Survival Of The Fittest

[Lorenzo Tavares Prom Continued From Lost Souls]


It had been pretty quiet for a while now.

Lorenzo looked over at the boy in the passenger seat of his Saab with a questioning look. They’d been sitting behind this building with the car off for a decent amount of time now and they’d hardly exchanged more than a few words. Artem wasn’t exactly the easiest person to get information out of, Lorenzo was coming to realize. But, on the right side, he seemed to be loosening up every so much more with every hit from the joint, so there was still plenty to work with. Lorenzo just had to make sure he was wording everything in the perfect way to get the outcome he was looking for.

He took another hit himself, and passed the rapidly disappearing joint over to the other boy. When he reached up to take the smoke, Lorenzo made sure that their hands touched ever so gently. He took a second and looked directly into the other boy’s eyes, before pulling his hand away and making a show of a nice laugh. He rolled down his window a bit a lit himself a cigarette, peeking his eyes over to the silver haired boy as he did. He took a deep inhale, gathering his thoughts quickly, and released his breath in a large cloud of smoke before he cleared his throat and began to speak up.

“So… what had you so down at the prom, my dude?” He turned to face the boy, bringing up his leg onto the seat and leaning back against his door, so he could see his companion perfectly.

“I mean, it’s obviously none of my business, but if you wanna talk about it we can. Besides, you’re way too pretty to have such a sad look on your face.” He took another pull of his cigarette, letting the smoke billow out of his mouth slowly as he made it obvious he was looking the other boy up and down.

“It’s a shame. It’d be much better if your face was full of pleasure instead.” He smirked at the boy and leaned forward a bit, closing the distance as much as he could from his position.

“I’d really love to get to know you better. Much better.” As the words came out Lorenzo reached forward with his fee hand and placed his hand just above Artem's knee on his thigh.

Lorenzo wasn’t lying when he said this, necessarily. The boy was interesting for sure, and in another mindset Lorenzo may very well have meant every word of that statement. But right now they was just honeyed words meant to ensnare Artem even deeper into Lorenzo’s web.

>> Artem Fyodorov continued from Lost Souls

This was a bit of an unusual situation.

Artem smoked alone, most of the time. That was because as far as he was concerned the ultimate utility for getting high was inspiration, and it was rather difficult to start jotting notes or weaving plot threads together when he was surrounded by others, though on occasion he'd smoke with just Dolly and she made a good sounding board for his ideas if they didn't have anything else to do that day. Sometimes, as he had with Lorenzo in the past, he'd end up in groups, and that was okay, too. Not as productive, maybe, but talking became a lot less scary when he was high. Got easier to say a lot of nothing in particular. He didn't overthink his words so much, or others' reactions to the same. It was nice. Maybe it was kind of sad that he could only deal with big groups of people when he wasn't sober, but some people were just like that, he figured.

This was new, though. One on one, with someone who wasn't Dolly. It was... quiet. He supposed that was to be expected, all things considered, and he didn't mind it, though he hoped Lorenzo didn't think he was being weird. He'd never really understood the concept of the awkward silence. Silence was calming. They'd shared a few words, but Artem didn't really like small talk, and they didn't have a huge amount in common, so better to save the deep thoughts for when the joint was gone, right?

And it nearly was, as Lorenzo passed him what was more or less the last of it. He shivered a little as their hands brushed; he felt strangely cold, but also warm at the same time? Sensations were a little off at the moment. He was real close for a second, and then he wasn't, and then he was laughing, and Artem laughed, too, because laughing was easy.

What had him so down at prom? Not that it was that long ago, but it had gotten lost somewhere, his thoughts swirling idly around his head. He'd been looking out the window he was blowing smoke out of, because looking at his technical partner-in-crime felt a bit awkward, but he turned his gaze to him when he asked an actual question.

"I..." He opened his mouth, and his voice cracked on the first word. He kind of wished Lorenzo hadn't made him put those drinks down when they'd left the building. Even shitty punch would be real good right about now. "It's kind of complicated. I think. Girl problems, sort of. But also just people problems. Problems with people. Prom problems with prom people." That sounded weird, didn't it? It probably did, but it didn't really matter, because suddenly Lorenzo was leaning into his personal space, and that was taking precedence.

"Uh..."

He was very close. Too close. His hand was on his leg, suddenly. When had that happened? Artem shivered again. He thought to pull away, but there wasn't really anywhere to pull away to, sitting in the passenger seat, unless he wanted to fall out of the car, which he didn't, particularly. Lorenzo was saying things. He called him pretty. That was nice of him. And he said... other things, also. It was a little hard to focus on any of that at the moment.

"Lorenzo?"

His voice cracked again on the name.

Lorenzo had the ball rolling now, and he couldn’t let up, lest the inertia of the situation lessened. He turned away for a second, flicking his half-smoked cigarette out the open window, before turning his attention back to the very adorable and very fuckable boy in front of him. He just looked so innocent and pure, like a porcelain doll almost. Hell, if there was any simile to this situation, then Artem was a sweet little lamb, and Lorenzo was the hungry wolf. Hungry as a motherfucker. Lorenzo pushed forward from his seat a bit, moving even closer to Artem while slowly sliding his hand up his thigh and towards his crotch. The boy stumbled over his words and croaked out his name in a way that made Lorenzo salivate a bit. It was really fucking hot to have this silver-haired beauty here and being in complete control of the situation was something else. His other hand reached forward to brush some hair out of the boy’s face, and then moved to cup his cheek turning his head so that he couldn’t avoid looking at him.

“Shh… Just let me make you feel better.” He whispered seductively.

Without giving Artem a chance to refuse, Lorenzo closed the distance in an instant, locking his lips onto his and stifling out any cries of protest that may have escaped in the process. He released his hold on the boy’s face and reached around to find the lever on the side of the seat. Finding it after a moment, he pulled it hard, sending the back of the passenger seat, along with Artem and Lorenzo, falling back until they were basically completely horizontal. In the process, so as not to break the lip-lock, Lorenzo crawled on top of the smaller boy and moved the hand that was on the boy’s thigh up rapidly, stopping to grope his package briefly, and made it’s way all the way to Artem’s collar, already beginning to fiddle with the boy’s buttons. Lorenzo broke the kiss briefly, leaning up so he could look down at his prize, the top button of his dress shirt already undone by his deft fingers.

“I want you. Let me have you.” It wasn’t a question, but Lorenzo took a second to look into the boy’s eyes, making sure at least that in that moment, he definitely wanted this.

Sometimes, in the novels Artem read, there were points where the action of a scene seemed to drop away entirely. Things were still moving but he could barely parse the physicality of the scene because the narrator was so in their own head, their thoughts seemingly disconnected from their surroundings. Sometimes, admittedly dependent on the quality of the prose, it got to be frustrating. Not that the narrator's thoughts were irrelevant, but things were happening! He was reading the book to find out what those things were. When he was younger he'd sometimes skip ahead through paragraphs and paragraphs of tangential thought before realizing that somewhere in the middle of those paragraphs someone had gotten stabbed or something. Nowadays he was a touch less stubborn and a touch more likely to just drop the sort of book that would pull that sort of trick on him.

At this particular moment, for the first time, Artem found himself acutely aware of what being the narrator in that sort of scene felt like.

It was a sensation he recognized, but he'd always felt it alone, usually lying in bed, stoned and thoughtful and half-paralyzed. That feeling of being a few inches separated from his own skin, like his body and his mind weren't quite in sync. He couldn't exactly ignore what was happening, Lorenzo removing the last bit of space between them, but it felt distant, foggy, almost more like he was watching it than experiencing it, observing from a distance as Lorenzo's lips slammed into his own.

Artem had spent a lot of time thinking about his first kiss. An embarrassing, overly romantic thing for an 18-year-old boy to put as much stock in as he had, but it was so often a poetic moment in the written word that he couldn't help but believe in it. This was, perhaps, as far from his reckoning as it was possible for the experience to be.

Somewhere far away his mouth made a noise, of surprise more than anything else, quickly stifled. He was near paralyzed, naturally, considering his brain and his body didn't have much to do with each other at the moment. Not that he knew what to do, if he could, what was he supposed to do, if he was supposed to do anything? It didn't seem to bother Lorenzo, anyway. He fell backwards, suddenly, and he was on top of him, and—

—a shock of sensation forced him back to his relative senses, for the moment, and suddenly he was hyper-aware of just how stupid he must seem. He should be doing something with his hands, probably. He should say something, maybe. His body was certainly responding in various ways he had limited control over, not the least of which was how loud and sharp his breathing had suddenly become to his own ears, but when Lorenzo spoke it seemed to demand a proper response despite not actually being a question.

Wait was the word that came to mind. Not no, because that felt too strong, and not stop, because he wasn't sure if he wanted to stop, because he barely knew what was happening. Just wait, please. Just what are we doing, or aren't we going a little fast, or I don't know what I'm doing, or this is my first time though he was sure that much was obvious by now. Maybe I'm a little freaked out would be reasonable, because he was, but the mellow buzz of his high kept the creeping edge of panic at bay.

He wondered how he looked right now. Bemused, more than likely. Lorenzo's eyes were grey in the low light. He must have had this in mind from the beginning. That was flattering, in a way. Worrying, in another.

He opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a breathy, questioning, meaningless sound.

Lorenzo stared down at the smaller boy beneath him, looking for any sign that he wasn’t as into this situation as Lorenzo was. Any reason for him to stop himself from ravishing this boy completely. Artem’s eyes showed no fear, no cause for concern; if anything they were glassy and glazed over. Artem opened his mouth as if he was going to say something, but seemed unable to do so. Lorenzo felt like his mind was racing. Artem was totally into this. If he wasn’t he would have said something by now, right? Yeah! He would have pushed him away, or told him no, or done something other than just lay there and stare at him with those bedroom eyes!

Right?!

Artem was laying there practically BEGGING to be consumed by Lorenzo’s lust. It was the ultimate situation. He would be able to finally get his nut off with a new person (something he’d not been able to bring himself to do since what happened between him and Kayden at Forrest’s house-party), and in the process his leaving the prom with Artem in tow was certainly making it’s journey through the George Hunter High rumor mill by now and would soon reach the ears of it’s intended blonde jock target. It was the perfect plan and everything was going well. So why the hell was he hesitating? Why was he looking down at this boy hoping that he’ll push him away or say he didn’t want this? Lorenzo felt his breathing pick up speed as he looked down at the gorgeous boy lying beneath him. He needed to shake all these intrusive thoughts out of his head.

All that mattered right now was that he had a sexy boy (who, let’s be honest was probably a virgin, Lorenzo could tell that right away) with him, parked behind a building where no one could bother them. And he needed to take advantage of that situation.

Forget Kayden.

As if to force the thoughts out of his head more than anything, Lorenzo crashed his lips down upon the silver haired boy’s again, kissing him passionately as he attempted to unbutton both Artem’s shirt and his own with one hand each. Lorenzo forced his tongue into the smaller boy’s mouth, and as his fingers did battle with both of their buttons, so too did their tongues fight back and forth between them. Succeeding in unbuttoning his own shirt first, Lorenzo leaned up and stripped the fabric from his body, tossing it into the back seat of his car to be worried about later. He made quick work of the rest of Artem’s buttons now with both hands free, and splayed the clothing open, getting a good look at the pale untouched torso underneath. He looked angelic there, his chest and stomach exposed and his silver hair a mess around him. The boys lips were plumped up and swollen from the heavy kissing, making him look even more delectable than before.

“You’re gorgeous.” He whispered as he leaned down, making a trail with his lips down from the boy’s mouth to his collarbone, spending a decent while focusing his attention there, thrilled at the sounds coming out of the boy as he roamed his hands all over the boy’s body.

At this point there was no stopping it. Lorenzo was so lost in his haze of lust and the need to erase the memories of the night at the party from his mind that he allowed himself to succumb completely to the feelings and lose himself in the actions.

There was a long pause. Their eyes stayed locked. He still couldn't find whatever meaning was trapped behind them. Lorenzo's expression shifted, but every possible emotion Artem thought he could glean from it seemed wrong. Hesitation, maybe? He seemed so confident, though. Distress? But he was in control. Disappointment? Had Artem done something wrong? Well, of course he had. Probably everything he'd done so far was wrong. He felt he couldn't really be blamed for that, though. He felt Lorenzo probably had seen that coming from the first moments they'd spoken.

There were so many possibilities in that moment, silence broken only by Lorenzo's quickening breaths and Artem's shuddering own. They could sit up, still. They could talk, maybe, about this, or about anything else at all. They could go back to prom, Amelia was probably looking for him. Dolly might worry. Or they could go somewhere, anywhere that wasn't this passenger seat right now. Maybe together, even. Maybe in some other world that could be something.

But the seconds passed in slow motion, and he didn't move. Prom was gone, walled off to him by his own mistakes, and so was the rest of the world.

Here he was. Whatever happened now was his own fault.

The moment came to an abrupt halt as Lorenzo's lips suddenly pressed back into his, and in that moment he lost himself again, slipping past the bounds of his own skin. He observed neutrally how quick Lorenzo's hands were, what swift work he made of his own shirt and then of Artem's, the far-off feeling of fabric moving on his skin and the sudden burst of cool air. There was a night somewhere outside, far away, where an unseasonably cold wind blew and reached the car's windows. He felt goosebumps rising. The breeze was only half the cause.

Some unaccountable instinct led his hand to, slowly, gingerly, rest on Lorenzo's chest. He felt burning hot under his fingers. He'd never really thought about him that way, this way, before, but there wasn't much of a reason for that outside of a lack of familiarity. He couldn't exactly argue that he was unattractive. Maybe it would have come to him eventually, given time, though probably not, given how little time was left. Well, he supposed it had, in a way. The flush in his cheeks was very real. The breathing, the shivering. He wanted something, yes. He couldn't say if it was this.

You're gorgeous, he said, and Artem tried to feel gorgeous, but all he felt was small.

That was swept away quickly by a thousand brand new sensations, and it was pointless to try to keep up with every kiss, every breath, every touch, every noise that escaped his lips, never words, only sounds, and he did all that was asked of him, and tried desperately to keep pace, as his mind shut down completely.

Everything had gone so fast, Lorenzo almost felt like he wasn’t even really a part of it.

But he had, no one could deny that.

Lorenzo fell back into the drivers seat awkwardly, breathing heavily, sweating buckets, and struggling to remove the condom wrapped around his softening member without spilling any of the fluids inside. His eyes were cast downward, unable to look at the boy he’d just moments ago been inside of. His eyes caught sight of the tinge of red on the condom, and his breath caught in his throat a bit. However, he willed himself forward, not mentioning it nor apologizing for it.

What would be the point now? After what just happened?

He finally succeeded in peeling off the gross rubber and tossed it out the open window after tying it off. There was an old shirt in his back seat and he used it to wipe the excess from his hands and crotch. Still keeping his eyes glued to his lap, not daring to look to the passenger seat and see what state the other boy was in, he did what he could to pull up his briefs and dress pants from where they were bunched at his knees. It took a few seconds of struggle, but eventually he had them back in place, but he didn’t bother to refasten his belt or top button. He moved himself slowly back into a proper seated position in the car, and turned his head slightly to peek at the other boy.

He hadn’t even started to put himself back together. He still laid there, face down on the leather seat, pants around his knees.

Lorenzo could hear small noises coming from the boy, but he did his best to try and make his brain loud enough to tune them out. They sounded so frail and broken. They tore right into his very being. What kind of person would make those kinds of noises come out of someone else?

A complete monster.

Lorenzo reached behind his seat and felt around until he found another discarded piece of clothing. It was an old sleeveless tee he’d probably thrown back there haphazardly on a random drive. He grimaced as he looked at it. His arm reached out towards the other boy with it in hand, his face turned away, his vision locked outside, trying desperately to imagine himself anywhere but in this car right now.

“H-here… To clean up.” His voice cracked at first when he began to speak, and it shocked him.

He almost didn’t recognize the sound of his own voice. Somehow it disgusted him. What he’d just done… there was no going back from things like that. His lip began to quiver softly, and he felt the tears threaten to come bleeding out of his eyes. But no. He willed them back in place. He had no right to cry. He had no right… to do any of this.

He was human garbage.

And then it was all over.

Movement stopped, and suddenly Artem was alone, face down, slowly loosening his vice grip on the seat, the previous however-many-minutes already feeling tenuously attached to reality. This, in itself, didn't quite feel real. It came in waves and in recognition of sensations. Pain, for one. Pain from having stayed in one position for so long, pain from skin scraping against damp leather, but a more obvious pain, of course, an empty ache that felt at once sharp and dull. Stickiness, too, sweat on sweat on sweat, heat suddenly replaced with a cold breeze on his back that raised goosebumps. Not just pain, though. Not just sweat, either. The mess he lay in stuck to his stomach as a reminder that he didn't want of feelings he couldn't comprehend. Complications on complications. Things he had to think about. Just not right now.

He heard Lorenzo's breathing, deep and shuddering, and he heard something else, too, quiet whimpering that he didn't quite recognize as coming from himself. He tried to stop but choked instead on a low sob.

He should move. Lorenzo was sitting, he heard him, faintly, rustling around with something the back seat, and he probably looked weird and pathetic still lying here. He took a deep breath to steady himself at least temporarily, at least to keep any more sounds from escaping him, and slowly pushed himself up on his hands, his skin peeling away from the leather. Advantages to leather, some far-off part of him thought. At least it wouldn't stain. He felt compelled to clean up after himself but didn't know how. He needed to clean himself, too, of course; his pants and boxers were currently around his knees, and to pull them up was to risk staining Dolly's handiwork. His shirt and jacket, too, had mercifully made their way to the back seat, to be spared of potential befouling. That was good, at least. He'd never forgive himself if he ruined something Dolly had worked so hard on for him. It was only his skin that was stained, then. He wanted to peel it off and clean it properly.

Then Lorenzo was holding out something to him, an old shirt, it looked like. He felt kind of bad using a piece of clothing that wasn't his, but it seemed like the only option. He took it, but noticed Lorenzo's shaking voice, how his eyes sought out something as far away from here as they could, and Artem once again felt lower than low.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice high and quiet and far away. He sounded weak. He was weak, though. That wasn't news to anyone. He awkwardly patted at himself with the cloth, moving from his stomach backwards. Sticky, still, but less so. He needed a shower, badly. He glanced at the shirt when he was done and inhaled sharply at the streak of red that now marked it, but he didn't say anything. There was nothing to say, was there? It would be fine. He wasn't an expert, but he was sure it would heal. It was probably pretty common. Not a big deal.

Not a big deal.

He made an effort to wipe away the mess on the seat, but it was more than he could manage with just the shirt, so he lay it down on the seat with a still-clean bit facing upward. He shimmied his pants back up his legs and on; they stuck to his thighs uncomfortably, feeling alien against his skin. Lorenzo still wasn't looking at him. Something was wrong. Artem felt wrong. He felt compelled to say something. He should have said something before. He felt like an idiot.

"Are... are you okay?" His voice still sounded distant. "I'm... sorry, I don't know..."

He trailed off. He didn't know anything, did he?

The whispered thank you felt like a knife to the gut. Lorenzo kept his gaze locked on the open window, too afraid to turn and see the results of his actions. He heard a bit of shuffling behind him, but still dared not turn his face. His mind was reeling, trying to find some sort of plausible reason why he did this. Why he let his emotions take control to such a terrifying degree. Before this moment he would never have even thought himself capable of something so… wrong. He should have stopped. The fear in Artem’s eyes should have made him stop. The sounds he made during the act should have made him stop.

He felt so lost.

He felt so disgusting.

He wanted to run away, or cry, or scream, or something!

But he just sat there frozen. Frozen in fear of himself. Of what he did. Of what kind of person he must be to be able to do such a despicable thing. How could he look his little sisters in the eye after this? How could he look his mother and father in the eyes, knowing that deep down he was a monster. How could he ever look himself in the eyes again? The thoughts bombarded his mind, picturing everyone he cared about turning their backs on him because no one could love such a beast. A beast who took whatever they wanted regardless of who it hurt. His chest felt tight and his body felt cold. A chill ran over him unlike any he’d ever felt before.

Artem’s words broke him from his trance, but he still refused to look at the boy. What kind of madness was this? How could this boy be asking him if he was alright? That wasn’t right. It should have been the other way around but he was too much of a coward.The the apology came and Lorenzo felt like he’d been scalded by boiling water. His body actually flinched and he keeled over a bit, his stomach starting to do back-flips inside his body. His eyes were wide open and unblinking, unwilling to close and have to see the images of his debauchery in his own mind. He finally turned his face towards the other boy in the car, and immediately he felt like weeping. He refused to do so however. He had no right to cry in front of this person that he hurt in such a despicable way.

“I…” He tried to speak but found words eluded him. What was there to say now? After everything he didn’t even know who he was anymore, let alone know how to form a sentence.

“We should get back.” He said it dispassionately, disappointed in himself that he couldn't even muster the strength to apologize.

Pathetic.

We should get back.

They should, he knew. He had no idea how much time had past; he was too afraid to look at his phone, too afraid to face the possible litany of missed calls and worried texts that might lay within. Maybe more than that, he was afraid to look at his phone and see nothing. To see that Amelia had forgotten about him, that Dolly had forgotten about him, that prom had gone on and his friends had danced and taken pictures and enjoyed themselves with nary a thought to his whereabouts. And if they had, he would deserve it. He had abandoned them. And for what?

He'd been so intent on having a miserable time that he'd dragged his friends down and been lured away from them with nothing more than the promise of weed. The tendrils of his high stayed wrapped safely around his brain, probably the only thing that kept him from full-on bursting into tears, but his eyes still felt wet. His breathing still sounded ragged and far too loud. He felt a chill as another breeze blew through the open window, and realized, embarrassed, that he was still shirtless.

He almost laughed, then. Embarrassed? What was there to be embarrassed about, anymore? What shame did he have left? But what actually left him was a sharp breath and a small, sad noise that meant nothing at all.

Lorenzo's eyes looked... wild. Like a cornered animal, he thought, a metaphor he'd read hundreds of times over the years but never had a visual for. Something was very wrong, something he clearly didn't want to talk about given how quickly he changed the subject, and how quickly he'd changed it to the subject of them leaving, in particular. He didn't quite notice he was doing it, but he wrapped his arms around his chest, holding himself tightly. He needed to be anywhere but here. The drugs could only keep him from panicking for so long. He'd done something wrong. He'd done everything wrong. He must have. Lorenzo wanted him gone from here. He at least should do that much. Prom wasn't far. He could walk.

But.

But he pictured Dolly's face, her expression turning instantly to concern, because she always knew. He'd make something up, he couldn't tell her, he couldn't tell anyone, but she'd worry still. She'd been looking forward to prom for months. Her dress was her masterpiece. She must be so happy.

Every option he had was so, so selfish. He couldn't make anyone happy.

Trembling, he turned toward the backseat, his eyes studiously avoiding Lorenzo's, and retrieved his shirt and jacket. His fingers were shaking too hard to manage the small buttons of the shirt, so he slid the jacket over it and barely managed its larger ones. It looked wrong. At least he didn't have to look at himself anymore. He felt sticky, still. Disgusting.

He should go, now, but he couldn't.

"Ah... I-I..." His voice cracked. He had to stop before he could continue. "C-could you... I think I need to... get home. If you... I'm sorry."

Pathetic.

Lorenzo sat frozen in place, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as he willed himself to try and get the car started. The only sound in the car was the unbearably heavy beating of his heart. He didn't want to think anymore, let alone keep sitting in this car with Artem, but his body wouldn’t listen, and he just sat there, eyes locked onto his steering wheel, watching his knuckles go white from his vice grip. He just wanted to forget everything, pretend it was all some terrible dream. He just wanted to wake up and realize he wasn’t the monster, and this was all nothing but his imagination run wild. But no matter how long he sat there he didn’t awaken. He couldn’t pretend or run from what he’d done.

That was the worst part.

All of this had happened because of his decisions. None of it was by accident or random, all his own choices led him to this moment, sitting in his car with a boy who he’d done something unspeakable to. His skin was crawling with how disgusting he felt. He’d said they should go back, but how could they? Back to prom, as if nothing had happened? Just go on with the night as if everything was fine and dandy? No, that wasn’t a possibility, not really. Neither of them could just show up and pretend they were okay. Lorenzo’s thoughts turned to Kayden for a split second, and his chest tightened in shame.

Now he’d never be able to look him in the eyes again.

Not after this.

Movement beside him caught his attention, and he turned his face slightly to watch the smaller boy. He’d reached back for his shirt and jacket, haphazardly putting the clothing back on. Lorenzo’s eyes locked on the boy’s hands. They were shaking so violently he couldn’t even butting his shirt back up. Lorenzo felt sick to his stomach, like his innards were twisting and writing inside his body. He realized for a moment that he was still shirtless, and followed Artem’s initiative, reaching back for his own shirt as Artem continued to fumble with his jacket. Lorenzo slipped the shirt back on slowly, and methodically buttoned himself back up. His hand weren’t shaking. No, his hands moved with purpose. It made him uncomfortable how easily his body seemed to act like everything was normal.

Disgusting.

Artem attempted to speak, but his voice cracked on his first word. Lorenzo turned again, but kept his eyes cast downwards, unable to give the boy the decency of looking him in the eye. Lorenzo was too afraid of the emotions he’d find there. He was a coward. Artem said he needed to go home, and Lorenzo nodded silently. That seemed the best option. Go home and escape the obvious stares that would come with returning to prom. Go home and try and make sense of everything.

It was the only option, really.

“Yeah…” He started, his own voice coming out raspy and small. It sounded alien to him.

“Just tell me where to go.” He turned the key in his ignition and the sound of the car starting to life drowned out the silence that had permeated the last few minutes.


[Lorenzo Tavares Prom Continued in It Ends Tonight]

"Okay,"

he said, because it was a word his mouth could form properly, and he wasn't sure how many more of those he was capable of. His skin itched badly under his jacket. Sitting up was painful. Walking likely would be, too. He dreaded seeing his parents. He dreaded their inevitable questions, probing for answers that he would never, ever give. But at least if he went home he had an escape. He could take a shower long and hot enough to feel marginally like himself again. And he could lock the door to his room and let himself get way higher than he was at the moment.

The alternative was to walk back into the prom with the scarlet letter he felt burnt into his flesh.

He was grateful, at least, that Lorenzo could tolerate him, enough to be willing to drive him home. It wasn't far from here. Fifteen minutes, maybe. An absolute eternity, in other words. He might have tried to walk if he thought he could make it. It would have been kinder to both of them.

He wondered if he was still bleeding.

His train of thought was interrupted, briefly, by the sensation of his phone vibrating in his pocket. On instinct he pulled it out and looked, despite his prior conviction to not do so.

[+] phone

Artem shuddered involuntarily. They hadn't forgotten him. That was better, he knew, but still some part of him wished they had.

He whispered his address with a still-shaking voice while typing what should have been a quick response to Dolly but took far too long between his trembling fingers:

Sorry I stepped out.

I wasn't feeling well.

I'm getting a ride home.

Tell Amelia I'm sorry for leaving her alone.

Have a good night, okay?

Words were the thing in the world that held the most worth to him. He'd never wrote so many that were so meaningless.

He curled his legs up to his chest as the car began to move.

>> ARTEM FYODOROV: PREGAME END