Pretty Boy

The Here And The Now Floods In

Hogan:

Waking up with a dose of heaviness in my head, I try to recognize where I am at and remember what happened last night.

My mind is a blur at the moment and my body is aching in a horrid condition. I try to concentrate to remember what happened, yet my brain feels lost and my memory becomes limited.

All I know was that the last thing I felt was unease in my bones and lips trailing from behind me.

The touch is nowhere near as pleasant as I remember it, and the feel of the kiss seems to make me uncomfortable. It wasn't Serge. That's what I'm sure of. He wasn't present where I was, and my heart yearned for him during those times. I recall the look of a glass-eyed boy too, though I didn't bother to know his name. He's unimportant, yet the smile on his face when I left was really piercing with madness. I don't know what I was doing there and what the feeling was. However, I could only assume that I was hoping for them to stop what they were doing.

I was looking for Bre, and I was full-on sober during that time. What has caused me to be unconscious is truly messing with my mind.

I am in my room now, locked inside of a decorated hall. There's no sign given from where I'm lying, and my mind craves for an explanation. My keys are still on my pants and my phone is right next to me. Nothing seemed missing, yet I could tell something was off. I feel weak and my clothes are now different from what I wore when I came by. Memories of my shirt being torn apart flow into my mind and my body feels drowsy from the bareness of my exposed body.

It's starting to make sense. The lips, my body, and a girl coming to me. It's something that I shouldn't possibly have remembered, yet I still have an assumption as to what happened.

My hand immediately takes my phone from where it was placed and opens my messages. There were many texts from random strangers from my school, and I couldn't help but panic from the words that instantly captured my attention.

"Sick dude. That was so fucking hot"

One guy says.

I don't really know who he is since the number is unknown and my curiosity is piqued as to what he means.

Many other chats rage on my phone. Most of them are people I barely know, while some are my friends.

Hogan. Shit. Are you okay?

A text from Heath, peeks my screen.

Messages keep being sent to my device. Yet, even as I stroll through the messages, none of them still come from Serge.

I tried to find his contact to know if he texted me and opened his number. My last text is still there with him leaving me on read and none from recently. My heart burns from what I last said to him and I feel more heartache from the thought that he didn't even bother to say it back.

I love you

I said to him.

Opening Instagram, I try to ignore the messages that keep coming in, but as soon as I turn on my wifi, more flood my screen.

My gaze widens with every text that my eyes linger on as I scroll through multiple accounts.

Serge's contact is nearly at the bottom of them, and I press on its icon to just see that I've sent a link to his account.

My finger lines with the link to see where it leads and I wait for the website to load.

It takes me directly to a video. There's no caption in it or other videos either. I click play to know what it is and my heart panics as I immediately see my body spread across the screen, tied in a chair and my eyes slightly squinting.