THE ART OF BURNING

I: IT'S NERF OR NOTHING!

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CAIN

I'M NOT SAYING I'M INTO BONDAGE, but I'm into bondage. And I'm sitting in the middle of Joey Whitman's wine cellar, bound and gagged. Talk about yum.

Yes, you heard me right! Joey Whitman. The Joey Whitman. The same Joey Whitman that plays nickelback or whatever the fuck it's called on our football team and is Literally The Same Man as every straight white guy. He's the most vanilla fucking person, I swear to God.

But let's get real for a second. Just because he's so vanilla doesn't mean he's totally off-limits. I wouldn't pass on an ice cream cone just because I'm lactose intolerant. Anywho. That's not the point.

You must be wondering am I'm doing hanging out with his kind. Well. This wasn't exactly my choice. If you haven't figured figured out by the fact that I'm bound and gagged and locked inside his parents' wine cellar, Joey Whitman kidnapped me—well, us. He got my friend Meredith too.

Meredith's sitting cross-legged opposite me, her hands tied to a pole behind her back. She's working on loosening her gag, pushing at it with her tongue. It kind of hurts me to see her like this. She's the last person you'd ever want to be in this kind of situation; she looks like a fucking Disney princess. She's this overweight white girl, and even though she's probably the least innocent person I know, with her long, wavy blonde hair, creamy skin, and wide doe-hazel eyes, she's got this whole angelic vibe about her. She seriously looks like motherfucking Rapunzel. You wouldn't want to watch Rapunzel get kidnapped, now, would you?

Who am I kidding? Of course you would, you sick bastard.

After a second, she finally succeeds in loosening the gag. She spits it out of her mouth, and it falls down her chin, hanging around her neck like a noose. The first thing she says is: "That little fucker!"

She might look like a Disney princess, and her last name might mean "virgin," but don't let that fool you. She's as deflowered as they come.

She looks at me for a moment. Realizes that my gag's still around my mouth, right where I want it. "Oh, my God, Cain, you're so useless. Use your tongue," she orders.

Here's the thing: they'd tied a bandana around Meredith's mouth. They'd duck-taped my mouth shut. I can't exactly French kiss my way out of duck tape. I shake my head and shrug at her, trying to convey the grim realities I'm facing.