing my cheek and heading back inside.

After that day, I didn’t spend as much time with my friends. We still hung out, but I had to constantly bring up excuses for why I couldn’t hang out on certain days. When we were originally supposed to go out to the mall, I had a date planned out with Freya at her place. Henry wanted to go smoke a joint at the bowling alley and wanted us all to just talk about how much life sucks and how much people suck? I just said my dad was holding me up. They knew about my familial predicament, so they let me slide at first. 

When I spent time with Freya, our interactions would go as such. First, she’d do something perverted, sending me off the edge and getting me all riled up. Second, she’d bring out a book, and it would either be an actually decent piece of literature, or just an erotica she bought for cheap off of Amazon. 

Freya was the one who taught me the wonders of reading and writing. I remember the phrase she used to get me into that hobby to begin with. 

“When I stare into the sky, I don’t see nothingness of azure and black. I see worlds waiting to be explored. The distant stars have a story to tell, of accomplishments and failures, of tragedy and comedy, of battles won and lost. They may be barren wastelands, but in our imaginations, they’re a brand new story that goes out so far they calculate distance in years.”

Then she turned to me, a book in hand, and a pen in the other. In her eyes was something that I had lost since the gunshot went off inside my head. In those eyes was the will to make a name for herself within this unforgiving world. 

“Don’t let that curious nature of yours die now. You are meant for so much more than you think you are.”

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I’m not going to lie, I cried at that moment. In my sorrowful state, she grabbed my head and stuck my face in her bosom, not caring that her shirt would get stained from my tears. At that moment, I felt like I meant something. I felt like there was someone out there that saw me as important enough to remember. 

Then the day I knew that was coming all along finally happened. My friends figured out who I was hanging out with, and through threatening people, they managed to find out where we were. They threatened a fight, and I took it up. Releasing all the anger I felt over the years of feeling nothing but worthless trash, trading other people’s right to be happy so that I can make people that didn’t deserve it laugh, I unleashed all my pent up frustration on them. 

All my friends that I’ve been hanging out with since middle school left me after that. There was no reason for them to stay after I went out on them like that. There was only one person left at that point.

A few days after that incident, I pretended like nothing was wrong. Nothing could be wrong. After all, I just dealt with assholes who were trying to get in our way. Nothing was wrong with doing that. 

Freya came over to my house the next time. We talked like we normally would on any normal day. She brought out a book, and it turned out to be another erotica. We read it together, and there was a scene that got us both hot and bothered. Freya would read the lines of the woman, and I would be the guy. We would talk in their words, and doing so transferred all the sexual tension from page to reality. 

At first, we groped each other like normal. I pulled up her shirt and fondled her breast while she cupped my dick and began rubbing it like a pet. We kissed, intertwining our tongues and diving deep and exploring our mouths. We got up and moved to my room next where we took the rest of our clothes off and tossed them to the side like the wasteless trash they were. 

She grabbed my shaft and began jacking me off. The feeling of her hand rubbing along my shaft felt extraordinary, to the point where I came under a minute since we started. Freya opened her mouth and aimed my dick so when my cum released from the opening, it would fly straight onto her tongue. She kept rubbing me while I came, almost as if she were trying to suck out all the cum for the sole purpose of her eating it. 

Once she realized nothing else would come out, she swallowed the cum in her mouth. The sound of her gulping my manhood only excited me further, reigniting my horniness, making my dick hard again. 

We got into position, both of us breathing like primal beasts. Our instinct guided us, telling us what to do despite the fact this would be our first time. I closed my eyes, and was about to insert my head into her wet pussy, but the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway stopped us. We gazed into each other’s eyes, wondering what we could do to get out of our situation. 

However, we took too long thinking that when a plan did eventually come up, it was already too late. My dad entered the house and footsteps thundered toward my room. He burst in while the both of us were naked, and when he saw us, he froze. 

When he finally processed what was happening, he yelled at the both of us, calling me horrid names. I could take the abuse thrown at me. I’ve felt and heard worse. What I couldn’t take was him calling my girlfriend a whore and slut and other choice words that sent my fury into overdrive. 

In a fit of anger that turned my vision red, I punched my father in the face. Before he could realize what had happened, I punched him again. And again. And again. Freya screamed, telling me to stop, but was unsuccessful in that method. So she grabbed my shoulders and pulled me off my father, and when I finally stopped seeing red, I saw he was covered in red.

My father laid on the ground, groaning from the pain I had just walloped onto him. He was still alive, thankfully, but he was beaten so badly that he needed to go to a hospital for the injuries. I yelled for Freya to go home, so she wasn’t involved in this mess. She tried to argue with me, but I wouldn’t budge. In the end, she put all her clothes back on and ran into the streets, heading back home. 

I looked out the window, and I saw the mountain again. It towered above us, mocking us and our inability to stand as great as it. A truck horn blared outside, and my life changed forever after that day.

Freya climbed the mountain the next day. She has yet to come down from there, but I know she’s not dead. She couldn’t be. Throughout her life, she dedicated herself to climb that mountain and be the first to reach the top. I followed behind her cheering her on, but didn’t climb it myself, because I didn’t think I could climb it. There was no reason for me to climb it when people better than me could. 

My father turned out fine after that day, but we barely talked with one another. We acknowledged each other’s existence, but even when I left on my eighteenth birthday, there were no words shared between us. 

As I left, I looked at the mountain, that mocked not only the universe, but even the people it towered over. As it mocked the universe that it nearly touched the ceiling that not even stars could touch, it looked down at us, jeering at our inability to soar like it. 

My father hated that mountain so much, so when I was younger, he told me something. He wanted me to climb that mountain. He admitted he had tried to such a long time ago, but when he stood at the base of the giant rock, he was held back, not only by the people around him, but his own fear kept him from climbing it. 

He pleaded with me to climb that mountain for him, and as I walked away from my house, those words internalized themselves in my soul. My father, having his chance to climb taken away by unfortunate circumstances, and Freya, who wanted so desperately to reach the top, yet there’s still not a word from her. I couldn’t just let that slide.

I’ll climb that mountain for them. I’ll take my worthless self, who isn’t good at anything except for putting words on a page, and I’ll climb that mountain. Then, when I reach the top, I’ll scream this from the peak: “Freya Sox and William Freeman have made it to the top!” 

Then, I’ll return to being my worthless self, and I’ll let my name fade from history while they still go on. They’ll become idols, and I’ll just be the one who spoke their words. I’ll climb the mountain, and their names will go down in history.

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