“Oh this is going to be so much fun,” squees Chelsea, catching you by surprise as she bounds over and hugs you tightly. It’s almost too much for you: the smell of her hair, the feel of her breath on your neck, those warm, inviting curves. Your body stiffens as she squeezes you.
It isn’t the only part of you that stiffens.
Mortifyingly, you slowly become aware of your pants tenting at the crotch, your rising erection hardening and pressing into Chelsea’s thigh. She doesn’t recoil though, just leans back and grins wryly at you.
“You’re as excited as I am, aren’t you, she says in a low voice meant only for your ears. You can only manage a weak nod. Chelsea smiles dazzlingly at you before taking a few steps back.
Your conversation with Joe last night surfaces in your memory. He’d been surprised at how keen the golem Chelsea had been, and now that you’ve explained your latest ideas to her – you have a hard time thinking of her as an it now – her eagerness is undiminished. “It’s ok then,” you say, still uncertain. “I mean, we’re basically talking about killing people.”
“I like what we’re doing together,” she reaffirms, echoing the instruction you gave her two days ago. “Besides, you aren’t going to be hurting anyone important are you?”
You wonder briefly exactly who Chelsea defines as important, but do not give voice to the question. “No,” you tell her. “And its not like they’ll really be dead, they’ll still be around – it’ll just be one of us underneath.”
“There you go then,” beams Chelsea. “Nobody gets hurt,” she adds sincerely. You wonder who she is trying to convince – you or herself.
“Do you have any ideas then,” you ask her. “Who I could become? We want to run Westside.”
“I run Westside,” pouts Chelsea.
“What Prescott means is we want to run it together, with you.” It’s the first words Joe – still disguised as Jon Straussler - has said since the golem’s arrival, and he says them smoothly and reassuring.
Chelsea’s posture relaxes, and she lets out a little giggle. “Sure. Lots. There’s a lot of groups that don’ know their… that don’t always think about what’s best for the school. You could take control of one of them. You and your friends, one group each.”
“So that they’d do what is best for Westside,” asks Frank, his tone of voice making clear exactly what he really thinks of the question.
Chelsea doesn’t notice, or at least chooses to ignore it. “Exactly, though…” she pauses for a second and furrows her brow. “You know what would be really fun: Setting everyone against each other. All that plotting and no one realising that both sides were run by the same people.” She hugs you again. Her body wriggles against yours, doing nothing to calm the burgeoning stiffy in your pants. “I want that,” she whispers in your ear. “I want it a lot.”
Frank, however, scoffs in reply. “Seriously? That’s what you want to do?” He shakes his head angrily. “What a waste.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” counters Joe. He ignores Frank’s grunted reply. “We’re seeing what we can do here, aren’t we Prescott?” You nod at him, turning yourself away from Chelsea reluctantly. “So it gives us a chance to see what we can do. Prescott’s gotta learn his new ousiarchs…”
“His new ousiarchs,” splutters Frank.
“… and whoever he puts the rest of our essentia into will have to do the same,” continues Joe without missing a beat.
“I worked out how to have four,” you explain to Frank sheepishly. “Glundandra and Eldibria now too.”
“And it gives Prescott time to figure out what he can do with the Libra,” adds Joe. “By the time we leave Westside at the end of the year – whoever we are – we’ll be all set up to do whatever we want.”
“If you say so,” says Frank grudgingly.
“Wait,” says Chelsea, catching up to what Joe has been saying. “Is there more than the three of you?”
“Another two, if Prescott wants,” explains Joe. “Or we could double up the essentia, now that we know how. Give me a little Malacandra. I’ll be better at it than Frank ever is,” he pleads, making puppy dog eyes. Beside you Chelsea giggles.
“No,” you counter as firmly as you can manage. “We’ll split them up. Malacandra and Sulva, Perelandra and Catilindria – once Chelsea suggests where we can put them.”
“Thank you,” smiles Chelsea before hugging you again. For the briefest of moments your lips connect and your feel her tongue break into your mouth. Then it’s gone again, leaving your wondering if it really happened or you just imagined it as she steps away from you. “This is going to be so amazing.”
“So…” you say weakly.
“So,” repeats Chelsea.
“Who do you think I should become,” you ask.
Chelsea cocks her head to one side and screws up her face. It’s unclear if her expression is genuine or affectation, but after a few moments she gives you her answer. “The AP crowd.”
A spike of ill-feeling knots in the pit of your stomach. Resentments that you had forgotten you had. “Lisa,” you growl quietly, but not so quietly that Chelsea cannot hear you.
She scrunches up her face again. “Lisa Yarborough,” she says in a puzzled voice after a little thought. “She hangs out with them, dating Geoff Mansfield.” The mention of his name feels like icy spikes being driven through your gut. Chelsea must have caught the wince you made, as her eyes glitter maliciously. “You could do something about that. Kelsey Blakenship could apply the pressure to make them break up. Or you could be Geoff yourself and date Lisa that way.”
Your eyes narrow. Chelsea’s pushing your buttons – expertly too it seems. A part of you wants to tell her to stop, but it’s being voted down by the other part of you. The part that is screaming for revenge.
“Or maybe you could be Lisa and break Geoff’s heart,” she grins.
“He doesn’t have one,” you growl angrily.
“Everyone has one,” answers Chelsea. “You just have to know where to push. What about Lisa? Would it break her heart if Deanna Showalter stole Geoff away from her? That could be you too…”
“What do you get out of it,” you manage to ask, trying to blot out the siren voices in your own head that demand you take up Chelsea’s suggestion.
The question catches her off guard. “They’re all so snooty,” she whines honestly. She as no option but to answer truthfully, your position as the golem’s master makes the instruction binding. “They look down on me. Oh that’s not fair, forcing me to tell you like that” she pouts. “Even if you don’t do it for me, there’s still a lot of good reasons to pick the AP students.”
Chelsea isn’t wrong. Most of the people she’s mentioned would all be good people to be. They come from well to do backgrounds. They’re all high achievers at Westside and they have a good life mapped out ahead of them. People look up to them – or at least aren’t rude directly to their face.
You just don’t like the feeling that the golem is manipulating you.
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