Page 47 of Explosive Prejudice

Thinking about the club made me think about Llorón and how much I wanted to see him tonight. But it also made me wary that Llorón might not show up, so I tried to avoid thinking about him like some middle-school kid with a crush. I was pretty convinced he would show up, but what if he didn’t? How would that make me feel?

“What took you so long?” that idiot geezer barked at us as we reached the Olympic-sized swimming pool. The smell of chlorine burned my eyes, and the sounds of water splashing and whistling irritated my ears. If only I hadn’t been obsessed with thoughts about Llorón earlier, I wouldn’t have been distracted enough to be caught smoking by this walking stereotype of a football coach.

After shouting at me some more because, apparently, that was all he knew how to do, the coach ordered me to go to the farthest lane on the right and to be ready to do some freestyle laps. I walked and stopped at the edge of the pool, doing as he said, only because the last thing I wanted was to see Mrs. Morrison for telling a teacher to fuck off. While waiting for the guy swimming in the lane to finish his lap, I ignored the dozens of eyes staring at me. I knew it wasn’t typical for a guy in high school to have as many tattoos as I did, which was why I made sure to dress in a way that covered them at school. Then again, if I were already half naked, I’d better make the most of it, so I fixed my swim trunks to sit lower on my hips.

The guy swimming in the lane was finally done, and I looked down. After taking off his goggles and cap, he ran his fingers through his long blond hair, moving it away from his face. Placing his hands on the edge, he was ready to climb out of the pool when he looked up, and our eyes met.

“The fuck are you staring at?” I hissed after Shay-Lee remained frozen, half of his body still in the water while he looked at me like someone who’d just seen a ghost.

Fucker.

Shay-Lee

Finishing my second lap, I pulled my head out of the water and stood up so only my bottom half was still underwater before I quickly got rid of the swimming goggles and stupid cap. Pushing my soaked hair back so it wouldn’t get into my eyes, I moved a tired hand over my face. Swimming was never really a favorite activity of mine because it reminded me of my mom. She used to love swimming.

Forcing the thoughts out of my head, I spat some water and then took two steps until I reached the end of the pool. Ready to climb up, I placed my hands on the coping and began pulling my body out when I noticed someone was standing right above me. My eyes climbed up the man’s body, slowly taking in the details, and as they went up, so did my nerves. The dark ink decorating his tan skin and covering his long, toned muscles was all too familiar, causing my blood to run cold and my breath to catch, even more when I reached the pink buzz cut. At the same time, everything around me turned to white noise until I reached his face. Those dark eyes I had become obsessed with were looking down at me with nothing but contempt.

No.

This can’t be.

There was no way my Camilo was…

My heart stopped.

How could it be that the kindest man I had ever met, the one who held me so gently before taking me apart, was him?

“The fuck are you staring at?” Diesel hissed, scratching his neck where I’d left a bite mark. I suddenly realized I was staring at him with my mouth open. Did he not know it was me? He obviously didn’t because if he knew, he would have—Oh, God.

Nausea took over me, and the whole space began spinning around before I somehow managed to get out of the water and take a few steps away from him. I have to get out of here. My heart thrummed in my ears as my chest grew tight, and breathing felt impossible, like my lungs couldn’t find air.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Diesel asked, and I turned to look at him one more time to make sure this was actually happening and that this wasn’t some horrible nightmare. As horrifying as it was to acknowledge, there was Camilo, or should I say, Diesel, standing on the edge of the pool and looking at me like I was the most despicable human on Earth. But that was exactly what I was to him. The one standing before him wasn’t his Llorón but Shay-Lee Rogers, the jackass who’d been giving him and his friends hell since they joined BH—a terrible human being who deserved to be hated and looked at with disgust.

As the cruelty of reality continued to sink in and the dream I’d held on to for the past few weeks busted in seconds, I felt sick to my stomach.

Hold on a second.

I actually was about to get sick and could feel it all coming up, so I stepped back. From the horrid look on Diesel’s face, it seemed like he realized what was about to happen, too, only that it was a little too late, and the next thing I knew, I poured my guts out all over him in the most humiliating and embarrassing moment of my entire fucking life. And if that wasn’t enough, a second later, his fist collided with my face, making me regret everything I did that had led me to this point.

Diesel

I couldn’t fucking believe that this bitch had the nerve to barf all over me. Thinking about it again made me want to throw up myself, and disgusted, I dipped the brush in the paint can before continuing to cover the graffiti on the wall.

Of course, I punched the fucker because what else was I supposed to do after he puked on me? Only that my excuse didn’t sit well with the coach, and the two of us were sent to see Mrs. Morrison. The old cunt decided that simple detention wouldn’t do the trick and, instead, gave us one month of doing shitty chores after school. If she thinks I’ll ever fuck her again, she’s fucking wrong.

So here I was, an hour after school ended, in the back lot of this shitty place, covering graffiti with white paint. And if this wasn’t bad enough, I also had to do it with Shay-Lee, who was a few feet away from me, going over the same spot for what seemed like an hour. Jesus Christ, the slacker pissed me the hell off.

Pulling the last cigarette out of my packet, I shoved it between my lips and lit it. “Hey,” I shot at him after taking a drag and blowing the smoke out. “That wall is already white enough. Move on to the next one.”

Rather than listening to me, Shay-Lee bent down, dipped his brush in the paint, and splashed it over the same spot again. Clenching my hands into tight fists, I gritted my teeth, trying hard not to go over there and shove the fucker’s head into the paint can.

Taking another drag from my cig, I moved on to the next penis art that needed to be covered. My lips curved into a dirty smile, looking at the huge cock and balls graffiti.

“Bet you’re such a pussy ’cause you have a microscopic dick. I’m right, aren’t I?” If we were stuck together, the least I could do was to provoke him, right? If there was one good thing about the asshole, it was to see him get angry. Maybe that was why I often tried to get under his skin. There was just something about the fury that burned behind his eyes that set me on fire.

Even though I’d expected a reaction to the tiny dick comment, I got nothing. The son of a bitch continued to stare at the wall, almost as if he was refusing to look at me. Was doing this task with me so beneath him that even glancing my way was a nuisance? I mean, why else wouldn’t he look at me? What the fuck was it about me that he hated so much? Sure, I hated him, too, but I had plenty of reasons, starting with him being a pretentious rich fucker who thought he owned the world just because his daddy was some billionaire. Oh yeah, I knew he was the sole heir of the Christian Rogers dynasty. I wasn’t ashamed to admit I’d searched him online once or twice before, but only because I was curious where the fuck he got the audacity.

Realizing he managed to piss me off without even spitting one single word, I dipped the brush into the bucket and nearly sliced the air with how hard I splashed the paint all over the fucking wall, cursing under my breath while doing so.

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