Fifty Million Followers [BOYXBOY]

19.

Ok, I've come down.

I thought I wouldn't. I thought that was the end, I thought I'd be up there in the clouds looking over everyone else but now all I want is a hot shower and a doner kebab.

My eyes blink open and I don't know where I am. It's all magnolia walls and clean carpet and my clothes, my clothes are strewn everywhere, like they were flung and tossed and chucked as far away from me as possible. I'm lying on my back in a huge bed, looking up at the ceiling where a light dangles with a sock hanging from it.

But not my sock.

A heavy breathe smacks my cheek and I turn and I'm face to face with Parker Watts. He's incredibly close, his eyes closed in a deep sleep, his lips puckered as if I might kiss him awake.

The memories come crashing back; completely smashed and entangled with Parker Watts in a bed that's not mine, but acting like it is. The door locked with the music downstairs thumping in my ears, never ending, never quietening down. And Parker, smirking at me like I'm a fucking conquest, which I guess I am.

I sit up with a start, careful not to wake him; I can't be doing with that right now. How would he feel? I feel like what happened was the opposite of what I wanted. I can't remember making the decision to sleep with him, whether or not I found him even attractive or not. My head still spins though, and I see the open door to the bathroom across the room.

I take his draped arm from my torso and part of the covers fall back to reveal him, completely naked, lying on his stomach. I take back the previous statement; I am very attracted to him.

I pad into the bathroom, collecting clothes as I go and dressing before splashing water over my face. I think about vomiting, I think about leaving this place with my sick in the toilet.

Fuck, I'm such a delight.

Instead, I stand in the doorway and watch the rise and fall of Parker Watts chest as he turns over, swallowing in his sleep making his jaw line move and his adam's apple bob. I think about crawling back into bed, maybe waking him up.

"Sorry mate." I say to him, but also to myself.

.....

I'm a boy, I like to live in mess.

It's a stereotype that follows you around in life that, because you've got a dick, you like to live in a fucking shit tip. Well, for me, it's kind of true. I'm not too bothered with cleaning, I'd much rather play on the Playstation or play music, or you know, wank. But this mansion that I'm now walking through, like a real life million dollar labyrinth, is fucking disgusting.

I have never seen so much crap in all my life.

I don't know whether or not everyone else trashed the place when Parker and I left for the evening, but it certainly looks that way.

I'm glad I have my shoes, because I could very well stand on some disease ridden glass and loose both my legs to gangrene. That could very well happen this morning and I'm not risking it.

I pass people lounging on sofas and on tables and even just on the floor. Just lying there, having a swell time unconscious, lying in their own sick.

I find a familiar room, one with a fireplace and couches and a bar but they all look that same to me, and pass one couch with a sleeping guy, and I'm quiet not to wake him.

Until he grabs my leg.

"Shit!" I shout in a whisper, as if I've just been claimed by a zombie.

"Scottie?" The faint sound of a British accent rings through the room, and my eyes focus on Oliver, lying there, not as peaceful as when he wakes from his own bed. His hair is mussed, sticking out in ridiculous places, and his shirt has deep alcohol stains on it. Blankets and pillows are draped over him as if he created himself a fort last night, beer bottles surrounding him on the floor.