“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dave/Dale’s voice was despicably shaky, considering he had every right to be pissed at the fact that I was playing tonsil-hockey with a complete stranger.
I realize that I’m a whore. Get over it.
Dave/Dale was irate, and yet the undertones to his voice were oddly uncertain. It was obvious that he was upset, but I think that he was more surprised than anything, because I had played the innocent and harmless butterfly during our entire relationship- a relationship, mind you, where I had literally no idea what the fuck his name was to begin with. Peculiarly enough, he cared about me to the point of taking me to the complete opposite side of the country and even paid for my flight there and back. I suppose the trust fund farmed from his bigoted family's tobacco plantation was yet another windfall I took advantage of. It didn’t matter too much at this point. He was a major-douche, and in the rush of my ecstasy-binge, I had nothing against fucking him in the way he wished he could fuck me.
“Is there a problem?” Johnny turned his face away from mine just barely enough to look him peripherally. I could feel the corneas popping out of my skull, and my heart skipped a few beats in the second it took for me to recognize Fire-Crotch.
“Oh shit!” It wasn’t really a guilt-ridden proclamation, but more of a sudden realization that there was somebody even remotely important who existed outside of my fantasy-bubble.
“Oh shit?” His voice was a scorpion that carved at my high with a toxic lash. “That’s all you have to say you nasty slut?”
That wasn’t a nice thing to say, though I suppose it had an apparent cognition.
“What do you think I am? You’re fucking meal ticket?” His tongue flicked out and licked the traces of coke off of his lips. I watched as the sparks of gold and green that exploded off in the sky illuminated his damaged eyes that grew wide as his brain rapidly filled with serotonin from the uppers. “I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit.”