Sins Of Her Venom
Chapter 28: Anger

Chapter 28: Anger

- Glyndon Walton: ( Jealous Girl by Lana Del Rey)

I don’t remember when I fell asleep. All I know is how tired and completely worn out I felt after what Kathrine did to me.

Her words, though, lingered in my mind, etched there like a brand, along with the memory of her fastening the chains around my body.

" I wouldn’t want you any other way. Hate me, despise me more, bully me more, call me a Lesbo, tell me I’m going to hell, treat me like the gum under your shoes... That turns me on, knowing you do that in public while I have you squirming, squirting, begging, crying, and dry orgasming in private, Glyndon Walton."

I woke up to the sound of birds chirping and the soft glow of morning sunlight streaming into my room.

The clock read 6 a.m., and the air was crisp and still. I blinked a few times, taking in my surroundings.

The room was spotless. The blankets were clean and neatly tucked around me, while the dirty ones—along with my matching bra and panties from yesterday—were gone, tossed into the laundry basket.

The floor, which had been.... Wet, was spotless.

Even my body felt fresh as if it had been carefully wiped down, though I was still completely naked under the blanket.

The chain and collar remained firmly in place around my body.

I looked around, my heart racing, searching for her. But Kathrine was nowhere to be found. She was gone.

The plate of cookies was still there, a few left untouched, but the black heels she put on me were missing—likely returned to my walk-in wardrobe.

I sat up slowly, my muscles aching in that dull, satisfying way that reminded me of everything that had happened. A good kind of sore, though I hated how much I liked it.

My thoughts were a tangle of confusion and shame as I stared at the empty room.

——-

I stepped out of Alex’s car, the roar of chatter and laughter from his friends immediately surrounding us.

They were talking about some party, throwing around names I didn’t care to recognize, their energy loud and carefree.

"Dude, Friday night at Jake’s is going to be insane," one of them said.

"Yeah, but last time, Jake’s neighbors called the cops, so maybe don’t park your car in front of their house this time, Matt," another joked, the group erupting into laughter.

Alex chuckled, his arm draping over my shoulder. "Glyndon, what do you think? Are you coming on Friday? We could—"

I didn’t hear the rest of what he said. My eyes had caught on something else entirely, and my mind tuned out everything else.

There they were: eight motorcycles parked in the school lot, lined up like gleaming predators waiting to pounce.

My gaze locked on one in particular—a deep, glossy purple bike that screamed rebellion, just like the girl who owned it.

Kathrine.

The memories slammed into me, uninvited and unwelcome. Her touch, her voice, the way she made me feel things I shouldn’t, things I hated myself for enjoying.

A girl who made me sin in the holiest of places...In the church... In the confession room.

A girl who made me question everything about myself. A girl I despised more than anyone, yet...

"Glyndon?" Alex’s voice snapped me back.

His hand gave my shoulder a light shake, trying to pull me into the conversation. "Come on, they’re talking about the party on Friday. What do you think?"

I forced a smile, nodding absently. "Yeah, sounds good," I murmured, though I had no idea what I’d just agreed to.

The laughter and chatter of his friends continued, but it felt distant.

My chest tightened, and I searched for an excuse. "Hey, I’ll catch up with you guys later," I said abruptly, shrugging off Alex’s arm.

He frowned but didn’t push. "Alright, we’ll be here," he said, his tone tinged with confusion.

I didn’t wait for more questions. I turned on my heel, walking away, needing distance. Needing air.

But even as I walked, my mind stayed trapped on that purple bike—and the girl it belonged to.

-

The cold air from the ice Hockey rink brushed against my skin as I stood near the bleachers, watching the scene unfold before me.

The sound of skates slicing across the ice echoed through the space, sharp and rhythmic, accompanied by the crisp clink of the puck hitting the sticks.

Kathrine moved with an almost hypnotic confidence, her form sleek and controlled as she maneuvered the puck across the ice.

Her hands gripped the hockey stick tightly, guiding it with precision as she weaved through the other players like she owned the rink.

Her movements were effortless yet powerful, her every glide purposeful.

I couldn’t look away as she shot the puck straight into the goal, the sound of it hitting the backboard filling the rink as her teammates cheered.

Even after the practice ended, I stayed rooted in place, unable to tear my gaze from her.

She skated toward the edge of the rink, where two girls stood waiting for her, their faces lit up with wide, eager smiles.

Kathrine returned their smiles effortlessly, a dimple forming on her cheek as she leaned in to talk to them.

The sight of Kathrine standing there with those two girls, smiling so easily, laughing like she didn’t have a care in the world. it made my stomach churn even more.

I didn’t know what I was feeling, but I hated it. Hated the way she seemed so... happy.

It felt wrong— someone like her, someone who’d done the things she’d done to me, didn’t deserve that kind of peace.

My eyes narrowed as I watched the way she leaned in toward one of the girls, her laugh carrying over the cold air of the rink.

Something sharp twisted in my chest, and I didn’t know what it was, only that it made me clench my fists tighter.

In my mind, I reasoned it out—this wasn’t about anything else but her. She was Kathrine.

She was the girl I hated more than anyone, the girl who had taken something from me I couldn’t get back. She had no right to look so carefree, so radiant.

That thought solidified into something darker as I straightened up, my jaw tightening.

If she thought she could just move through life untouched, I’d remind her who I was. I’d ruin that happiness before it had a chance to grow.

I got up and made my way toward her, my footsteps echoing faintly in the cold, empty rink.

Kathrine stood there with her two new friends, still smiling like she had the world in her hands. That smile made my blood boil.

As I approached, I plastered an arrogant look on my face, lifting my chin as though they were beneath me.

"So one girl isn’t enough for fags like you? You need two now?" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I eyed them.

The two girls immediately turned to me, their faces twisting in anger and disgust at me.

One of them opened her mouth to say something, but Kathrine held up a hand to stop her, her smirk only growing.

"Glyndon," Kathrine drawled coldly, "how kind of you to grace us with your presence. Didn’t think hockey was your thing."

"It’s not," I shot back. "But watching you try to be athletic is entertaining enough, sport doesn’t fit you. You are fat and not fit at all." My gaze flicked between the two girls, who were now glaring at me like they wanted me gone.

"Let me guess," I added with a sneer, "one of these two was the one with you in the school showers, right?"

Kathrine’s smirk twisted into a grin, and then she did something that sent a jolt through me—she started laughing.

A slow, mocking laugh that made me feel like I was the only fool in the room.

"The showers?" she echoed, tilting her head as her icy blue eyes pinned me in place. "Interesting you’d bring that up." And that’s when it hit me.

The words had already left my mouth, and I couldn’t take them back. I was the one in the bathroom with her. Me. Not them. What the hell was I even doing right now?

What kind of joke is this? If sport was made for any girl, it would be Kathrine, she is fit, she is tall, and strong. Why am I body-shaming her? What am I doing? I’m so angry, that these toxic words are leaving my mouth out of my control.

Kathrine’s laughter rang in my ears, and I felt like the ground was slipping beneath me.

I hated her. I hated that smirk, her cold, unbothered replies, and the way she was standing there like none of this affected her.

But mostly, I hated myself. What was I doing? Why was I even here?

I didn’t belong in the ice rink. I didn’t even like hockey.

Yet, there I was, spiraling, trying to knock her down just because I couldn’t handle what was happening in my head.

I wanted to leave, but my feet stayed planted, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. What was wrong with me?

Before I could even think of another biting remark, one of the girls stepped forward, her expression fierce and unyielding.

"Glyndon, what is wrong with you?" she snapped, her voice loud and cutting through the cold air.

"Just leave her alone! Like, seriously, she’s not hurting you with her sexuality, is she? It’s none of your business. Live your life however you want, and let her live hers however she wants. I don’t understand why you, your boyfriend, and your little minion friends are so obsessed with Kathrine’s life. She’s not the first gay person to ever exist, and she’s not going to be the last. Just move on."

Her words hit me like a slap to the face, but instead of knocking sense into me, they lit a fire under my skin.

I hated hearing her defend Kathrine. I hated the righteousness in her voice, the audacity to speak to me like that.

My blood boiled, every nerve in my body screaming with fury. I wanted to lash out—to grab her by the hair and slam her face against the ice, to shut her up and erase every word she’d just said.

My fists clenched at my sides as I stepped closer to her, my gaze like daggers.

My vision blurred with rage, my breath came short and sharp.

Why was I so angry? Why did her words cut so deep? Why did the sight of her standing there, defending Kathrine, make me feel like I was going to explode?

I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t look at them anymore, at their disgusted stares and Kathrine’s infuriating smirk.

Without another word, I turned on my heel, grabbed my backpack and ran.

The cold air stung my face as I bolted from the rink, my thoughts a chaotic mess, my heart pounding out of control.

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