One Word | H.S.

Chapter Thirty-Four

I'm a Cancer. I'm fuckin' emotional. But also, this is my favorite chapter.

Warning: This chapter is very heavy.

Talk of sexual assault, but the details are minimal.

I'm here for every single one of you, and love you to fuckin' bits.

~

Should.

~

Pretty Boy won't let me suck his dick.

I've been pestering him for the last five minutes, a narrowed set of eyes and a flailing pair of arms urging me to repay him, but nothing.

Never, and I mean never, have I met a guy that has refused a nice knob slob, a simple popsicle lick, any of the disgusting phrases used to describe a blow job.

You sound rather confident.

But, of fuckin' course, dearest Pretty Boy has decided to cut my jaw some slack.

Maybe, it's me. The vile pubic hair on my head resides too close to home, urging Harry away with every treaded glance, each flick of the eye.

Nailed it, bullseye.

Sitting across from my questioning self, Pretty Boy's lip appears as though it's going to quiver into next year. Shaking rapidly to prevent the escape of laughter, his bare chest continues to twitch as he withholds any form of giggle.

Pushing my head forward, I throw my arms in the air, "You haven't told me why yet." I press, Pretty Boy clasping his hands together, looking rather thoughtful in response to my urged statement.

I'm desperate to uncover why the hell I can't suck off Skanky Frog Junior.

His tadpole, so-to-speak.

With the cock of his head, the corners of his lips turn down, eyebrows raised as he attempts to look scholarly, a possessor of slight intelligence. "What are you talking about?" He acts rather surprised, almost taken aback by my words.

We've literally been speaking on this for yearly minutes, seconds passing rather slow as the tick of the clock putters too zombie-like.

My eyes shoot wide in irritation, unable to cover any visible reaction, "Why can't I suck your dick?" A bellowing laugh erupts from Harry's mouth, waving his finger in my direction as the action stops just as quickly as it began.

Undeniably forward, strangely curt, way too honest for my own well-being. A talkative mouth always pushes me towards a world of sin, not just with vocabulary.

I've been suckin' on tootsie pops for ages, strengthened my jaw over a long period of time.

You're all all bark, no bite.

Correct, I don't bite.

"Presley Symmes." Pretty Boy's body jolts from the bed, a loud squeak erupting from the rockened mattress as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Do you see this?" He grips the cross pendant hanging from his neck, "Have some dignity for Christ's sake."

Not to be that person, but he just said Judas' Ear Slicer's name in vain, holding the supposed symbol of rebirth in hand.

His point is severely invaild, foolish, and he may as well board the hellish train to the demising underworld right now.

Off with his pretty head, and that damned necklace.

You're both still naked. The pair of you look like Adam and Eve, after the fuckin' apple bite.