circle the drain — derek & dante

Post by lucius branwen / 10 — fox on Mar 25, 2023 2:01:14 GMT -5

D A N T E

★

I think I might make a good alcoholic actually.

As in, it takes almost nothing for me to start doing something stupid.

Three shots in, I'm outside of the club now, and this man is getting suspiciously close, like arm-on-my-waist-close, like hand-inching-up-the-hem-of-my-shirt-close.

He's got these big dark eyes. I think his name's Theo. The streetlights cast shadows in his face, where his eyelashes touch his cheeks. He's pretty. He shakes the hair from his forehead, and it curls around his ears effortlessly. There's a butterfly tattoo on his collar, and wow I think he's going to kiss me –

This is stupid.

I'm pressed against the wall, and there's a dumpster by us. He's spent the whole night explaining the difference between District Ten Emo and District Three Punk and how they don't make real music in the Capitol anymore. "Honestly, the last good era was the 60s." And I'm suddenly realizing how fucking dumb this is.

He gets a little closer.

I'm not stupid. I didn't expect a bed of roses and poetry and candy hearts. I'm fucking sixteen. The best kids can do at this age is make out by the lockers and wear each other's sweatshirts, peak romance in the sad, callow halls of high school. And I wanted it. I wanted to be unvirginfied and sweatshirted up.

But somehow it feels wrong that the ground is sticky and there's a rat in the alley and a boy is vomiting not five feet away from us, and shit his hand is on my chin. He smells like cigarettes and heavy cologne, acrid under the sweetness. There's a lump in my throat.

Fuck.

I push him off. The air suddenly gets cold when I move away, hit with a lungful of chilled night air and my eyes burn.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going fucking home."

"Lame."

Don't cry, oh my god.

I flip him off.

Derek's out wooing the babes of Panem or something, and it takes forever to find him with the way the ceiling tilts and the walls go woozy and the lights turn cotton candy blue and bubblegum pink every time the beat drops. I think my stomach's in an impossible knot. I think I might throw up.

But when I see him, he's finally alone by the bar. I take the drink out of his hands, down it, slam it on the table, try not to cry.

My voice sounds wobbly. Haha I hate it.

"Hello loser, we're going home."