The New Kid in Class
Alcohol
Ryan's POV
Click.
I open my eyes. What the fuck is clicking? I'm trying to sleep.
I stretch and open my eyes. It's a cameraphone. Some guy is taking a picture of me. As soon as he does, he runs out of the room. I look down and see why.
I'm lying on top of a dude. Brendon to be exact. Neither of us are wearing shirts. I'm screwed.
I jump out of the bed and run after the guy. If that picture spreads... I don't know what the hell will happen. And I don't want to know.
He's fast. I can't catch up to him.
"Yea, you run, motherfucker!" I yell after him, although I doubt he hears me. Or cares.
My stomach lurches. I run into the nearby bathroom and kneel in front of the toilet. Maybe this is why I don't remember last night. I must have been drunk.
Once the contents of my stomach have emptied into the toilet, I flush it, and attempt to stand up. My head hurts. A lot. I decide to sit back on the floor. Atleast for a few seconds.
I notice I'm still wearing my jeans. I guess that's a good thing. Unless Brendon decided to screw me and put my jeans back on to make it look like nothing happened. I shiver at the thought.
"Hey, are you okay?" It's Brendon. He's at the bathroom door, still shirtless, and looking at me sitting here on the floor.
"Yeah. Just peachy," I force a smile and stand up. My head is spinning a little less now. "Um... What... happened last night?" I rub my head.
"Oh... Nothing, nothing." I sigh with relief. "Nothing except make out. Damn, you're a good kisser," Oh goodie. I feel my cheeks turn red. How much did I have to drink to make me do that? "Sorry, but it's true. I didn't force you to do anything," a smile creeps across his face.
"Yea, yea, that's lovely, but now I'm screwed."
"I told you, all we did last night was kiss," how dare he try to joke in this situation?!
"No, no. Some kid took a picture of us... sleeping together. What if he shows other people?!" He shrugs it off like it's nothing. "Look, it may be no big deal to you, but to me, it means something. I don't want people to start calling me a 'faggot'," I say, using air-quotes for emphasis.
"So what if they call you that? Don't be ashamed," he steps closer to me and runs his hand along my cheek. I push it away.
"No, no, I'm not gay," I push past him and walk back into Spencer's bedroom. He follows and stands in the doorway once again. I pick up my t-shirt from the floor and pull it on over my head, "Look, I drank a lot last night. Whatever happened last night, I didn't mean it. It was the alcohol controlling me," it's his face's turn to change to red. He looks like he might cry but he's trying really hard not to.
"I'm sorry. But it's true. I won't let that happen again," I say, walking past him into the hall, headed for the front door.
Click.
I open my eyes. What the fuck is clicking? I'm trying to sleep.
I stretch and open my eyes. It's a cameraphone. Some guy is taking a picture of me. As soon as he does, he runs out of the room. I look down and see why.
I'm lying on top of a dude. Brendon to be exact. Neither of us are wearing shirts. I'm screwed.
I jump out of the bed and run after the guy. If that picture spreads... I don't know what the hell will happen. And I don't want to know.
He's fast. I can't catch up to him.
"Yea, you run, motherfucker!" I yell after him, although I doubt he hears me. Or cares.
My stomach lurches. I run into the nearby bathroom and kneel in front of the toilet. Maybe this is why I don't remember last night. I must have been drunk.
Once the contents of my stomach have emptied into the toilet, I flush it, and attempt to stand up. My head hurts. A lot. I decide to sit back on the floor. Atleast for a few seconds.
I notice I'm still wearing my jeans. I guess that's a good thing. Unless Brendon decided to screw me and put my jeans back on to make it look like nothing happened. I shiver at the thought.
"Hey, are you okay?" It's Brendon. He's at the bathroom door, still shirtless, and looking at me sitting here on the floor.
"Yeah. Just peachy," I force a smile and stand up. My head is spinning a little less now. "Um... What... happened last night?" I rub my head.
"Oh... Nothing, nothing." I sigh with relief. "Nothing except make out. Damn, you're a good kisser," Oh goodie. I feel my cheeks turn red. How much did I have to drink to make me do that? "Sorry, but it's true. I didn't force you to do anything," a smile creeps across his face.
"Yea, yea, that's lovely, but now I'm screwed."
"I told you, all we did last night was kiss," how dare he try to joke in this situation?!
"No, no. Some kid took a picture of us... sleeping together. What if he shows other people?!" He shrugs it off like it's nothing. "Look, it may be no big deal to you, but to me, it means something. I don't want people to start calling me a 'faggot'," I say, using air-quotes for emphasis.
"So what if they call you that? Don't be ashamed," he steps closer to me and runs his hand along my cheek. I push it away.
"No, no, I'm not gay," I push past him and walk back into Spencer's bedroom. He follows and stands in the doorway once again. I pick up my t-shirt from the floor and pull it on over my head, "Look, I drank a lot last night. Whatever happened last night, I didn't mean it. It was the alcohol controlling me," it's his face's turn to change to red. He looks like he might cry but he's trying really hard not to.
"I'm sorry. But it's true. I won't let that happen again," I say, walking past him into the hall, headed for the front door.