Page 83 of Lost Boy
“Shame, though,” a third voice says with zero emotion. “He’s prettier than some of the junior girls. I’d probably let him suck me off.”
No.
The thought has bile rushing up my throat.
“Dustin, that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard. I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. Put the fucking bag over his head, you moron.”
Dustin.
“You’re disgusting like I’ve said before. Fuck.You.I wouldn’t touch your dick if my life depended on it. You’d have to kill me first.Pig.”
Dramatic, I know. But,fuckhim.
The slap comes out of the darkness, violently whipping my head to the side. My cheek stings, but I don’t make a sound. Seth still has my arms pinned behind my back. There’s nothing I can do if they wanna jump me. They’re gonna jump me. It wouldn't be the first time. The trailer park where I lived in Philadelphia wasn’t a nice place. Neither was my school.
“Okay. Okay. Enough, D,” Seth says unsympathetically, beginning to loop a rope tightly around my wrists.
“What the fuck are you doing?!” I start to struggle.
No.
“Just think of it as another trust-building exercise, Fallon, since you decided you were too good to participate for most of the weekend. Like you’re better than us just because you came from a trailer park, and now you go to a fancy-ass school. Yeah, I know you came from nothing back in Philly. Dead dad, whore-of-a-mom on drugs. Blah, blah, blah. Your sob story wasn’t hard to figure out. You’re pathetic, and now it’s time to man up. Trust yourself. Trust that you won’t let yourself stay lost and die out here.Pussy.” Dustin cackles mercilessly, walking me in circles and farther into the forest.
After I’m disoriented, he shoves me forward, and I trip on a root or something else sticking out of the ground. I fall forward, unable to brace myself with my hands tied behind my back. I hit the hard dirt with an unforgiving force.
I grunt at the impact as pain splinters through my shoulder, shooting down my arm. I grit my teeth, unwilling to give them the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.
My heart hammers against my ribcage, panic taking over. Bad memories batter against the walls surrounding my emotions, but I shove them away, refusing to remember how the prick who sold my guitar also used to push me around.
“See ya later, Fallon. But not until Ryder failsCamp Dakotaand ruins his chance of playing in the championship looking for your pathetic ass.” It’s Seth. They’re so desperate to win, and they know they can’t, so they’re trying to sabotage him. I can’t let that happen.
“Here’s some water and a few granola bars. Don’t say we didn’t try to help you.”
Small pebbles and dirt hit my skin, and I roll away, trying to avoid them kicking at the ground around me. I won’t let Ryder lose and these assholes win. Because of me. No fucking way.
My shoulder throbs, but I don’t care. As soon as I hear their obnoxious voices disappear into the forest, I stand gingerly, shaking off the hood and trying not to further agitate my shoulder.
Fucking pricks. Completely remorseless for absolutelyeverything.
They don’t know my thumbs are double-jointed, though. I pull and tug with my left hand, the least important one if things go wrong, and the coarse fibers scratch against my sensitive flesh.
I grit my teeth, groaning as my tendons stretch and my thumb folds inward, slipping through the tightly bound rope.
Sonofabitch,that hurt.
I whip my arms around, rotating my sore shoulder up and around in circles, testing the integrity. I don’t think it’s out of the socket, but I rub the tender joint. My thumb feels like someone bent it the wrong way, so I massage that, too. I can still move it, so nothing’s broken. All in all, I’ll live.
I need to find my way back to the campsite before Ryder freaks out and misses his test. That can’t happen. He has to beat them fair and square. No suspension, nothing.
I can’t tell anyone what just happened.
Ryder needs to win the championship first.
* * *
It wasn’t too hard to find my way back to the tent, even though the sun’s still not fully risen. I attempt to brush the dirt and debris off my skin in case Ryder’s already back from his jog. But I can’t really explain the no shoes and no clothes situation.
Sleepwalking?
