ROUGH DRAFT of Loser || WlW

Thirty-Four

 My phone rings from Brittany's purse. I push myself into a sitting position as she hands it to me. It's my dad.

I take a deep breath, wipe the tears from my face, and answer. "Hey." Despite my efforts to make it sound like I wasn't crying, my voice shakes.

"You okay, kiddo?" I can hear the loud background noise of the warehouse. "The news was playing in the breakroom."

"I'm fine, dad."

"Listen, I was thinking maybe you should finish your classes up online," he suggests. "Your aunt Jane –"

I sigh. "Dad, no one likes Aunt Jane."

He chuckles. "Regardless, she offered that you stay in her cabin while you do some online schooling."

"I'm fine, Dad," I repeat.

He sighs. "Just think about it for me?"

"Okay."

"Well, I have to get back to work. I'll see you tonight," he says.

"Bye, dad." I flip the phone closed and look at Brittany who's been watching my face.

"We need to talk to Officer Hodge," I say, standing. My head spins. Why do I still feel drunk? "We can't do this on our own."

I'm looking around for my shoes when she stands too. "Jordan?" Her voice is soft.

I glance at her.

"I wasn't trying to listen, I swear," she explains. "But are you going to leave?"

The look of worry on her face makes my heart sink. "No." I shake my head. "I couldn't leave you to figure this out on your own." I grab my shoes from under the couch. "I owe it to you and Claire."

"You really don't though." She takes a step closer, taking my attention from my shoes.

I half-smile and she hugs me, her arms draped around my neck. It feels foreign; her hug, having a friend this close.

"I'd totally fuck you if you had a penis." I can feel her lips pull into a smile against my shoulder.

"Willingly?" I ask.

She pulls away; winks at me. "More than willingly."

"I'm honored," I joke, holding a hand over my heart.

"You should be," she says, sliding into a new pair of heels. "I've never said that to someone before."

She doesn't bother to tell her parents where we're going. Instead, we slip down the staircase in the dark, careful not to make too much noise but all hope of letting them sleep through the early morning is lost as we move to the porch and I notice a heap in the middle of Brittany's manicured lawn.

She's busy locking the door when I say, "Oh shit."

She spins around, her eyes following my gaze to the body of Fauxhawk guy; bloody and pale.

I move closer, hoping proximity will show his chest rising and falling with breath, praying he isn't dead, but the only thing I notice as I approach is a piece of paper stuck to his back with duct tape that says, heard you were looking for me?

A beat passes before Brittany says, "Who writes their H's like that anyway?" from over my shoulder. "Fucking weirdo." She pops her gum and begins walking back toward her porch.

"He's," I shake my head, trying not to gag from the blood. "He's dead, Brittany."

"Maybe he shouldn't have tried to rape my sister."