SEX AND THE BOY ✓

THE WAY THE COOKIE CRUMBLES 101

MARIAH CAREY'S FOURTH OCTAVE GIVES Leroi's alarm clock a run for its money when it rings the twenty-something time through the room, saturating the already dense atmosphere to the point where his slumbering eyelids had to give up.

His fingers steals the sheets into a frustrated grip, instinctively powering up his cerebral gears and he opens his eyes to moonlit darkness.

His yawn concentrated with alcoholic, puke-ish morning breath smacks the sleep out of his face and that's when he notices the singing has stopped. How much he drank to be knocked out this cold must be pretty heavy.

It's very early morning and some random dude is snoring decibels in his ears. Every single one of his parties always end up with at least three human beings on his bed with him. Leroi rolls his eyes and settles his gaze on the opposite TV screen like it's on.

Scratching his butt and clinging to his stuffed dolphin Delphine -- who names a dolphin Delphine anyways --, he sits up while his mind wanders to a dream he had. More like a nightmare without the Bogeyman, Bigfoot or Joffery Baratheon from Game of Thrones. Now those are real monsters.

As if a drunk Maurice is not that scary -- and impossible -- enough, his own Maurice Greene wanted to--

How messed up was that?

This is a result of too much daydreaming about how Maurice's penis positions in his sweatpants.

But no, it isn't Leroi's fault. Maurice is to blame for being too obscene.

Boys these days.

Like reassuring himself, he rubs his slightly crampy neck and wrists. The skin doesn't feel right against his fingertips. Leroi frowns as he rubs the circumference further enough to conclude those are bruises.

"Strange." Strange enough to make him voice out, curious but raspy.

Leroi's wrists start to tingle with heat like answering his questions and his eyes now travel to them to be met with more bruises. Wide, bluish purple lashes that he can still make out under the lunar effulgence.

Fury detonates its flare in his stomachic pits. "What the fuck happened here?"

Leroi growls, ripping the blanket away from the guy slumbering with his back to Leroi, and consequently exposing white flesh...covered in claw marks?

Against his mind does his trembling hand reaches for the pillow on this guy's head. His fingers from all his nerves agog cease to hold it for a moment but they eventually do. And they drop it as quickly like it's red-hot obsidian.

Leroi screams. It lasts a second.

A dark-haired stringbean, respiring in slow but troubled bouts is cuddling his quasi-nudity in a fetal position.

It wasn't a dream.

Leroi's vision goes blurry with horror and settling tears as his mind blurs even more with painful flashes. Himself clawing and thrashing under incredible pressure. Himself knocking Maurice out of consciousness... Maurice's hands around his neck, and around his--

Leroi scrambles out of the bed but trips into the floor with a weighty thud. But his wobbly legs spring him back up to his feet and into the bathroom. On the tiles does he drop to his knees, upchucking acidic, organic rejectamenta.

With every pixel of last night's memories, he heaves into the toilet and he grips the edges of the WC to the point where the contraction of one more phalangeal muscle fibre will smash the ceramic. As if it isn't enough, his nose assists the mouth in releasing more contents.