One Word | H.S.

Chapter Thirty-Three

I think we've waited long enough. Agree?

Grab some Balvenie, this is longer than my descent to hell.

~

Escalate.

~

I've crashed Harry's car into a dumpster.

You crashed the car into yourself? Sorry to hear that.

There's no extensive damage, his vehicle apparently made of fucking steel. Hardly a scratch on the bumper, though Harry is on the verge of combustion.

Pacing around like a madman, he continues to occasionally glance up, pointing his shaky finger as the only sounds that come from his throat are strange, distorted murmurs.

I stand with my arms crossed over my chest, my eyes following his every step as I shake my head in disappointment, embarrassment rather. "Can you stop?" My arm slightly shifts in Pretty Boy's direction as he shoots an exhausted glare. "This is strange," I huff out, "Real strange. Very, very weird. Stop now." I command, though he doesn't listen.

Pretty Boy's eyes widen, though the crease between his brows only furrows more, "Weird?" His arms flail at his sides, pushing them in the direction of his perfectly fine car.

The poor trash can. Anyone think about the dumpster's feelings?

"You fuckin'-," He burrows his face in his hands, the strange size covering the entirety of his features, "Do you even have your license?" His voice is a croak, though not completely off-par given he has very similar features to an itty-bitty frog.

No, not an innocent frog, but a fucking Poison Dart Frog. I swear, one graze of his skin and I'm toast. Kicking the bucket rather soon, if I say-so myself.

A giddy, yet smug laugh escapes my lips, hurling Pretty Boy's keys back to him as my feet walk the cement, "The amount of warning I gave?" I shove past him, our shoulders colliding as I head for the apartment, "Do you have a selective memory or some shit?" I chuckle out, the boy only remembering few things from important events.

Turning over my shoulder, leaving the car as is, "Is that what this?" I hover my finger at him, though not slowing my pace as I fail to see why we're even having this conversation.

A loud, infuriated groan comes from Skanky Frog, the pattering of boots sounding as I near the door, leaving him to rot along with that damned car.

It's a car, not a handle of vodka. He's being extremely dramatic.

Catching up to me, Uno Reverse Card on his sorry ass, Harry nearly knocks me to the ground, our colliding bodies making us seem as though we're children. "Oh, aren't you mature?" I wave my hands in the air, though Harry doesn't turn, "Fuckin' dick." I whisper under my breath.

For some strange reason, the last words I spoke hit a specific nerve in Skanky Frog, his body halting almost immediately as he turns on his heel.

"Nope, no." He waves his finger in my direction, raising his voice slightly as he points to me, "I call you names. You don't get to call me names," He flips his finger onto his chest, a muffled 'what' escaping my lips.

If only he could see within my brain, see all the nicknames.

I toss my thumb behind me, my face contorting to a smug, yet annoyed look as Pretty Boy urges me on, "Can I go home?" I flex my arm, moving my hand backwards as my lips press into a firm line, "Can I go home now? Please, can I leave? Can I go home? Don't want to be here anymore, so can I leave? I want to go bye-bye now. I hate this, I'm goin-," Harry slaps his hand over my mouth, shutting me up as I already mentally call the lawyers.