tw at the end...
DORIAN SPREAD HIS LEFT HAND in front of him and towards the moon casting its iridescent appendages towards the party like a strobe light, while reminding them the night is still too young to be slacking. He smiles at the idea, not because he agrees to what Mr. Moon suggests, but how dreadening it can also steer towards.
His right hand bobs quietly to the beat from some guy's Dr Dre's pills, his fingers tapping on the plastic red cup, reminiscent to the drumset he used to play in their last previous church before his mom decided the choir did not put too much work into ministrations.
"Dorian," says a shrill sopranino creeps up on him from behind. "Damn, is it just me or your name is a little too poetic for someone of your...your--"
He rolls his eyes before turning to face the blonde who runs her mouth like a bombshell. "What now, Trisha?"
"Games are about to start. And you have to be here. It's gonna be fun!" she says, squealing.
She has been apologizing nonstop for that stunt they played at the advocacy club and to be frank, he has long since cast it in the ocean. It takes a heavy check of mental currency to hold grudges but he can't keep rubbing clits with these guys no more, or they'll come back to bite it.
"Oh, what are they playing then?" Strolling down to where the group muddled up around the bonfire.
Trisha wraps her fingers around his arm. "Don't know. Don't care. Just go with the flow."
"Yeah, whatever. Let me go."
"No."
Dusting a log, he sits on it alongside Trisha who is still holding him like he is about to vanish into thin air any moment. He low-key wants to leave but at the same time, take the bull by the horns. Because something fateful will happen this night. He can smell it; not the wet sand, not the dewy trees, not the tropical breeze; but it is thick in the air like post-burrito fart.
"Here you go." A girl from this class who has been babysitting Scooby for most of the night hands him over to Dorian and he responds with a nod of thanks.
"You have been a good boy, haven't you?" He nudges the cat's nose with his. The cat merely yawns in reply and scoots further into his arms for what looks like the twentieth nap today.
Lucy, to his surprise, is spearheading the games. Her russet hair that somehow doesn't lose its brilliance in the darkness is packed into a high bun that flows down her square face and conical shoulders.
"Who is ready for some truth or dare?" She exclaims as some cheers follow.
Dorian just thinks the game is juvenile, desperate and it never ever ends well.
"So the rules are the same. A dare must follow three consecutive truths," Lucy goes on, gesturing with her long ass acrylics. "This is a do-or-drink matter and trust me, you don't want to even smell what we have in store for this shit."
Some snickers echo through the group but Dorian just shrugs. He can handle anything alcohol they throw at him. Anyone would be surprised by how much being Bruce's best buddy for a month has sculpted his mind.
Speaking of Bruce, he is opposite to him across the fire and on the brink of making out with some girl Dorian remembers in his class as Nadine. Bruce has been sending subliminal messages to him about leaving here to stone in the woods.
To be for real, he can use a blunt or two to live through this night. Dorian craves that hazy cloud of nonchalance and semiconsciousness, especially something that won't make him cringe so hard even Greg is dared to lick the tip of Martinez's nose.
YOU ARE READING
TORPEDO ✓
Teen FictionGirls have always been enough for Dorian Ayuba; until they weren't. Now, he is a hurricane in a box, all the while piggybacking scholarships, bills and his broken mother. Then there's rich, sickly Giovanni Price whose life expectancy is just as shor...
