What do the dusty old stacks at the back of the library see? What stories could they tell? Interesting... no?

     Fuck... what the hell happened last night? I... I can't remember anything. Well, this is my room anyway... so I didn't sleep with the chick at the DMV, as Jason would say. Was that on an episode of Friends? God, Jason is such a man-slut. Okay, let's focus. I can't remember much of last night, which probably means I was out drinking. I must've stumbled in late last night and just passed out on the bed... I didn't even bother taking off my shoes, let alone strip down to my boxers and wash my clothes which smell like alcohol. That's what a smart person would've done. Shit, and I'm supposed to be grounded, for drinking. That's ironic. Mom shouldn've freaked out like that. I mean, I'm not the type to go out and get smashed on a regular basis, I just have a beer or two with Jason and Miranda. What else does a seventeen year old do?
     Shit... Miranda. Why do I get the feeling she's really pissed at me? Wait a second, before I think of anything else, what time is it... WHAT DAY IS IT?! Oh... okay. It's seven fourty seven. And it can't be a weekday, cause mom would freak and come into my room without knocking (again!) and tell me to get off my ass and go to school. Why the hell am I up at quarter to eight on a weekend day when I was smashed just last night?! Oh shit, angry thoughts are giving me a fucking headache. That'll teach me for downing so many f-ing shots of straight alcohol. Well, I might as well get up... find some tyleno-OOOWW! FUCK! WHY THE FUCK DO I HAVE A FUCKING BRUISE THE SIZE OF A FUCKING DINNER PLATE ON MY FUCKING RIB CAGE?!?!?!
     Okay Kale, easy now. Quit with the fucking f-bombs and sit uu-----AHHHH! SHIT, THAT HURT! Well.. I'm up. Now on to the bathroom. Ungh, the smell of my own shirt is making me nauseous. Let's take that off. That too. Alright, much better. Where does mom keep the tylenol? Oh wait... shit. I forgot. She hid it when Johnny was found O.D. at his girlfriend's house. Apparently if he's stupid enough to O.D. on heroin, he's definately stupid enough to O.D. on mild strength aspirins. I mean, for fuck's sake, he moved in with Uncle Drake three months ago, why couldn't she have just put it back? I suppose I can't just ask for it. She'll get suspicious. Sigh, I shouldn't be so hard on her. She's been through a lot and- HOLY SHIT! It's purple already?!? Huh, I think I might need a haircut. I mean, it's not down to my shoulders or anything, and I'm not gettin' it short, but... I dunno. Mom'll complain eventually, something along the lines of 'But I can't see your handsome hazle eyes!'. Hmmm... a little sun wouldn't kill me either. Though, more and more girls seem to be going crazy for the whole emo thing nowadays. Ya know, contrasting pale skin and longish black hair, or whatever it is. My hair is close enough to black. Really dark brown anyway.
     Man this bruise is massive. What the fuck was I doing last night? I mean, it's so- FUCK KALE! YOU RETARD! DON'T POKE IT SHITHEAD! Huh, guess phys ed has being doing me some good this year. Am I actually getting substantial upper body muscle? I mean, I'm pretty sure I've accepted the fact that I'm NEVER gunna be buff. Doesn't really bother me anymore. I'm 5'11 and lanky. Nothing wrong with that, right?
     Shirt. I need a shirt. And food. Shirt first, food second. Maybe some pants? Meh, screw the pants. I'm fine in boxers. I just don't want mom to question the bruise. Quite frankly, I'm too cranky and hungover, therefore I don't give a damn. Isn't that from a movie?... Some old black and white Miranda made me sit through, back when we were dating. Wow, that was a while ago. Two years? I can't even remember why we broke up... Oh wait, that's right. She thought I was using her 'cause I wasn't sleeping with her. Women make no sense. Anyways, I wasn't that broken up about it. She was more of a friend anyway.
     Okay, shirt... here's one - okay This one's got... something all over the front of it. I should probably clean up a bit. I mean, this goes beyond creative mess. I'll do it later.. HA! 'Cause those words have never been spoken by a teenager before. Ahah... this one seems clean. Now... to the kitchen.
     These friggin stairs creak too much. I mean seriously, how on earth could I'ave snuck out of the house. My mom's room is right next to mine, there's nothing but a lone unstable tree branch outside my windo--- WAIT! Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me.. I'm not that retarded, am I? Well, it would explain a lot. Actually, it only explains the bruise and how I escaped the house. Man, I'm a dumbass. Why would I need to sneak out so badly that I would try to reach a tree branch three feet from my window, on the second floor of my house?
     Okay, food. Nothing mushy, hot, smelly, or puke coloured. And no milk. Not that I'd drink that soy crap mom got on her health craze. She's been trying to keep so busy, especially since...

     "Get the fuck out of this house, John! I'm sick of this shit!"
     "I still love you Carol, please, just, let me explain-"
     "Explain what?! Instead of coming up with this bullshit, why dontcha come up with an explanation for our kids, so that they can understand why I'm kicking their son-of-a-bitch father out of the house!"
     "Kale and Johnny don't need to know about this. We'll just go to counselling-"
     "I don't wanna fucking hear it, John! We've been through this cycle a million times over. Every six months or so, you feel the need to stay late at work and screw your secretary-"
     "Michelle is the head of human resources-"
     "My fucking God, the fact that you remember that slut's name is bad enough... you know what? it doesn't matter anymore. I'm not going through fucking counselling to hear you bullshit the therapist about how it's my fault, and then I get a whole THREE FUCKING MONTHS of false security, thinking it's f-finally... finally o-over..."
     "Carol, please, I can't stand to see you like this. Just come here and-"

     Took place on the porch, with my mother bawling her eyes out, and my father on the verge of tears, banging on the front door that she had slammed in his face. She had sunk to the floor, and my brother and me didn't have the heart to tell her we had heard the whole thing.
     Turned out he really couldn't live without her. Instead of the classic overdose of medication, he chose the theatrical 'drive the car off the bridge' route. My mom was never the same, and I didn't really feel sympathetic about his death. I'd seen how much he'd hurt her over the years, and he didn't even really know me-"
     "Hey kiddo,"
     "Hey mom,"
     "What're ya doin' up at ten to eight? Sick?"
     Something like that, "I couldn't sleep. What about you?"
     She smirks, "Went out for my saturday morning jog,"
     ...what the fuck? "Since when do you jog in the mornings?"
     "Haha, I've been doing it for months. You just don't know what happens between the hours of 2 am and noon," she sticks her tongue out at me and heads to the refrigerator.
     So, I'm not going to remember anything sitting around here. Mom's a stickler for homework, so maybe I can get to the library on that excuse. I could use some downtime.
     "hey... mom?"
     She turns with one of those disgusting milkshake meal replacement things and closes the fridge, "What is it?" She takes a sip, leaning back onto the counter.
     "Can I head to the library? I need to reference some articles from a few years back. It's for a psychology paper," Please go for it... PLEASE!
     "Hmm..." CRAP! She's assessing my facial expression. Just keep cool... "Yea, sure. Just make sure you're back before five. You're grandparents are coming over for dinner," Wow. She's giving me enough time for my scenic route. She's the best mom ever, "By the way, Kale. You will have your cell phone on you at all times, and you will have it turned on. If I suspect you're anywhere other than the library, you'll be grounded for another week," Well... at least she trusts me.. kinda,"And remember, I have parental control on that phone, which means I can go online and track where you are." She's smirking again?! Oh, great. My own mother doesn't trust me... well, I suppose I did sneak out last night, but that isn't the point.
     Alright, dressed adn out the door. Still remembering nothing, so I guess it's not a big deal. Though this bruise is still killing me... I'm such a dumbass! It's gunna be a while before this bus hits my stop... I love taking it, and just passing all the busy streets, listenin' to my i-pod.
     There's a couple old men talking polotics. Luckily, I can't hear them over my music. The Fray. Good, mellow music. Great for just relaxing, taking everything in...
     No, No, NO. Not that memory. Not that DREAM! Can't just let it go, can ya Kale? You just keep thinking about that punk in your class. The transfer from... wherever! Cut it out!
     Shit. I can't. I keep thinking about the stupid dream I had a few nights ago. The one that scared me out of my fucking mind. This new kid - Ziggy, he says his name is - just came here a few weeks ago. Quiet, genius type. I saw him at a few parties, but he didn't seem to fit in, despite the fact that he can drink all the jocks under the table, and without getting wasted. Usually I'm the only one that answers any questiosn in English. Everyone else likes to sit there, look pretty and get shitty grades. But this kid caught a few of my mistakes of mine, gave a challenge. Thing is... I keep catchin' him starin' at me. It's really weird. I tell myself he annoys me, he's an outkast, ecetera, ecetera. Problem is... this dream of mine. It was graphic.. and... he was in it. I've dated girls, so... it's not like it can be that.
     It's his fault. I'm bound to get bad mojo if he's staring at me all the time. I mean, fuck.
     Finally, I'm at the fucking library, so I can just sit, relax, open a book-
     "umm... hey,"
     Shit...shitshitshitshitSHIIIIIIIT! It's him alright.His short gold hair, his grey-blue eyes behind his bold glasses. His straight nose surrounded by delicate facial features, with lanky build and trim waist... WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING?! OW! WHY THE FUCK DOES MY SIDE HAVE TO HURT SO DAMN MUCH!?
     "Listen, Kale, about last night..." Why does he look nervous and embarrassed? What could've happened last night...
     ...there comes a point in every man's life when he forgets what happened the previous night. There also comes a time when he remembers said night, and wishes he didn't. I am now one of those men. Before I lose my cool, let's go over the events of last night that I now remember. I had a ...vivid... dream about Ziggy, maybe a week ago. I've been nervous around him ever since. Jason and Miranda decided last night to bust me out of my prison, and get me hammered so I would tell them what was up. At the party we went to, Ziggy happened to be there. By then, I was buzzed, so when he talked to me, I made conversation. We talked about authors, music, upcoming concerts; he was a really awesome guy.
     What I don't want to remember is the ten minutes we spent making out on the couch. I remember our conversation becoming dryer by the minute, as we ran out of things to talk about. Then, without knowing what I was doing, I pushed him back onto the couch and...
     It probably would've turned into something more than making out if Miranda hadn't walked in and bitched me out, saying she knew it all along. At the time I was wasted, so I didn't understand what she was goin' on about. The worse problem now is... I can't decide whether or not it was a good thing she intervened.
     Shit, he's standing right here in front of me now, trying to find the words to start a talk about it. Maybe I should just get up and walk awa-
     "John Grisham, huh?" He's gesturing to the book in my hands. I'm sure it's one of the authors I mentioned last night. Aw, crap! He's can't just spit it out and say it, so he's making small talk! I should just tell him to his face-
     "Yea, it is," Fuck, I'm such a coward.
     "I haven't read that one yet, is it any good?" His voice sounds desperate, like he waiting for approval. But, approval of what?!
     "So far, yea. Not quite as good as A Time to Kill though,"
     "Ha, yea. That one's tough to top,"
     Awkward silence. Fuck, I hate this. We just need to get this discussion over with. I can't help but let out a nervous breath as I stand up, "Fuck... we need to get this over with, just... not here," He almost looks scared. Like I'm gunna kick the shit out of him or something. Which is stupid, why the hell would I hurt him... wait... tender thoughts?! WHAT THE FUCK?! Okay, the sooner we get this over with, the better. I don't even have to tell him to follow me, he just falls behind my step nervously. A glance back tells me the floor is incredibly interesting to him at the moment.
     Good. The back of the library, three floors up. No one ever comes back here, so no one'll have to hear this.
     "Look, Kale, before you say anything... I'm sorry, alright? I... I took advantage of you, and-"
     "and what... made me make out with you?" I can't look him in the eyes, so this dead end wall between the two bookshelves is my new best friend. I will call him Chuck, and Chuck will make sure my thoughts don't wander. Ziggy is quiet... he's trying to think of the right thing to say I bet. 'Cept there is no right thing to say. Stupid Chuck... he's not helping.
     "Well... I mean, you... uhhh," he's still searching for the words. Chuck, you're a bitch, why won't you keep my attention?! "You know, it's probably just a phase. Something you're going through cause of your dad's suicide, like your brother and-"
     "HOW THE FUCK DO YOU KNOW ABOUT MY DAD?!" I'm pissed. Chuck's useless as a buffer for my thoughts, so instead I'm pinning Ziggy against him. These new muscles really are coming into good use, but I technically don't need them anyway. He's at least an inch shorter, and definately weaker. My right arm pins his chest, while my left grabs the collar of his shirt. He's freaked, and I can tell. His glasses fell of when I swung him into the wall.
     "Y-you told me, la-" he looks away from my face, embarrassed again, "last night."
     Shit. I should be breaking his nose. I should be throwing him into the bookshelf, or screaming at him at least. Instead, I'm pushing him against the wall, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the back of his neck, pulling his head towards mine. My mouth crushes against his, working hotly as my tongue slips through his lips. He's not fighting the increasing strength I apply, and his submissiveness only makes me want him more. Finally, his arms start moving, and he gently tangles his fingers in my hair. Still, he doesn't try to fight me, and suddenly it's not enough. My hand moves from his shoulder to the skin underneath his shirt, and my hand travels up his chest, removing it so I can feel more of him. I hear his breath become laboured as I take off my own. I take his arms and pin them to the wall, almost daring him to fight back, while my mouth returns to his, this time with the feeling of his flesh against mine. I can feel him trembling, but he's almost desperate for it. I can tell by the way his mouth works eagerly, that he needs this physical dominant contact from me. And I'm more than happy to give it. The pain of my ribcage doesn't seem to bother me at the moment.
     The pressure from his arms is released, and, without having to think about it, my hands work down to the taut skin above his jeans. My breath is as ragged as his, and as we slip to the floor, I have only second to register a few facts.

     One. If my mom calls now, I'm screwed, cause my hands are a bit busy as the moment.
     Two. I will definately be late to dinner.
     And last but not least... Chuck is scarred for life.

The End

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