TORPEDO ✓

call me by your reddit dp name by sufjan stevens

Dorian was dumped. Like a used tampon. Like a five-month-old phone pouch. Like last semester's electives. Like Vine and Facebook. Like Rihanna kicking Drake off the curb. Thoughtlessly, resolutely and without mercy.

Actually, Scarlett's emotional violation was not technically dumping because they were not, for a large reason, dating. Their situationship just got too cozy, yet toxic and wanting; thanks to the stereotypical jock.

Scarlett has actually been his best so far. She has been so sweet, caring, even lent him some cash once in a while. For a brief frame of time, they did what couples do; all this before and during the Giovanni drama. Dorian attended her club meetings and tutored her in some "allegedly" challenging subjects. Of course, she feigned having problems with math when she is almost a straight-A student. Things were rosy until she wanted more but unfortunately, his heart was flooded with a certain blonde tsunami. Dorian still kept her around for the sex though; it was good and self-gratifying and reassuring in the sense that his internalized homophobia was kept incubating.

Three days riddled with syringes and gagged by the smell of disinfectants goes by as it should have, and now Dorian is standing right in front the hell he calls school and this hell is probably going to the next stage of his dreams; as long as he survives these hurdles.

The wispy October air licks his scalp cowering beneath his lowcut and Dorian clutches the handle of his backpack tighter, wishing that will shield him from the lasers shooting out of everyone's eyes and fucking his sweat pores; as if the hospital needles hadn't been enough.

Mustering a deep inhale and even deeper footsteps, he barges into the hallways like a runway model. Not that he wants to but because he needs to. This is owing to an itch he has been dying to scratch since he got discharged on the hospital. A discomforting hunger to lay his hands on one of those delicately prepared coffin nails.

"Where the hell have you been, Bruce?" says Dorian in the most passive-aggressive sonance voice he can ever muster, as he suppresses the urge to scream his lungs out and smash the late boy's head into the wall. Street legends has it that the day you let your dealer know how down bad you have become with his goods is that day you will be paying not just your lungs and reasoning compartment but an arm and leg for just a whiff.

"Chill, I had class, okay?"

"Class, my ass. I saw you in the library's special reading room doing whatever." Dorian retorts, folding his arms and staring down the Asian jock haughtily.

They are hidden from the public eye behind the fume chamber of the old chemistry lab; an isolated part of the school's abandoned buildings. This place has actually been a convenient avenue for shady stuff and whatnot, and fortunately hasn't been casted to the staff yet. This school crawls with snitches. This is what Dorian gets for not just going to the community college in the next block; not with his mom who would sell a kidney to see him school with the white kids who she thinks are oh-so-perfect with a future as bright as their summer sunglasses.

"You mean, doing detention? What else would I be doing in the library if not to scrub the floors and serving school time as usual."

In a swift, smooth movement, their palms meet before entering their backpacks, and their transaction was complete.

"I think the million-dollar question is what detention in the library would feel like. Which of the teachers even does that?"

Bruce is still in his jerseys and sweaty as ever; and he hasn't even stepped on the field today. It is literally morning. Or does he do this intentionally? Are girls really drawn to musty, musky smelling jocks who leak from their armpits like it is a run-down sewer?