The Bad Boys' Soft Boys' Lonely Hearts Club - The Full Package

The Feet Curiosity

Sometimes, you have to slap a bitch to have a little peace. I believe Gandhi said that, or something. I guess. The point I'm trying to make is that, sometimes, you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet. Of peace. A peace omelet. Unless you flip it too early and you get the scrambled eggs of shame and cowardice. 

You know what? Lemme try it again. I'm mixing my metaphors here and having a little too many scramble eggs of shame here. 

I want nothing more than peace. I want to be left alone, to my own devices, and finish this everlasting Sisyphean horrorshow I call high school to go back in my room, tap Amazon Prime Foods directly into my veins, and work 24/7 as a customer support rep. That's my dream. But I can't have my cake and eat it too. Which, hell, it's my cake, goddammit! I'll eat it if I want to. 

The point is, to have peace, I have to go to war. And if I have to jump into the arms of fate to defy it, then gobble gobble, bitch, cuz I'm gonna latch on Fate's ample bosom and suck it dry. 

You get the point. Save Hayden and Brayden so that I don't have to explain why there are two handsome corpses sucked drier than a Capri Sun, and having to move to a different school. Easy enough, right? 

Well, now I have to hammer that to Goofy McDracula over there, who, having finished his meal, is walking towards the door, menacingly. 

I try to block him from exiting, but just like Brayden did a few chapters ago, I bounce out of his springy black chest hair. It feels bad, man...but surprisingly soft. I settle with putting my hand against his chest and at least offer some friction between him and the door. 

"Yo, where are you going?" I ask. 

He looks down at me with his piercing azure-aquamarine-sapphire orbs, sending a primal fear down my DNA telling me that this puppy is about to eat me if I don't move. "This place is tainted,
Compromised by that beast girl,
I will hide for now."

"Look, Okayden, buddy, friend," I say, giving him my best Brayden impression, "I admit, I might've fucked up by letting your PCL into the school. My bad. But still, you gotta help me get those two backs." 

Okayden, like a mountain against a typhoon, refuses to budge a centimeter, or an inch, for those of us whose unit of measurement was crafted by a drunk alchemist rolling a die, and drags me ever closer to the exit. 

"Trying to help would be,
Like a lion chasing a mouse, 
Pointless, and no meat."

Okay...then. He doesn't want to put his skin on the line. That's fair. Except, that's b.s! I mean, it's not his fault to be what he is. Neither that the crazy vampire/werewolf lady is all up in his business. But he definitely is somewhat responsible. Damn his ten abs and perfect posture!

Maybe there's a way I can negotiate with him? He's a bad boy werewolf/vampire that doesn't wanna be, you know, a bad boy werewolf/vampire. Maybe he has a dream like us! If I can appeal to his dream, maybe I can make him help us. Maybe. I tend to say maybe a lot when I'm nervous. 

"Look, Okayden," I say, gently scratching his pecs, which, as my theory suggested, made him drum his happy little foot like a puppy discovering that humans give the best belly-rubs, enough to at least keep him from barreling forward. "I have a dream. That dream is to graduate high school without a sudden pregnant wife, or part of a cult, or having to save the world from a wizard because I'm the chosen one or something. I just wanna buckle down, serve as a customer service rep for some random company that will dehumanize me and use me as a disposable commodity, and die happy and alone. I'm sure you have a dream too, right?"

He continues to stare deep into my soul, all while moving his cute, if huge, dog drumstick up and down. 

"No," he says in one fell swoop. No haiku, no nothing. Just a dry and curt word.