Chapter 4: Digging your own grave ?
970 Words
Rae sneered. “What’s it like being so pathetic, you gotta beg for holes to crawl into?” her smug little smirk didn’t even get a second to breathe before Lucien cut across her sentence.
“Which hole are we talking about, Rae?”
His voice was calm. Casual.
Dangerously so.
“Your mom’s?
Nah—too expensive for a schoolboy like me.”
Anthony choked slightly on his drink.
Christy’s jaw clenched.
Rae blinked. Caught off guard. But only for a second.
“Wow. Big words for someone who used to piss his pants in middle school. Fantasizing about MILFS !”
Lucien tilted his head.
“And yet here I am. Standing. Breathing. Fully functional. Unlike a b***h who thinks her queen complex, and w***e mama, with a sissy daddy is praise-worthy.”
He leaned back just slightly, arms folded across his chest.
“Honestly? I’m surprised you’re still standing after what I said to you that day.”
He didn’t need to say what day.
They both knew.
The insult. The silence. The tears she tried to hide in the washroom stall after he tore into her like a scalpel to pride.
“You really need public humiliation, don’t you, Rae?”
His voice never rose. Not once.
That’s what made it worse.
There was no anger. No bark.
Just ice.
Perfectly shaped into words.
“Is that your thing? Some people crave attention. Some people want love. You?”
He smiled faintly.
“You want to be destroyed. Just enough. Just publicly enough. So someone finally looks twice at your face.”
Rae’s mouth opened.
Then closed.
Then opened again.
No words came.
Only a silent glare that didn’t quite know what emotion to settle into — rage, embarrassment, confusion, or fear.
The joint had grown quieter.
A few heads had turned.
Christy didn’t say a word.
Anthony leaned forward slowly, unsure if they should stop him… or just let him finish what he started.
Lucien stood up.
Picked up the last fry on his plate.
Popped it into his mouth.
“Next time,” he said softly, stepping past Rae, “bring something sharper than your tongue.”
He paused just beside her ear.
“Because next time... I won’t just use words.”
Rae wasn’t done.
She stepped closer — too close — with a new fire in her voice, the kind born not from strength, but desperation to wound.
“Oh, wait. What will you bring next time, Lucien? A brick?”
Lucien stopped mid-step.
“Because I might just bring one. Or hell, maybe the same brick.”
Anthony’s face darkened.
Christy went pale.
Rae grinned wider, her voice dripping with venom.
“The same one that caved your dog’s skull in.”
Silence.
“Bet he’s not barking enough now, is he?”
That last line lingered like a rotten echo.
People at nearby tables turned their heads again.
Christy’s hands balled into fists under the table.
Anthony stood up halfway, eyes darting between Rae and Lucien like he expected something to explode.
Lucien didn’t move.
Didn’t speak.
Didn’t even flinch.
But something in the air changed.
As if the surrounding pressure thickened.
As if the world held its breath.
He turned his head slightly — not enough to face her, but enough for Rae to feel the cold from his stare without ever seeing it.
Then, to his friends:
“Come.”
One word.
No emotion. No force.
But they moved instantly.
Anthony didn’t ask. Christy didn’t question.
They just followed.
Lucien walked out of the joint, the door slamming lightly behind them.
Rae stood there, her breath catching in her throat — unsure whether she had won or unleashed something she’d never be able to
bury again.
The three of them walked under the yellow glow of the streetlamps, their footsteps light against the broken pavement. The air smelled of fried oil and wet dust. A stray dog barked somewhere in the distance.
Lucien didn’t speak at first.
He simply walked ahead, holding a small white takeaway box in one hand. Steam gently curled from its lid.
Christy broke the silence.
“You… okay? After what she said?”
Lucien stopped walking for just a second.
Tilted his head slightly — not enough to seem strange, just enough to appear thoughtful.
Then he let out a soft chuckle.
Not forced. Not loud.
Just... controlled.
“Whatever she says… I’m fine.”
His voice was steady.
Not shaking. Not cold.
Just steady.
Too steady.
Anthony stayed silent. He knew better than to dig.
But Christy?
She watched Lucien a little longer.
Watched the way he held that food box so precisely — his thumb gently curled under the lid to keep the steam in. The way he hadn’t even cursed back at Rae after what she said finally about his most beloved dog."
That wasn’t peace.
That was pressure.
Lucien glanced back at them, smiling that light smile of his.
“I knew something like this would happen. So I got the remaining food in a takeout box.”
He lifted it like a trophy.
“Not wasting a single thing tonight.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow. “You seriously—? That’s what you were doing back there?”
Lucien nodded. “Why waste anything? Every bite counts.”
Christy finally said it, not to challenge — but as truth:
“That wasn’t just a joke to you, was it?”
Lucien looked at her.
And for a split second, the smile faltered.
Just a flicker.
Then it returned.
“Of course it was.”
But Christy knew what she saw.
Lucien wasn’t just carrying leftovers.
He was carrying something else.
Something heavy. Something sharp.
And sooner or later, it was going to spill.
- Writer
