[Sequel to The Merciless Black List Of Highland High]
Secrets and lies.
The very flesh and bone of the infamous Shameless Foursome guys.
Collin Adamms, the supposed creator of The Shameless Virginity Games, knows what it's like to make mistakes t...
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11 |
time heals every wound
Friday night.
My first time out in a week after being under a goddamn lock-down and this is where I end up.
In a stuffed living room, with a person that's desperately pissed at me and a bunch of grown-up morons. That pissed off person being Tim, and those grown-up morons being Brad Connelly and his stoned, dumbass friends.
The air is filled with so much smoke that it's getting hard to see the surroundings at times, not to mention how difficult it was to get used to breathing it all in the first few minutes, but I'm pretty content here, just chilling on the musty couch.
I can feel Timothy's eyes boring into me disapprovingly from beside me, but I don't reciprocate his stare. I didn't force him to come inside with me. He made that choice himself, so really, the least he could do is to let me enjoy this, instead of making me feel bad for being here. Fuck, I know that I'm not supposed to be here. But he's the last person that has the right to tell me that.
"Oh, come on, mate," Brad draws out loudly, slapping a handful of cards onto the small coffee table in middle of our little circle, his other hand reaching out toward Timothy with a can of beer clasped between his fingers, "Just one beer. That sure as hell won't kill ya."
"I don't want a beer," Timothy snaps back, making Brad rolls his eyes in annoyance.
Still not daring to take a proper look at Timothy, I reach forward, snatching the can out of Brad's grasp. "I'll take it."
"See?" Brad smiles widely at me, raising his eyebrows a little, "Your friend here knows how to have some goddamn fun."
Popping open the lid, I hear Timothy sigh heavily beside me but he doesn't say anything in response. I can sense he's getting more and more agitated with this whole situation, and I kind of expect him to rip the beer out of my hand once I start pouring the cool liquid down my throat, but he doesn't do that either. Strangely, part of me, and that must be the fucked-up part of me for sure, wants him to do that. I'm craving a fight with him, for whatever sick reason, and I'm craving him snapping and dragging my ass out of here, but he's not really giving me what I want.
"Take a hit out of this too, Collin." The smaller one of Brad's friends with a buzz-cut, named Charles I think, scoots to the edge of his chair and holds out a newly lit joint that he just finished rolling like a minute ago. "Brad's got his hands on the best supply tonight."
Apprehensively, I glance down to my lap, or better to say, the bong that we finished with just a couple minutes ago sitting there, and I guess Charles senses my uncertainty because he quickly adds, "It would be shame to miss out on that."
"Definitely," Frederick, Brad's other friend, with wild black afro and nearly completely black skin, smirks at me encouragingly.
Huffing out a breath, I reach for the joint and take it from his hand, just as I hear a door slam shut somewhere, and then Tim grits silently through his teeth, "Collin."
