Amson, 18, "Sweet, Comfy Luggage"

'What the fuck is happening to me?' I thought, sitting on the bench as I looked toward the pit.

Throughout the rest of the week, I did as I usually did, minded my own business, and in doing such, I believed I'd successfully restored my image among the barbaric people of Butcher Cross. No sign of that video surfaced, and if it did, the circulation was, at least, directed away from Tora or Baun, a godsent circumstance. I uttered no further words about the night of the party nor about Nicky, and Baun was as silent as he was on our first day back, each passing day making me ache as to what he knew that I didn't.

Though, I could hardly say anything without being considered a hypocrite.

Mom and Dad were none the wiser to what'd happened on that night, nor what'd happened during the time between that and their eventual arrival, but the thoughts kept weighing on me. What was I going to do once they found out? Given the laws of parenthood, they were bound to eventually sniff out the disturbance in the air like some supernatural sleuths, and once they did, I would be in deep shit, same as Lore predicted.

My stomach ached with guilt with each step I took alongside my friends and family, yet with every spark of pain, I couldn't bring myself even a fleck of a metaphorical inch toward telling them. Doing that would surely destroy any semblance of the relationship we had, no matter the state I believed it might be in, and since I'd already kept it from them for this long, they'd only suspect me more if I had.

I was cornered within the confines of my mind, and each day, I foolishly tried to convince myself I wanted to leave.

Sitting around, doing nothing-- the same lazy shit I'd always done was likely only the most convenient escape. The truth was that I'd talked all that big shit only to end up back at square one, and I had "Bitch #37" to thank for the setback.

I couldn't sleep without thinking about her and what she'd done to me. Every morning, I felt dirtier than the last, even more disgusted with myself, and when I looked in the mirror, I was constantly reminded that I was myself. I couldn't run away from that fact, anymore; I couldn't tell myself I was anyone other than the owner of that disgusting, pitiful, and ugly face I always saw. She chased me wherever I went, but I couldn't catch even a glimpse of her hidden in my shadow, an elusive, haunting devil along my spine.

Not only did she vanish from school, but social media, speech, and even her home looked barren when I passed it on my ways to school. No luxury cars, no running fountains, and no notable signs that anyone'd even lived there.

I would've finally considered I'd gone mad, had Lore not been there for me.

"Wheels!" Deuce yelled as he ran toward me. "The pit's going crazy, blood. You need to see Biz strut his stuff!"

I sat up from that bench where I was hunched over.

Deuce, a closer friend to Tyriq but still a good friend to me, was a man built to be hyped. He'd do anything to start an uproar in a crowd, the perfect performer in the pit and an awesome motivator-slash-hype man in his own right. Half of why he's named like that was because during his debut as a weenie, he snatched a guy's board mid-flight and used it with his own.

The guy's insane, in a good way.

The other half was his appearance and apparent background. The guy was mixed-- black and white-- and more of it showed through his odd pedigree chart. He had hair that went from straight to curly on a dot, freckles that looked kinda mix-matched across his body, and most notably, he had two different colored eyes, a green eye and an almost yellow-looking brown eye.

The dude was a genetic marvel.

"I'll catch up with you, eventually." I said, looking at him as he approached.

His facial expression changed from excitement to worry.

"Everything alright over here?" He laughed awkwardly, sitting next to me. "You look like something's got you fucked up bad, inside."

"Yeah, I'm fine." I sighed. "Nothing to spoil your fun over. How've you been, man? I didn't catch you last week."

"That's cuz you came during the week." He spoke as if it were common sense. "The pit's just about dead during the week, unless its summer."

"I guess you're right." I took a glance at the pit then back at Deuce. "Say, Deuce? You ever heard of that online model, Nixinoon?"

He smiled at the question.

"Nixinoon?" He scoffed. "What's that supposed to be, some pornstar?"

"Forget I asked." I started standing up, pulling my backpack with me.

"Woah, woah, woah-- Wait one second." He waved me to a stop, forcing me to turn around. "I know someone who'd prolly know about this camgirl-model-bitch you're thinking of; he's obsessed with social media and shit. Maybe he can tell you something more than I could."

"Really?" I asked. "Who? Would I know them?"

"Beats me, but he's usually around the edges of Dame Coccinelle like you were." He stood up, standing beside me. "I'll try helping you find him and maybe sweet tooth him a bit for ya."

I couldn't help but smile.

"You're awesome." I said.

"No need to drool, Wheels." He patted me straight on the backpack. "Just helping another brother."

Just as we began walking, he stopped, looking over my shoulder for something. My eyes followed his, but he held me still, something clearly taking the majority of his attention.

"But first, your backpack." He whispered quietly, as if he thought someone might be listening. "Let's close that bitch up before someone throws their nose into your pretty, new shit."

I brought my backpack around to where I could see, and it was nearly wide open. At the forefront of my vision was a pair of grey loafers, and as I saw them, my heart sank, thrusting them back into my bag quick yet not forcefully enough to raise suspicion from Deuce. I zipped the bag shut, and after checking my surroundings, Deuce and I made our way around the pit.